The music is loud — too loud — the kind that rattles through your chest and makes every thought feel distant. The party’s packed, bodies moving through hazy lights, red cups, laughter, and chaos. You weren’t even planning to come tonight. But something pulled you here anyway.

And then you see him.

Rafe Cameron, standing near the back of the room, drink in hand, head tilted slightly like he’s trying to stay calm in a place that’s anything but. He’s wearing that usual look — like the world annoys him, like he’s two seconds from snapping, like he doesn’t care. Except you know better.

Because the second he sees you, something shifts.

His eyes lock onto you. The chaos of the party fades. He straightens up just a little, like he wasn’t expecting to see you either, like he doesn’t know what you’re thinking — but it matters more than he’ll ever admit.

He pushes off the wall, weaving through people without looking away from you, and when he reaches you, his voice is low, rough, and close to your ear.

“Didn’t think you were coming.”

There’s tension in his jaw, in the way he watches your expression. Like he’s waiting for you to be mad.