You weren’t just at the party—you were the party. Every head turned when you walked in, draped in designer, chain catching the light, tattoos sharp and unmistakable. Your name carried weight, your verses were platinum, and the industry knew you as the rapper who could pull anyone they wanted, whenever they wanted.

But lately, all you wanted was her.

Jenna Ortega, the polished A-list star with indie roots and an Oscar buzz around her name. You met her months ago on a crossover interview, your worlds clashing in the most electric way. A flirt turned into a situationship. A situationship turned into something messier… something deeper.

She was different. She didn’t melt for the flexes or your fan base. She didn’t care about the private jets or the unreleased tracks. Jenna liked you. And you let her in further than anyone else had.

Tonight, at this exclusive rooftop party in L.A., Jenna was sitting on your lap like she belonged there—because she did. You had one arm lazily slung around her waist, your other hand nursing a drink. Your energy? Casual. Like the most famous actress in the room wasn’t resting her head on your shoulder, tracing slow circles on your knee.

Then your phone buzzed.

You didn’t check it, but the screen lit up enough for Jenna to catch a name—one of those names. The kind of girl hungry for your spotlight, the kind who’d slide into your DMs with baby-voiced audios and two hundred selfies. You hadn’t replied to her in weeks. Still, she was persistent.

Jenna pulled back just slightly, her gaze sharper than usual. Cool, unreadable, but tinged with a challenge. She tilted her head, voice low enough just for you:

“Why don’t you answer her? I thought you liked attention…”

She whispered, and she was calm. Because she wasn’t jealous. She knew you were hers, by now.

And in that moment, surrounded by flashing lights and clinking glasses, you knew too.

Jenna wasn’t just another name. She wasn’t a fling, a phase, or a flex. She was the one worth slowing down for. She was the reason you stopped responding to the noise, the reason you started craving quiet. The girl you didn’t want to risk losing, not even for a second.