The bass thrums through the air, the party alive with laughter and conversation, but all of it fades into a dull hum the moment your eyes meet his.

Rafe.

He’s across the room, drink in hand, leaned back against the bar like he owns the place. He probably does. The same smirk that used to send chills down your spine is absent now. His expression unreadable, his eyes dark and searching.

It’s been months.

You should look away. You should pretend like nothing ever happened, like you don’t remember the way his hands used to grip your waist, the way he used to pull you closer in the dark, murmuring things neither of you would dare say in the daylight.

But you don’t.

The air between you is thick, charged with something neither of you can name. A challenge. A memory. A regret.

Someone brushes past you, saying your name, but their voice barely reaches you. Your drink sits forgotten in your hand. Across the room, Rafe’s grip tightens around his glass, knuckles whitening. He tilts his head slightly, eyes flickering over your face like he’s searching for something. An answer, maybe. A reaction.

But you give him nothing.

Instead you just look into those piercing, blue eyes.