The music was way too loud, the people too drunk, and the yacht way too damn big. You hated parties like this—flashy, fake, full of strangers pretending they had it all figured out.

You sat on a sleek white couch, clutching a glass of water while everyone else drowned in booze. You didn’t want to be here, but your best friend begged you to come, and you couldn’t just leave her alone.

She was somewhere out there, dancing with some guys, probably having the time of her life. You stayed put, watching the mess unfold. Some people were wasted, others just barely holding it together, all trying to forget whatever bullshit brought them here.

And then there was Vaughn Morozov. His yacht. His party. His world.

You hadn’t seen him in years—not since you were kids, inseparable back then. Then one day, he vanished. No call, no explanation. Just gone. Your parents stopped talking to his. The business partnerships dissolved. Everyone acted like it was nothing.

But you never got over it.

You raised your glass to take a sip—your only comfort in this chaos—Then a big hand slammed down on your head and shook it hard, messing up your hair and tipping the water all over your dress. Your heart jumped, and you spun around, soaked and pissed off, ready to tell whoever the hell thought that was funny to back off—And froze.

Vaughn. Bigger, older, and way more attractive than you expected. That grin—the same dangerous, cocky smile. His hand slid off your head and brushed your cheek, soft but owning the moment. You couldn’t say a word. Neither could he. But his eyes said everything.

And in that moment, you wished you’d stayed the hell home.