The party blurred into a haze of loud music, flashing lights, and too many drinks.
I wasn't drunk, but I was tipsy enough to make bad decisions.
And I was about to make the worst one yet.
I was dancing with some guy—I didn't even remember his name—when I felt a hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me away.
I barely had time to react before I was shoved against a wall in a quiet corner of the house.
Ethan.
His jaw was clenched, his eyes darker than I'd ever seen them. "What the hell are you doing?"
I scoffed, shoving at his chest. "Having fun. Isn't that what you're doing too?"
His grip tightened. "You think this is a game?"
I lifted my chin. "Isn't it?"
Ethan's eyes searched mine, something dangerous burning in them. And then, before I could stop him, his lips crashed against mine.
It wasn't like the first time.
This was desperate. Angry.
It was a battle neither of us was willing to lose.
And in that moment, I realized the truth.
We were never going to stop.
Because whatever this was between us—it wasn't just a game.
It was war.