Chapter 3

Ollie's POV

“Yo, you good? You look like you’ve seen a rogue,” Shane says, elbowing my arm hard enough to jolt me out of it.

The word hits sharper than it should.

Rogue.

My jaw tightens automatically. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” I say, but I don’t look at him.

Because I can’t.

My eyes are still locked on her direction like something in me refuses to let go.

That girl.

Even from across the room, half-hidden behind shifting bodies and neon light, I can still pick her out. Dark hair spilling down her back, the kind of effortless beauty that doesn’t look like it’s trying to be noticed, but gets noticed anyway. Small frame, animated hands as she talks, like she’s always mid-thought, mid-laugh, mid-life.

From what I saw of her up there, she was gorgeous.

And that realization does something irritating to my chest. Tightens it. Low and constant, like a pressure I can’t quite name.

Why do I feel like this?

It isn’t attraction the way I’m used to it. It’s sharper. More intrusive. Like something in me has already decided she matters before I’ve even been given a reason.

Instinct.

That’s what makes it worse.

Because instinct is never random.

“Mate,” Shane says quieter now, watching me instead of the crowd, “you’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you stare like you’re about to start a war over nothing.”

I finally drag my eyes away, forcing them down to the bar as I signal for another round. “It’s nothing.”

Shane hums like he doesn’t believe me but lets it drop.

We get our drinks. The noise swells again, laughter spilling from every direction, music thumping through the floorboards.

I should be paying attention to Luca and Adrian somewhere in this mess. I should be relaxed. Present.

Instead, my gaze drifts back.

I hate that it drifts back.

She’s still there.

Still laughing with her friends, shoulders loose now, leaning into them like she belongs exactly where she is. The kind of ease I don’t see often in this city.

And then—

Another guy appears.

Tall. Confident. Sliding into their group like he’s done it before, like he knows how to take up space without asking permission.

He says something.

The change is immediate.

One second she’s laughing easy, unguarded, leaning into her friends like the night is still hers.

The next, it’s gone.

Like someone flicked a switch behind her eyes.

The guy steps fully into their space, and I see it, her posture shifts before she even speaks. Shoulders drawing in slightly. Chin lifting, not in confidence, but in warning. Her smile doesn’t just fade; it disappears like it was never there.

She looks at him like he’s the last person she wants anywhere near her.

And something in me reacts before I even have time to think about it.

That same instinct from before spikes, harder this time. Sharper. Less confusing, more certain.

Not attraction.

Recognition.

Shane notices me stiffen again. “Okay,” he mutters under his breath, following my line of sight. “That’s… not good.”

I don’t respond.

Because my focus is locked.

The guy says something to her. I can’t hear it over the music, but I see her reaction clearly, tight jaw, a small shake of her head like she’s refusing whatever he just offered or demanded. One of her friends shifts closer to her, like backup without words.

Good.

But it doesn’t stop the guy from staying there.

Doesn’t stop him from leaning in slightly, like he thinks persistence will change her answer.

My hand tightens around my glass.

I don’t know her.

I keep reminding myself of that.

But my body doesn’t care.

Neither does whatever the hell this instinct is.

“She knows him?” Shane asks, quieter now.

I watch her again. The way she angles her body subtly away from him. The way her eyes flick to her friends, then back to him, calculating. Uncomfortable. Cornered in a way she’s trying not to show.

“No,” I say finally.

It comes out lower than I expect.

Shane glances at me. “You sure?”

I don’t answer that either.

Because I’m not watching the guy anymore.

I’m watching her.

And every instinct I have, every wired, buried, impossible part of me, goes very still.

Like it’s waiting for something to happen.

The moment his hand moves, everything in me moves faster.

There’s no thought. No decision.

Just instinct.

I’m already crossing the space before I register I’ve left Shane at the bar.

One second I’m watching.

The next I’m there.

Close enough that the air shifts.

My arm slides around her waist without hesitation, firm and protective, pulling her just slightly back into my space, not rough, not forced, but immediate. Like my body already knows where she needs to be before my mind catches up.

She’s small against my side. Warm. Real.

And I don’t look at her.

Not yet.