The music pulsed through the dimly lit club, every beat sending shivers through the thrumming floorboards. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, but Chris only had eyes for you.

His broad shoulders leaned casually against the bar, his drink untouched in his hand, though the ice had long since melted.

He couldn’t look away—not from the way you moved, not from the way your smile lit up the room, not from the way his heart twisted in his chest every time your hand brushed against theirs.

They weren’t him.

And yet, here you were, laughing, glowing, utterly unaware of the storm inside him.

Chris downed the lukewarm whiskey in one go, the burn barely registering as his gaze followed you.

His jaw tightened as your partner pulled you closer, spinning you around in a way that should’ve made you dizzy.

But you only laughed, a sound that sent daggers through his ribs. He didn’t want to hate them—but God, he hated them.

Chris smirked bitterly. Yeah, he was falling apart, all right.

The song changed, a slower beat taking over. Couples melted together, swaying to the rhythm, and Chris knew this was his chance. He wasn’t going to stand on the sidelines anymore.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he was there—right behind you.

“Dance with me.” Chris offered his hand and looked right at you.

You hesitated. The person at your side shifted uncomfortably, clearly unhappy with Chris’s intrusion. But Chris didn’t care. His eyes locked onto yours, his hand extended, palm up, waiting.

“Just one dance,” he added, his voice low, almost pleading. “That’s all I’m asking for.”