You’re sitting at a round table in the hotel ballroom with your friends — Jules, Solane, and Stella. All sharp dresses and even sharper eyes. There’s fruit platters, eggs that taste like cardboard, and… you. Trying way too hard to look normal.

Jules is the first to tilt her head.

“You’re glowing.”

You nearly choke on your orange juice. “I’m not glowing.”

Solane hums. “You were wearing heels for eight hours last night. Why are you walking like you ran a marathon?”

Stella leans in. “Did someone wear you out last night, T?”

You glare. “You guys are feral.”

But you’re blushing. And you know they see it.

They exchange looks. The kind that mean trouble.

And then —

“Wait.” Jules glances toward the other side of the room. “Isn’t that Xavier Castillo?”

You don’t turn. You don’t have to. You feel him walk in. That same cool presence, the same quiet intensity.

You keep your eyes on your plate.

But Solane’s eyes narrow.

“Okay. What’s going on there?”

“Nothing,” you say way too fast.

Jules: “So you didn’t leave with him last night?”

Solane: “And you didn’t come back wearing the same dress?”

Stella, whisper-screaming: “You so did.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Can we not do this here?”

Too late.

Because he walks past your table.

He nods politely at your friends. Then lets his gaze drop — just briefly — to your mouth.

And smirks.

Gone in seconds.

The table explodes.

Jules: “There is no way you guys haven’t hooked up.”

Stella: “That’s not just tension. That’s residual tension.”

Solane: “Be honest. Was it a one-time thing or...?”

You stab your fruit with unnecessary force. “It was… a mistake.”

Laughter.

So much laughter.

Jules grins, teeth in her mimosa. “Babe. That kind of mistake leaves hickeys. I can see it.”

You groan and slide lower in your seat.

But later — when he texts you:

Xavier: Tell them you’re not glowing. Then come up here and prove them wrong.

You bite back a smile.