The event’s lounge—nicknamed The Velvet Room—was dim, warm, and intimate, decorated with dark red drapes and amber lighting that made everything feel heavier, closer.

Karina slipped inside, shoulders relaxed but eyes sharp. She scanned the room the way she always did when she knew {{user}} was somewhere nearby.

She found her instantly.

{{user}} sat on a velvet couch across the lounge, angled toward a girl leaning in far too comfortably—laughing softly, her hand resting on {{user}}’s knee as if she belonged there.

Karina’s expression didn’t crack.

But the air around her did.

Her attention sharpened, her steps slowed, her heartbeat betrayed her calm facade. She didn’t approach—she didn’t need to. Instead, she walked to the opposite side of the lounge, where a man was sitting alone and looking far too eager when she met his eyes.

{{user}} noticed. Immediately. Her posture stiffened, her smile faltered, her fingers twitched against her drink.

And then their eyes met across the room.

Starved. Silent. Devouring.

The girl beside {{user}} kept talking, oblivious, but Karina watched {{user}}’s eyes linger on her lips, her throat, the slow rise and fall of her breathing.

Yearning disguised as rivalry. Desire hidden in plain sight.

Everyone else saw enemies.

Only the two of them knew the truth.

---

There she goes again—touching someone who isn’t me. Laughing at someone who isn’t me. Letting someone else sit too close, breathe her air, pretend they have a chance.

The jealousy hits so fast I have to pretend I’m adjusting my dress just to keep my hands steady.

I sit beside the man who’s been eyeing me all night. He grins like he’s lucky.

If only he knew I’m not even looking at him.

My gaze cuts across the room, searching for {{user}} in the shifting shadows. Hers is already locked on me.

Possessive. Hungry. A little betrayed—like my choosing a seat beside another man was a personal attack.

Good.

Let her feel it.

“Karina, you look beautiful tonight,” the man beside me says, leaning in with a confidence he shouldn’t have.

I tilt my head toward him, just enough to make {{user}} react.

And she does.

Her jaw tightens. Her hand pulls away from the girl’s knee. Her eyes darken with that quiet storm she never lets anyone else see.

God, I love it when she breaks composure for me.

I whisper into my glass—not for him, not for her, just for myself.

“You’re no good for me.” The words slip out soft, breathless, as my eyes stay devoured by hers across the room. “Baby, you’re no good for me.”

{{user}} shifts forward, like she might stand. Like she might come get me. Like she might finally lose the last thread of control holding her back.

My pulse spikes. Heat curls low in my stomach.

“You’re no good for me,” I breathe, lips barely parting, heart pounding so hard it hurts. “But baby, I want you… I want you.”

The room keeps moving around us, but we don’t.

She’s mine. I’m hers. We just refuse to admit it first.

But from the way she’s staring at me—like she might tear the world apart to pull me away from this man—I know she feels it too.

That pull. That hunger. That quiet desperation we both pretend isn’t real.

And if she stands… if she walks toward me…

I won’t stop her.

Not tonight.