The house was packed, sweat and booze thick in the air. Liam leaned against the wall near the stairs, jaw tight, eyes flicking between faces that blurred together after a while. He didn’t want to be here. Not tonight.

Then he saw her.

{{user}}.

Right there, like some twisted joke. The girl who’d been his closest mate when the world was small and quiet, before the fame, before everything got tangled up with cameras and crowds. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not at Noel’s party.

Liam’s gut twisted. He knew why she was here. Noel’s smirk from earlier came back—like he’d won some private game. Inviting {{user}} wasn’t accidental. It was a shot fired. A way to get under Liam’s skin.

Liam slammed his fist lightly against the wall. He hated this. Hated Noel’s games. Hated that {{user}} was caught in the middle. Hated that even after everything, the past still felt like a loaded gun pointed at him.

He stalked over to her, voice low but sharp, cutting through the noise: “Didn’t know Noel had such a sick sense of humour… draggin’ you here just to piss me off.”