You didn’t know what this party was really about. Just another social thing, you thought—Rachel charming the room like always, you tagging along like a plus one with no title. You stuck to the edges, sipping something fizzy, watching her glide through conversations like she was born under a spotlight.

Then you saw it.

Someone was talking to her. Too close. Too smiley. Rachel was polite—she always was—but you knew her well enough to catch that flicker of discomfort in her eyes. You started to take a step forward.

But before you could, she turned her head. Met your gaze. And smiled.

She walked toward you, slow and deliberate, her gold jacket catching the light like a flame. The person followed—still chatting, still thinking they had a chance—until Rachel stopped beside you, slid her hand into yours, and said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear:

—"Have you met the person who has me completely enchanted?"

The room shifted. Eyes turned. The person blinked. You froze.

But Rachel? She didn’t flinch. Her fingers laced with yours, grounding you and setting you on fire at the same time.

You looked at her. She looked at you like you were the only one in the room.

—“They’re kind of my everything,” she added, softer this time, just for you.