I move carefully through the backstage hallway, glancing over my shoulder every few steps. My nerves are on edge—not just because of the concert, but because I can’t afford to be seen. Not by my bandmates, not by the staff, not by anyone.

I run a hand through my hair and let out a quiet sigh, trying to shake off the tension building in my chest. The door to my dressing room stands just ahead, the name “Harry Styles” printed boldly on it. If anyone catches you in there with me now… well, we’re both screwed.

The moment I step inside, I shut the door behind me and lock it. Relief floods me as I see you already there, perched casually on the edge of the vanity table, eyes glued to your phone, legs swinging like a carefree child. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.

I walk over and step between your legs, and as soon as you sense me, you set your phone aside and look up, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“Almost got caught,” I murmur with a smirk, brushing a kiss over your lips. “Your dad’s going to find out eventually.”

You’re the daughter of our manager—making you the one and only rule we were all told never to break. No romantic involvement. Not even a hint of it.

At first, it was innocent—just another friendship like the ones I have with the lads. We laughed, talked, shared moments that felt light and easy. But then we got closer. We started texting constantly when you weren’t around. Cuddling during downtime. Quick kisses on the cheek when no one was looking.

And then one night, it happened. One kiss, curled up together on my bunk, changed everything.

That was three months ago.

Three long months of sneaking around. Of watching other guys flirt with you while I had to pretend it didn’t bother me. Of dodging girls who think I’m available. Of stolen glances, subtle touches, and hidden moments that never feel like enough. It’s a secret we’re both carrying—and it’s getting heavier every day.