The chandelier sparkled above your head like a sky full of stars. Golden light spilled across the marble floor, and violins played something aching and slow. You stood near the edge of the room, masked and hesitant, watching strangers dance like they belonged here. You didn’t. Not really. Not in this world.

But then you felt it — the burn of someone watching you.

Rafe Cameron stood across the ballroom, eyes locked on you through the crowd. He wasn’t wearing a mask. Of course he wasn’t. Rafe never hid — not even when he should.

He moved toward you with that effortless confidence, never breaking eye contact. When he reached you, he simply held out his hand.

No words. No smirk.

Just his hand.

You hesitated. You shouldn’t have taken it. But you did.

He pulled you into the center of the room, placing one hand at the small of your back, the other wrapping around your fingers. The music wrapped around you like a secret.

“You don’t look like a Pogue tonight,” he said softly, leaning in. “You look like something no one’s allowed to touch.”

“And yet here you are,” you murmured.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. But it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something different tonight — something sad.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said.

“You invited me.”

“I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

His grip tightened, almost imperceptibly. You didn’t want to ask what he meant. You didn’t want to hear it.

But you did.

“Why?” you breathed.

Rafe’s eyes scanned your face like he was memorizing every detail. “Because it hurts more when you’re this close.”

You froze.

The music rose around you. Your heart beat faster, syncing to every note. It felt like the entire room was gone — just you and him in this slow, doomed orbit.

“Then why dance with me?” you asked.

He leaned in, lips brushing your temple. “Because tonight’s the only time I’m allowed to.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. You just stayed in his arms until the last note faded and reality returned like a slap.

And then he let go — like it killed him to do it.