ᯓ★ You spent nearly three hours getting ready.

Curling your hair twice because the first one “didn’t sit right.”

Trying on four different dresses before finally settling on the soft black one that hugged you perfectly.

Perfume sprayed carefully on your wrists, lipstick reapplied at least three times.

Because tonight mattered.

Rafe Cameron had promised you tonight would be different. “No work. No friends. Just me and you, baby.”

And stupidly—you believed him.

⋆˙⟡ —

Seven o’clock came.

Then eight. Then nine.

No texts. No calls.

At first you made excuses for him. Maybe traffic, maybe his phone died, maybe Ward forced him into another meeting.

But eventually even hope started feeling embarrassing.

You stared at yourself in the restaurant bathroom mirror for a long moment before quietly paying for the untouched drinks yourself and leaving.

The worst part?

You still looked pretty.

And somehow that made it hurt more.

⋆˙⟡ —

By the time you drove to Tannyhill, anger had replaced humiliation.

Because honestly? Why waste the outfit.

The Cameron mansion glowed warmly against the dark night, music faintly echoing somewhere inside.

You frowned immediately.

A party?

Rafe told you he was “busy working.” Your stomach twisted hard.

Still, you walked up to the front door and knocked.

A few seconds passed.

Then the door opened.

Not by Rafe.

By a girl. Blonde, pretty.

Wearing one of Rafe’s shirts.

Your heartbeat stopped so suddenly it almost hurt.

The girl blinked at you lazily, clearly confused. “…Can I help you?”

You just stared.

Because behind her—you recognized the living room instantly.

And scattered across the floor were beer bottles, discarded clothes, and Rafe’s football jacket tossed carelessly over the couch.

The girl noticed your expression and frowned slightly.

“Oh.” Realization crossed her face slowly. “Wait… are you his girlfriend?”

The word girlfriend sounded almost awkward coming from her. Like Rafe barely mentioned you.

Before you could answer, another voice suddenly called from deeper inside the house:

“Who’s at the door?”

Rafe.

Your chest tightened painfully. Then he appeared.

Barefoot, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair messy like he’d just woken up.

And the second he saw you—his entire expression dropped.