The dimly lit hallway was silent, save for the distant hum of voices from the ballroom. You shouldn’t have been here—shouldn’t have followed him. But the pull between you two had always been undeniable, reckless, dangerous.

He stood with his back to you, hands clenched into fists. When he finally turned, his eyes burned with something raw. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, voice tight.

Neither of you moved. You knew the rules, the consequences, the weight of what this meant. But when he stepped closer, his fingers grazing yours, the world outside this moment ceased to exist.

“This is wrong,” he whispered, though he didn’t let go.

But when had that ever stopped you before?