The party buzzed around you—glittering chandeliers, crisp white tablecloths, the scent of expensive perfume in the air. Your parents were lost in their usual circles, talking business over champagne, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You slipped away from the crowd, wandering through the Country Club.

Finding yourself near a smaller, unused room adjacent to the party. A sliding door, half-hidden in the dim lighting, caught your eye. You pulled it open—smooth, silent—before stepping inside. The space was quiet, untouched by the noise outside. And in the center of it, a piano.

Your fingers skimmed over the keys as you settled onto the bench. Without thinking, you started playing—“Idea 15.” The sound wrapped around you, familiar, steady. You barely noticed the way the party outside faded.

You didn’t hear him at first.

Didn’t notice the slight shift in the doorway, the faint rustle of movement. But then—somewhere between one note and the next—you felt it. The weight of someone’s gaze.

Your fingers stilled, but before you could turn, his voice cut through the quiet.

“Didn’t know you could play.”

Rafe Cameron.

Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes locked on you. The hallway’s dim light cast shadows over his face, but you could still make out the smirk, the curiosity. He wasn’t mocking—just watching.

You exhaled, resting your hands on the keys. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Guess so.”

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The song still lingered in the air, unfinished. Rafe tapped his fingers against the doorframe, thoughtful. “Keep playing.”

You raised a brow. “Since when do you care about piano music?”

He shrugged. “I don’t.” A pause. “I just like watching you play.”

Something flickered in his expression—something unreadable. You should’ve rolled your eyes. Should’ve told him to leave. But instead, your fingers pressed into the keys again, letting the music pick up where it left off.

And Rafe? He didn’t move.