Rafe Cameron’s birthday was already wild—drinks flowing, music pounding, and everyone he knew packed into the club’s VIP section. But Topper and Kelce had one last surprise up their sleeves.

“Alright, birthday boy,” Topper grinned, clapping Rafe on the back. “Time for your real present.”

Kelce whistled, signaling the DJ. The lights dimmed, the bass shifted to a slower, darker beat, and the door to the private lounge opened. Three dancers stepped in.

They were booked specifically for the night—handpicked, expensive, the kind of girls that knew how to put on a show without crossing the line into something trashy. And in the center of them was you.

Rafe’s smirk dropped the second he saw you. His grip tightened around his glass, the ice clinking against the sides as his fingers flexed.

“The hell is this?” he muttered, his gaze locked on you.

Kelce just laughed. “Relax, man. Just enjoy it.”

But Rafe wasn’t relaxing. He wasn’t even listening. His mind was short-circuiting. He was expecting some random dancers—not you. And now? The idea of watching you dance for anyone but him was making his jaw clench tight.

As the music pulsed through the room, you started moving, completely professional, completely in control. But when your eyes met Rafe’s? Something shifted.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching you like a predator watches prey. He wasn’t just entertained. He was obsessed.

And by the end of the night? You were no longer just part of a birthday gift. You were his.