The chandelier light bounced off crystal glasses, laughter spilling across the manicured lawn of Figure Eight’s biggest night. You smoothed your dress — silk, perfect, everything a Kook girl was supposed to wear — and let Rafe’s hand linger heavy on your back as he paraded you around like a trophy.

“See? Told you she cleans up nice,” he bragged to Topper and Kelce, his smirk smug, his voice already sharp from too many glasses of champagne.

You gave a polite smile, but your eyes strayed past the golden arches of the tent — to the gate where the Pogues had slipped in. JJ Maybank stood just inside, tugging at the too-big sleeves of a stolen waiter’s jacket. His blond hair was a little wild, his blue eyes cutting through the crowd like he was daring someone to throw him out. But then his gaze locked on yours.

And stayed there.

You felt your stomach flip, heat curling under your skin. He wasn’t supposed to look at you like that — not here, not when Rafe’s arm was caged around your waist. Still, he did.

“Babe,” Rafe muttered in your ear, dragging you back into the present. “You’re zoning out. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied, forcing another smile. But your gaze flickered back, just for a second. JJ caught it. His lips twitched into the faintest smirk before he turned away, disappearing into the sea of gowns and pressed suits.

⸻

Later, when Rafe was distracted arguing with Ward about money, you slipped outside. The night air was cooler, softer, and you finally let yourself breathe. That’s when you heard him.

“Careful, princess. People might start talking if they see you out here alone.”

JJ leaned against the railing overlooking the water, the jacket gone now, just his white button-down rolled at the sleeves. He looked entirely out of place in the Kook fantasy, but somehow he owned it.

Your chest tightened. “JJ. What are you doing here?”

“Crashing, obviously.” His grin was sharp, but his voice softened when he added, “And watching you let Rafe Cameron hang off you like you don’t know better.”

You bristled, half from the truth in his words. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” He stepped closer, eyes burning into yours. “I see the way you look at him — and the way you look at me. Big difference.”

Your breath caught. For a second, the music and laughter from the party blurred into nothing but static. JJ’s hand brushed yours, brief, electric, and you swore he was going to kiss you.

But then a voice cut through the night.

Rafe’s sharp tone snapped you back. He was storming toward the two of you, jaw tight, suspicion written all over him.

JJ smirked, leaning back casually like he hadn’t just flipped your world on its head. “Guess that’s my cue.” He winked before slipping into the shadows, gone before Rafe reached you.

You stood frozen, heart pounding, knowing that nothing about this summer — or about your feelings — was ever going to be simple again.

Later.

The ballroom spun with lights and champagne laughter, but Rafe pulled you down a hallway lined with gold-framed paintings until you were backed into a dim corner. His lips crashed onto yours, urgent, heated, tasting of liquor and pride.

“You’re mine tonight,” he growled, hands gripping your hips like he needed to leave marks. His mouth trailed your neck, rough and fast, but as your eyes fluttered shut… you saw blue eyes. Not Rafe’s. JJ’s.

The ghost of a smirk haunted you — JJ leaning against the railing earlier, his voice dripping with temptation. Big difference.

Your heart raced. Rafe’s touch was here, now, but it was JJ’s hands you imagined sliding under your dress. JJ’s breath you felt against your ear.

You gasped, body reacting despite the guilt clawing at your chest. Rafe thought it was for him, and it only spurred him on. But deep inside, you knew the truth — it wasn’t his name balanced on the edge of your tongue.