The bass from the speakers vibrates through the house, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of expensive liquor. The Cameron estate is packed—Kooks everywhere, laughing, drinking, pretending they don’t have a single worry in the world. But your eyes are locked on one person.

Rafe.

He’s across the room, red Solo cup in hand, laughing at something Topper just said. His head tilts back slightly, eyes crinkling at the edges like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like the last time you two ended things never even happened.

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since the last fight. Two weeks since he slammed the door, since you told him you were done for real this time. Two weeks of stubborn silence, both of you too proud to reach out. And yet, here you are, at the same party, breathing the same air, pretending like the magnetic pull between you doesn’t exist.

You roll your eyes and turn toward the drink table, pouring yourself something strong. If he can pretend he doesn’t see you, you can do the same. Right?

Wrong.

You feel it before you even hear him—his presence, the weight of his gaze. And then, just as you bring the cup to your lips, his voice cuts through the noise.

“Didn’t think you’d show.”

You glance up, meeting those familiar blue eyes. He looks good—of course he does. Slightly tousled hair, that signature smirk playing at his lips, like he already knows where this night is going to end.

“I could say the same,” you reply, forcing nonchalance into your tone.

He huffs a laugh, stepping closer. “You avoiding me?”

“As if,” you scoff, but your heart is hammering.

He leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough for only you to hear. “Then why haven’t you answered my calls?”

You take a slow sip of your drink, willing yourself to stay composed. “Didn’t think there was anything left to say.”

His jaw tenses for a second, but then that smirk returns. “That’s never stopped us before.”

And just like that, the cycle starts again.