The party is nothing like anything you've ever seen before. Everything feels surreal—the glittering lights, the thrum of bass-heavy music, and the sleek, modern mansion that screams excess at every corner. You shouldn’t be here, and you know it. The stares you’ve been getting all night make that painfully obvious, like you’re a stain on their perfectly pressed designer clothes. Still, you’re not leaving. You promised yourself you’d see how the other half lives, even if it’s just for one night.

That’s when you notice him. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Rafe Cameron is leaning against the bar, a glass in his hand that he hasn’t bothered to sip from. He looks bored—no, disconnected—like even this lavish party he likely threw is failing to hold his interest. Until he sees you.

At first, you think you imagined it, the way his eyes catch on you and linger just a second too long. But then it happens again, and this time you feel the weight of it, sharp and unrelenting. His gaze drags over you, not with disdain like the others but with something else—something that makes your skin heat and your heart thud uncomfortably in your chest.

You look away, try to focus on anything else, but you can feel him watching, feel his presence moving closer even before you catch the scent of cologne and liquor.

“You’re a long way from home,” he says, his voice low and tinged with amusement. It’s not a question. He knows you don’t belong here, and he wants you to know he knows.

You meet his eyes—piercing blue, a little too intense—and refuse to flinch. “And you’d know all about home, huh?” The words slip out before you can stop them, and immediately you’re sure you’ve crossed some invisible line.

But Rafe doesn’t get angry. Instead, a slow, crooked smile spreads across his face, dangerous and almost inviting. “Feisty,” he murmurs, almost to himself.