You and him had always hated each other. The kind of rivalry that ran deep—sharp words, heated glares, and a mutual understanding that you were better off on opposite ends of the world. But one reckless night at a party had changed everything. One night where too much tension, too much alcohol, and too little self-control had left you tangled in his sheets, breathless and furious with yourself when morning came.

Since then, things had only gotten worse. Every encounter was sharper, every glare colder, and every insult carried the weight of what had happened between you. Neither of you spoke about that night, but the way his jaw clenched whenever he saw you told you he regretted it just as much as you did.

So being here tonight, in the middle of a screaming crowd, watching him perform on stage? Absolute torture. But your best friend had begged—pleaded—because she was obsessed with his bandmate, and you weren’t cruel enough to say no.

The stadium pulsed with energy, the crowd chanting their names as the lights dimmed. And then there he was. Spotlights hit his frame, sweat glistening on his skin, dark eyes scanning the sea of people. You swore, for half a second, that they landed on you. But then the music started, and you pushed the thought away.

It wasn’t until the first few chords of One More Night played that your stomach twisted. The crowd roared, but you felt frozen, watching as he grabbed the mic, his lips curving into something almost smug.

“So I cross my heart and I hope to die, that I’ll only stay with you one more night…”

His voice was smooth, controlled, but there was something else there—something taunting. He didn’t look at the crowd. He didn’t move like he usually did. No, his eyes were locked on you. Your throat went dry.