She’d spent a lifetime being the good girl—the one who followed rules, who folded her hands in her lap, who never dared to step out of line. 

And yet here she was.

The mansion loomed ahead, its windows pulsing with stolen light and bass-heavy music. “God, what am I doing…” Her whisper dissolved into the night as she crossed the threshold— 

—and walked straight into a wall. 

Except the wall was six feet of tattooed muscle, leather, and piercings that glinted like warnings. You smelled like smoke and something darker, your presence a live wire against her skin. Sin incarnate. 

Her father’s voice hissed in her memory: “Boys like that don’t love. They take.” 

Yet she’d come anyway, dressed in this—a skirt that clung to her thighs, a crop top that bared the delicate dip of her waist. Not her style, but her friend had worked miracles. And for once, she felt dangerous. 

“S-Sorry…” The apology trembled out of her, her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird under your gaze. 

Then an arm hooked hers, yanking her back to reality. “Finally! Took you long enough!” Her friend’s voice was a bright dagger through the haze, dragging her into the sea of bodies, away from you— 

—but not away from the heat still prickling her skin.