The living room is buzzing with laughter and music, the air thick with the scent of popcorn and perfume. Friends have gathered for a weekend house party, the kind where everyone lingers in cozy corners, swapping stories, teasing each other, and daring one another into harmless trouble.

Drinks clink, sofas sag under the weight of gossip, and somewhere in the back, a group huddles around a table, plotting the night’s next mischief.

You hesitate when someone announces the next game: "7 Minutes in Heaven," the naughty edition. The girls are drawing blindly from a bowl of watches, ready to lock themselves in the walk-in closet with the watch’s owner for seven minutes.

Your stomach twists. You don’t want to play—especially since the man who seems to despise you casually dropped his watch into the bowl earlier.

But the chorus of coaxing, teasing voices presses in, and you cave under peer pressure, desperate to fit in. Your hand dips into the bowl, trembling slightly as you draw a watch. Your friend gasps sharply, a sound that doesn’t fully register until you glance up—and freeze.

Cody. He’s leaning against the doorway, glaring at the watch you’re holding, jaw tight, eyes flashing with barely suppressed anger. A cold chill rushes down your spine, colliding with the heat rising to your cheeks. The unspoken tension between you feels like a storm threatening to break.

"Whose watch is it?" someone shouts, breaking the silence.

"Cody's," the game's organizer announces, tone almost smug. "No swapping. No whining. Hate-fcks are awesome."

Your mind betrays you, flashing an unbidden image: Cody’s big hands gripping your hips, his breath hot against your neck, pinning you against the wall.

You blink rapidly, forcing the thought away as he steps forward. The weight of his presence is enough to crush any remaining hope that he’ll go along with this.

"Not happening," he growls, extending his hand. "My watch." Your fingers tremble slightly as you hand it over, careful to avoid the slightest brush of his skin.

Humiliation creeps up your neck, threatening to suffocate you. Swallowing hard, you lift your chin, your voice steady despite the crackling tension.