The party had started small—just a few of Cameron’s friends, low music, drinks. I didn’t want to be there, but something pulled me downstairs anyway.
Maybe it was the thrill.
Maybe it was the promise he made last night—the one that echoed in my mind on repeat:
“I won’t knock next time.”
I wore a black dress that barely covered my thighs. Not because I wanted attention. Just because I knew he’d hate it.
The minute I entered the living room, I felt his eyes. I didn’t have to look. I felt his gaze like fingers on my skin—hot, possessive, furious.
He was sprawled on the couch with a drink in his hand, talking to some girl I didn’t recognize, but his eyes were all over me. And when she touched his arm, I watched him flinch like it burned.
He wanted me, and I knew it.
So I played with fi
