tis the damn season

"Ill stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror"

Rafe's Perspective

The house was too quiet now.

I stood in the foyer, staring at the massive oak door that used to slam shut behind my father every time he left for work. The sound would echo through the house—sharp, definitive, a reminder that he was in control. Now, there was only silence.

The Cameron estate didn't feel like a home anymore. It felt like a museum—empty rooms filled with reminders of what used to be. The leather armchair he always sat in, the smell of his cologne lingering faintly in the air. Even the walls seemed to whisper his presence, as if they hadn't quite accepted that Ward Cameron was gone.

I hadn't accepted it either.

I ran a hand through my hair, sighing deeply. Every day since his death felt like a battle. Not just with the outside world but with myself. Ward had built an empire—a family, a business, a legacy. Now it was all on my shoulders, and I wasn't sure if I was strong enough to carry it.

I took a deep breath and headed toward the study. It had become my new command center, though it still felt like I was intruding. His desk remained as it was—perfectly organized, papers stacked neatly, his name engraved on a brass plate that gleamed in the light.

I sat down, running my fingers along the edge of the desk. The weight of expectation pressed down on me, heavier than any responsibility I'd ever known. I was supposed to be the man of the house now, the one who kept everything together. I had to manage the business, look after my family, and keep up appearances.

Keep up appearances.

That was what Dad always cared about the most. Cameron Development had to look strong, even if it was crumbling from the inside. And now, I had to be that strength. No one could see me crack.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see Rose standing there, her expression unreadable.

"Rafe," she said, stepping inside. "The lawyers called. They need you to review some of the paperwork before the next board meeting."

"Yeah, I'll get to it," I muttered, my voice rougher than I intended.

Rose hesitated, then walked closer. "You're doing a good job, you know."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Am I? Because it sure doesn't feel like it."

"You're keeping things together. That's more than most people could do in your position."

I leaned back in the chair, rubbing my temples. "I'm not Dad. I'll never be Dad."

"And no one expects you to be," she said softly. "But you don't have to do this alone, Rafe. Let us help you."

I looked at her, trying to find the words, but nothing came. How could I explain the pressure, the constant need to prove that I was capable, that I wasn't going to let everything fall apart? How could I admit that most nights I stayed up wondering if I was already failing?

"Thanks, Rose," I said, my voice quieter. "But I've got it. I have to."

She watched me for a moment, then nodded. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

After she left, I sat there in the silence, the weight of her words settling over me. Let us help you.

But that was the problem—I didn't know how to ask for help. I'd spent so long trying to prove I could handle things on my own that admitting I couldn't felt like weakness. And weakness wasn't an option. Not now.

I grabbed the stack of papers Rose had left on the desk and flipped through them. Contracts, financial statements, board meeting notes. Every page was a reminder of how much was riding on me.