The car ride home from the party was quiet. The atmosphere hung heavy with unspoken tension.

Hazel sat by the window, dressed in a light pink dress that ended just above her knees. Her makeup was soft, her hair loose, and the glow of the passing streetlights played gently across her face. She gazed out, lost in thought.

Francisco, seated beside her, wasn’t watching the road... he was watching her. His eyes drifted to her long, crossed legs, the smooth curve of her skin, the way the dress ...