You rounded the corner and saw Jude alone in the studio, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the floor. His phone was set up, recording, but his movements weren’t for the camera—they were something more.

Every sway of his hips was slow, deliberate, dripping with a raw sensuality that made your breath catch. He moved like the music was part of him—every curve and slide of his body telling a story without words. It was like watching someone speak in a language only you could understand.

His hands glided through the air, fingers tracing invisible lines, the subtle tilt of his head and the rise and fall of his chest pulsing with quiet heat. You found yourself frozen, eyes glued to the rhythm of his body.

Then his gaze caught yours in the mirror, and he smiled—a slow, knowing smile that made your skin tingle. He slipped off his headphones and said, “Didn’t expect a private show.”

You blinked, suddenly realizing you’d been caught staring far too long. You wiped your chin awkwardly and said, “I wasn’t staring, I swear. Just… admiring the lighting.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Sure you were.”