"Gabriel was my brother," he finally said. "My older brother by five years."
"Was?" I asked softly, though I already suspected the answer.
"He died when I was seventeen." His fingers curled into a loose fist, then relaxed, a gesture he repeated several times as he spoke. "Car accident. He was rushing to pick me up from a party I wasn't supposed to be at. A party my parents had expressly forbidden me from attending."
I set down the toast, my appetite forgotten as understanding began to dawn. "Oh, Rafe..."
He continued as if I hadn't spoken, his voice taking on a detached quality that somehow hurt worse than if he'd shown emotion. "Gabriel was the golden child. Smart, handsome, charismatic, obedient. Everything my parents wanted in a son and heir." His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "I was the spare.The disappointment. The problem child who wanted to play piano instead of following in the family business."
I wanted to reach for him but held back, afraid he'd stop talking if I interrupted. So I picked up a piece of fruit and ate it slowly, giving him space to continue.
"After he died, everything changed." Rafe's gaze fixed on some point beyond me. "My parents... they changed. My mother especially. It was as if what little warmth she'd had died with Gabriel. And suddenly, I wasn't just the spare anymore. I was all they had left. But I wasn't him. I could never be him."
"So they tried to mold you into him," I guessed, my voice barely above a whisper.
Rafe nodded. "They pushed me into his path. Made me attend his university, take his classes, join his organizations. Kept his room exactly as it was the day he died. And constantly,constantlyreminded me of how I fell short." His fingers curled again, this time staying clenched. "Every decision I made was compared to what Gabriel would have done. Every achievement measured against his."
A piece clicked into place—why the mere mention of Gabriel's name from his parents had sent him into such a dark place. "That's why your mother's words hit so hard. About how Gabriel would have married Samantha Hasting."
"Gabriel would have done his duty," Rafe confirmed, his voice tight. "He would have married whoever they wanted, produced the right heirs, upheld the family name. He was better at all of it than I could ever be."
"Or maybe he just didn't know how to say no to them," I countered gently. "Maybe he was just as trapped as you are."
Rafe's eyes snapped to mine, surprise flickering across his features. "I never thought of it that way."
I took another bite of toast, chewing slowly as I gathered my thoughts. "Why do you still do it? Put up with their treatment, Imean. You're successful in your own right. You don't need their approval anymore."
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Maybe some part of me still wants it. Their approval." He shook his head. "How fucked up is that?"
I didn't laugh with him. Instead, I set the tray aside and reached for his hand, covering his fist with my palm.
"It's not fucked up," I said quietly. "It's human. We all want validation from the people who are supposed to love us unconditionally. Even when they've proven they don't know how."
His eyes met mine, something vulnerable and raw in their depths. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."
I shrugged, trying for casual despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs. "I spent my whole life being compared to Everlee. The smart one, the responsible one, the one with a real future. I was just... the pretty one. The one who'd never amount to anything serious."
Understanding dawned in his expression. "That's why you reacted so strongly to my mother's comment about you being just a pretty face."
Heat crept up my neck. "Yeah, well, I've heard that particular tune before." I tried to pull my hand away, but Rafe turned his palm up, capturing my fingers in his.
"You're more than that," he said, his voice rougher than usual. "So much more."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. His thumb traced small circles on the inside of my wrist, and the sensation sent shivers up my arm. Our eyes locked, and something shifted in the air between us—the kind of charge that builds before a storm breaks.
"Rafe," I whispered, not sure what I was asking for.
His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes. "You should get some rest. How's the headache?"
I blinked, thrown by the change in subject. "Better, actually." And it was true; the pounding had subsided to a dull throb, and my nausea had all but disappeared. "Your witch's brew actually worked."
"Told you." A hint of smugness crept into his voice as he released my hand and stood. The loss of contact left me feeling strangely bereft.
Without thinking, I reached out and caught his wrist before he could move away. "Thank you," I said. "For taking care of me last night. For bringing me home. For... for telling me about Gabriel."
The muscle in his jaw jumped again, but his eyes softened. "You don't have to thank me."
"I know." I let my hand slide from his wrist to his hand, our fingers tangling briefly before I let go. "But I want to."
