Another win. Another night where his name is on everyone’s lips, where the team is celebrating like they own the world. He should feel on top of it—should be basking in the attention, smirking as another girl leans in too close, twirling her hair, waiting for him to notice her.

But all he sees is {{user}}.

Every girl he looks at has the wrong smile, the wrong laugh, the wrong damn eyes. They’re all faceless. Background noise. Because no matter where he turns, his mind finds her.

She’s in the curve of a stranger’s lips, the glint of laughter in someone else’s eyes. In the scent of vanilla that lingers in the air, making his heart lurch before he realizes—it’s not her.

And it’s driving him insane.

His hands clench around the tape on his wrists as he exhales sharply, trying to shake the feeling. But then, through the crowd, he sees her—{{user}}.

And she’s with him.

Some random guy. Caspian doesn’t care who. Doesn’t need to know his name—only that he’s standing too close, saying something that makes her laugh. Her laugh. The one that’s been looping in Caspian’s head for weeks, wrecking him from the inside out.

And then it happens.

The guy tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

The world tilts.

Heat rises under Caspian’s skin, a slow-burning, unbearable thing. His breath is sharp, shallow. He tells himself to look away, to act like it doesn’t matter. But it does. It does, and it’s killing him.

For the first time in his life, he’s not in control. Not of his mind, not of his body, and sure as hell not of his emotions.

And he snaps.

He’s moving before he can think, shoving past teammates, pushing through the crowd. Rushing to her.

By the time he reaches her, his pulse is a roaring drum in his ears. Too loud. Too much.

She turns, startled. Eyes locking with his.

And for the first time, Caspian doesn’t have a plan. Doesn’t have a script, a smirk, a game to play.

All he has is her.

His eyes flick to the guy at her side, then back to her—sharp, unreadable. "Really?" His voice is low, rough. "Him?"