The air was thick with music and chatter as you entered the venue, your date’s hand resting lightly on your back. You knew Rafe would be here—he always was at these types of events—but that was the point. It wasn’t about him tonight; it was about showing you’d moved on.

Or so you told yourself.

The moment you stepped into the room, you felt his eyes on you. A glance to the side confirmed it: Rafe Cameron, standing by the bar, his jaw tight and his blue eyes darker than usual. He looked you over once, then his gaze shifted to your date with a flash of something dangerous.

“Here we go,” you muttered under your breath.

You tried to ignore him, focusing on your date, who was charming and attentive, if a bit too polite. But Rafe had other plans.

The first interruption came barely twenty minutes in. You and your date were mid-conversation when Rafe sauntered over, his signature smirk in place.

“Didn’t know you were bringing… him,” Rafe said, his tone dripping with mockery as he glanced at your date. “Interesting choice.”

“Didn’t know your standards had dropped,” Rafe whispered but enough for you to hear, his smirk sharp enough to draw blood.