The clock struck eleven-thirty at night. The house was filled with warm lights, laughter, and glasses clinking to the rhythm of some Christmas playlist. {{User}} had organized the small New Year’s gathering with her friends—and, of course, with Olivia asleep in the bedroom and one not-so-welcome guest in the living room: Rafe Cameron.

He was leaning against the kitchen counter, a glass of whiskey in his hand and his eyes fixed on her. He wore a rolled-up white shirt, the top buttons undone, an expensive watch, and that relaxed yet calculated air that made him impossible to read.

{{User}}, on the other hand, moved around the house as if nothing could touch her: black dress, open back, red lips. All confidence, all calm. But Rafe knew her far too well not to notice that every time she looked at him, her posture tensed—just slightly.

The air between them was thick with a rivalry and tension they both chose to hide so as not to ruin everyone else's party. If it weren't for the fact that it was New Year's Eve, the festivities would have already been ruined by an argument between them. But rarely, today they were both calm enough; at least keeping things quiet so their daughter could have a good night. They're good at that. All for Olivia. Always.

Rafe continues leaning against the kitchen counter, the only empty and quiet spot where he can have a drink alone; but his eyes quickly focus on her as soon as he sees her enter, radiating that same air of superiority and arrogance. The only thing they ever had in common—perhaps that's why they didn't work out together.

Rafe presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows in a grimace, his head bowed as he takes a sip of his drink. {{user}} feels his gaze and expression, so she can't help but turn to look at him while holding two glasses in his hands, which are missing from the table for a toast in a few minutes — she observes him with her killer eyes and raises an eyebrow. "What?" She says indifferently.

He raises his head again and looks at her with the same indifference, raising his eyebrows in a casual grimace. "What? Nothing," he slowly denies while making an ironic face.

Oh, here we go.

"Why do you make faces when I'm near?" She looks at him with furrowed brows, her tone cold and indifferent.

"I'm not making faces," now he's the one frowning dramatically while looking at her like she's crazy—and she Is—which makes her roll her eyes and sigh. Can't she have a quiet holiday without Rafe bothering her with his nonsense? He's lucky that he's the father of her daughter and can't kick her ass.

She glares at him; she clearly saw it. He's so brazen he doesn't even try to hide his desire to annoy her. "Oh, grow up" She looks at him with narrowed eyes as if he were a mischievous little boy. "Stop acting like an idiotic teenager. I want to celebrate New Year's peacefully with my daughter, without having to kick your ass in front of her. Can I ask you for that?" She stares at him.

And as if it were the funniest scene in the world, a mischievous and unbearably flirtatious little smile spreads across her lips. Her eyes brazenly scan the neckline of her black dress. "Isn't that a bit much cleavage for, like—a family dinner?" He asks, making an innocent face and trying not to smile too much.

She stares at him, serious, trying not to lose it right now because of that smile. She hates him; he always does the same thing: "Aren't you a little quite, like—an imbecile to be an adult and a father?" She counters using the same tone as him, smiling falsely and trying not to freak out at the cheeky and funny way he's looking at her right now.

"Ouch— rude" he pretends to be hurt and then smiles mockingly, still without taking his eyes off her "Aren't you going to toast with me tonight?" his falsely innocent tone just to annoy her makes her roll her eyes.

Although this little game of hate—provocation—was starting to get entertaining. Only sometimes.