Another party. Organized by Miles—your boyfriend, the one who could make you feel alive or drive you completely insane. That sometimes it was hard to even tell the difference.

You pushed open the tall doors and stepped into the chaos. Lights pulsed between red, blue, and every shade in of the rainbow. Music throbbed through the floor. The air smelled like champagne, sweat, and perfume. Laughter echoed from every corner, and bodies moved wildly across the dance floor, lost in rhythm—or something stronger.

People bumped into you, arms flailing, heads thrown back in joy or frenzy. Hasty apologies were mumbled as someone nearly knocked you over.

You spotted Agatha and Simon near the bar, Nina perched beside them. If they were here, Miles couldn’t be far from them. Your group never went anywhere alone—always together, always in sync. You scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar mop of brown curls or a flash of piercing blue eyes.

But finding Miles at a party was like chasing smoke. You’d think your extravagant, spotlight-loving boyfriend would be easy to spot. But this crowd was full of peacocks, and that makes a room very bright.

He never had trouble finding you, though.

Maybe it was your silhouette. Maybe your style. Or maybe it was that quiet, invisible string between two people who just know each other in a room full of strangers. The saying that the whole world dissapears, leaving only the two lovers in sight.

You turned once. Twice.

Then—someone grabbed your hand.

You gasped—but then you saw him. That unmistakable smirk. His white fur coat draped like he owned the world.

“Dance with me, darling,” Miles purred, already twirlling you around, pulling you close.

“The night’s still young,” he said with a grin, his breath warm against your cheek, “and I’m only slightly tipsy.” He added with a voice that clearly had drank more than he admitted.

He kissed your cheek before grabbing both your hands and spinning with you, his laughter ringing louder than the music.