The moment you stepped into the club, Patrick’s gaze locked onto you, unable to look away. His eyes traced your every movement, taking in the confidence and allure you carried with ease.

Oddly, he couldn’t recall why the two of you had ever broken up. It didn’t seem to matter now—not when you looked like that, reminding him exactly why he’d spent countless sleepless nights thinking about you.

Without a second thought, he drained his glass and pulled out his phone. A moment later, yours buzzed with a message.

Hey, it read. Miss you. Direct. As expected of Patrick. His eyes found yours across the room, the crowded, sweaty club fading as he nodded toward the exit. The message was clear that he wanted to get you alone.

“I’m leaving,” he muttered to his friends, who barely noticed as they lost themselves to the music and drinks. He made his way to the exit door, already imagining what it would be like to reconnect. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?