I push through the crowd to catch up with him, reaching out to grab his arm. He spins around so fast I nearly crash into him, and suddenly I'm staring into those piercing blue eyes. The same eyes that have haunted my dreams for weeks now.
The music on the dance floor is deafening, a heavy pulse vibrating through my chest. I lean in, shouting over the noise, "What did you just say?"
Will just grins, pointing to his ear, then shrugs.
Convenient.
I stare at him, unblinking. My pulse thuds against my ribs as I search his face, hoping—praying—I misheard. I try to play it off like it was nothing. Pretend he didn't whisper something soul-shattering and bizarre just minutes ago. Changing the subject feels like my only escape from the surreal spiral I'm tumbling down.
He's freaking me out. Who says things like that to someone they just met?
Crazy people. That's who.
The kind of crazy that hides behind an unreasonably attractive face. The kind that never raises suspicion until it's too late—the quiet, brooding guy no one suspects until headlines scream he was always so polite.
Before I can step back, Will catches my wrist and pulls me toward him. Not hard—just enough to steal my breath. His hand finds the small of my back, warm and possessive, guiding me into the space where his body ends and mine begins. We fit too easily. Too close.
His breath grazes the shell of my ear as the music pulses around us. "Dance with me," he murmurs, low and smooth, like a promise wrapped in sin.
And then we're moving—his hands firm at my waist, mine unsure until they find his shoulders. His body is heat and intention, pressed against mine just enough to make my pulse flutter in all the wrong places.
Every shift of his hips syncs with mine, the space between us electric, taut, and alive. Like the music isn't what's moving us—we're moving each other.
I try to tell myself it's just a dance.
But the way he holds me says otherwise.
Shelby materializes like chaos in heels and smacks my ass with zero warning. I gasp, whip around with a laugh, and swat her right back. "Touch me again and I'm charging rent," I tease, shoving her toward Evan, who catches her like the occasion is just another Tuesday.
Turning back to Will, I raise my voice. "So let me get this straight. Your parents sent you to college as punishment for running away and… whatever other issues you've got going on?"
I wrinkle my nose at him, giving him my best skeptical expression. "I mean, that's a lot to unpack."
He rolls his eyes and keeps dancing, completely unfazed, like trauma dumping in a nightclub is just another part of foreplay. Then, casually, like it means nothing, he takes my hands and places them around his neck. Bold. I raise a brow but don't pull away. Of course I don't. Because apparently, I've decided common sense is optional tonight. The music shifts, slower now—something dark, smooth, and suggestive—and suddenly we're moving in sync, closer than necessary, closer than safe. And I'm letting it happen. Worse—I like it.
"No, that's not how it happened," he says finally, his lips close to my ear. "I was already enrolled, living on campus. But after a few indiscretions, my father insisted I was escorted by guards. To and from class. Like a criminal."
"Wait," I blink. "Guards? Like… actual people with suits and earpieces?"
He gives me a look. "You say that like it's not normal."
"So you're rich?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Like, bodyguards-on-campus rich?"
"I don't use their money," he says, cool and casual. "I made my own. But they tried to buy my love anyway. Lavish gifts. Lavish rules. Smothering expectations."
"So… let me get this straight. You ran away from a life of luxury, private schooling, and overbearing matchmaking?" I arch a brow. "Sounds… tragic."
His mouth twitches at the corners. "You think I'm spoiled."
"I think I don't know what to think," I admit, still trying to decode him. "Maybe you're running from something. Maybe you're just allergic to being told what to do. Maybe both."
"What if I told you I ran to something?" he asks, voice low, pulling me closer.
I try not to read into that. But it's difficult when he looks at me like I'm the reason he crossed continents.
"Is your family abusive?" I ask before I can stop myself. The thought flashes uninvited—his soft rebellion, the shadows behind his eyes, the way he flinched when I asked about home.
"No," he says gently, shaking his head. "They've never done anything I didn't bring on myself. I love them. But I hate what they try to turn me into—some polished, passive version of their legacy. They keep trying to pair me off with these... mannequins. Perfect smiles. No soul. No spark."
His gaze lingers on mine, like a spark that means something specific.
"They want someone who'll reflect their values," he continues. "But I want someone who mirrors my fire."
I open my mouth to reply, but Shelby and Evan return, laughing and breathless from the dance floor.
Will steps back slightly, letting the spell between us fade. Conversation paused. Tension shelved. Just like that, we're no longer alone.
The rest of the night blurs into flashes and fragments. I dance with Evan, spinning through laughter and lights. Shelby snatches Will for a turn, shooting me a wink like she's testing something. Then it's just me and her again—laughing until we can't breathe, hair damp with sweat, mascara smudged, the music pounding like a second heartbeat we've surrendered to. For a little while, it feels like being fifteen again—wild, weightless, and untouched by the world.
At one point, I feel him before I see him—Will, standing just beyond the lights, drink forgotten in his hand. His eyes are locked on me, searing through the distance with something raw and devastating. Not lust. Not even longing. Something older. Deeper. It feels as though the mere act of gazing at me is simultaneously shattering and healing him. Like he's remembering something I haven't let myself feel yet.
It makes my chest ache.
I look away before I fall apart.
But no matter how many songs we dance through, my thoughts keep drifting back to Will. To the words he said. The words I pretended not to hear.
"You are mine. Forever and always."
My brain won't let it go. It spins on repeat, tangling with logic and fear and something far more dangerous: curiosity.
I don't ask him about it. Not tonight.
But I will.
And when I do… I'm not sure I'll be ready for the answer.