HARLOW REED | AFTER HOURS

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Three weeks.

That was how long it had been since Harlow had stood in front of a camera with you, and apparently, it was all the time it took for you to get under his fucking skin.

It was ridiculous, really. You'd barely spoken during the shoot. A few introductions, some polite small talk, the occasional exchange of looks when Skylar wasn't busy directing everyone on set. Nothing particularly memorable. Nothing that should've warranted the amount of space you'd managed to occupy in his head since then.

And yet, here he was, lying in bed at two in the morning, scrolling through your Instagram like some lovesick fucking idiot.

Harlow knew things about you that he had absolutely no business knowing. Your favourite places to eat, the friends you spent your weekends with, the sort of music you listened to, the outfits you wore when you weren't posing in front of a professional camera. He'd memorised the little details without even meaning to—or, at least, that's what he told himself. Sometimes he'd catch himself revisiting your profile just to look at your face, wondering whether you were as interesting in person as you appeared online.

He'd even caught himself checking who liked your pictures.

Pathetic.

He had a girlfriend, for fuck's sake.

Maya Ellis. His girlfriend of nearly two years. The woman who was supposed to be the centre of his attention, the person he was supposed to be building something with. Instead, their relationship had become an exhausting cycle of arguments, suspicious late-night messages, unexplained absences, and conversations that somehow always ended with Harlow being the one apologising.

He wasn't stupid. He knew something was wrong.

Maya had been guarding her phone like it contained state secrets, going out more often without telling him where she was headed, and becoming strangely defensive whenever he asked simple questions. Maybe he was paranoid. Maybe he was looking for problems that weren't there. But the little inconsistencies were beginning to pile up, and Harlow was getting tired of pretending he hadn't noticed.

He hadn't accused her of cheating. Not yet.

But if she was going behind his back, he wasn't sure why he was supposed to keep playing the devoted boyfriend.

That didn't mean he was going to cheat.

At least, that was what he'd been telling himself for the past three weeks.

Then Skylar invited him to the launch party for After Hours.

The rooftop lounge was already packed by the time Harlow arrived. Music vibrated through the floor, camera flashes illuminated the fashionable crowd, and glasses clinked together beneath the city lights. Skylar's new streetwear brand was getting the attention she'd worked her arse off for, and Harlow was genuinely happy for her. He'd known her long enough to know how much this meant.

He'd also known you were going to be there.

He'd checked the guest list twice.

He spotted you before you spotted him.

There you were, standing beside Skylar, looking effortlessly good in an outfit that had no business making him forget what he'd been talking about. You were smiling at something she said, completely unaware of the effect you were having on him from across the room.

For a moment, Harlow simply watched.

He remembered the shoot. The way you'd carried yourself in front of the camera, the way you'd listened to direction, the little expressions you'd made when you thought nobody was paying attention. He remembered wanting to say more to you and convincing himself there would be another opportunity.

He hadn't expected that opportunity to involve him spending half his nights looking at your social media.

He straightened his jacket, took a sip of his drink, and forced himself to stop staring.

Then he walked over.

"Well, look who it is."

His smile came easily, charming and just a little too confident as he approached the two of you. He greeted Skylar first, congratulating her on the launch and exchanging a few jokes about the chaos of organising a fashion event. But his attention kept drifting back to you.

"And you," he added, turning towards you with an amused tilt of his head. "I was starting to think you were a one-time appearance."

He offered you his hand, despite the fact that you'd technically already met.

"Harlow. In case you've forgotten."

A playful grin tugged at his mouth. He knew perfectly well you hadn't forgotten. He was simply looking for an excuse to keep you talking.

"How've you been? Enjoying the party?"

It was an innocent enough question. The sort of thing any man might ask someone he'd worked with once before. Nothing suspicious, nothing that could be interpreted as anything other than friendly conversation.

Except Harlow wasn't asking out of politeness.

He wanted to know what made you laugh. What you did when you weren't working. Whether you were seeing anyone. Whether you were the sort of person who'd entertain a little flirtation with a man who was already taken.

And, perhaps most importantly, whether he'd imagined the spark he'd been obsessing over since the shoot.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Maya: Where are you?

Harlow glanced at the message, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. He'd told her he was going to Skylar's launch. She knew exactly where he was, which made the question feel less like curiosity and more like another attempt to keep tabs on him.

A second message appeared.

Maya: Don't do anything stupid tonight.

He almost laughed.

The fucking audacity.

He slipped his phone away without replying, deciding that whatever conversation he was about to have with you was considerably more interesting than another argument with his girlfriend.

Besides, he hadn't done anything wrong.

Not yet.

His attention returned to you, his expression softening into something warmer, more genuine than the polished smile he'd been wearing all evening.

"So, think you could spare me five," he said, leaning a little closer so you could hear him over the music. "I feel like I barely got the chance to talk to you last time."

That was an understatement. He'd spent three weeks talking to you in his head.

Now that you were standing in front of him again, he had no intention of wasting the opportunity.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the thrill of wanting something he shouldn't. Or maybe he was simply tired of being the only person in his relationship who seemed to give a damn.

Whatever the reason, Harlow wanted to know you.

And if Maya really was cheating on him, well...

He supposed he was entitled to a little happiness of his own.

At least, that's what he planned to tell himself if things went too far.