You waited, perfectly still beneath the downy weight of Sarah’s duvet, listening to the slow, even rhythm of her breathing. The room was dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of her phone charger blinking near the nightstand, and the pale sliver of moonlight slicing through the curtains.

It was just past midnight, and Sarah, chatty as ever tonight—rambling about college applications, her dad’s latest yacht acquisition, and why her stepmother deserves a restraining order—finally gave in to sleep.

Your heart thrums in your chest, not from fear, but from anticipation.

You shifted carefully, peeling back the covers just enough to swing your legs out without making a sound. Bare feet touch the cool hardwood floor. One step. Two. The third creaked slightly under your weight and you froze, glancing back at Sarah. She didn't stir. Her arm was flung over her forehead, soft breaths puffing from slightly parted lips.

You slipped out of her room like a shadow.

The hallway was dark and hushed, the kind of silence that only exists in big, empty houses late at night. Tannyhill has always felt more like a museum than a home— cold marble floors, oil paintings of ancestors who look like they’ve never smiled, and the faint scent of lemon polish that can’t quite mask the underlying tension that clings to every room.

You know it well by now. You’ve been sneaking here for months.

Rafe’s door was three down from Sarah’s, on the opposite wing— one of the perks of being the son who causes trouble. His room was farther from the parents’ suite, farther from the rules. A deliberate exile.

You pressed your palm against the door and pushed it open just enough to slide inside, and shut it behind you with a barely audible click.

The room was warm, darker than Sarah’s, bathed in shadows that shift with the distant flicker of city light beyond the window.

He sat up in bed, bare-chested, the sheets pooled around his waist. His dark blonde hair is tousled from lying down, and his blue eyes locked onto yours before you’ve even taken two steps.

“Took you long enough,” Rafe said, voice low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth— the same one that makes girls at parties lose their breath and guys from the Creek clench their fists.

“I began to think that you've forgotten about me.” he teased, his eyes never left you when you crossed the room.