Page 42 of Spotlight Hearts

My cock throbs—painfully hard now, straining against denim. I have to shift again, press my hips subtly against the railing to hide it.

“Then why—” I’m not even sure what I want to ask. This isn’t all on him. Tonight definitely took two to make it happen, and we both basically ran scared the second the lights went down.

“This isn’t real, Luca. We both know that.” He finally turns to face me. “It’s supposed to be for the fans, to keep our numbers up. If we let it cross that line—if we…”

I watch him, a sinking feeling in my stomach. He’s letting me down easy. And he’s right, we can’t be more. I can’t let him finish his sentence, this conversation is not going the route I expected, and there is no way I’m going to show him my disappointment.

“Professional. We just keep it professional. Attraction is normal when you are forced into the situations we have been put in. We can’t let it get real, not off stage, but we can use it. We can sell this attraction hard under the lights. Or on our fake dates that Harry wants us to go on. We can lean into it, make it look like we’re barely holding back. But we don’t act on it anywhere else, nothing that isn’t for the cameras.”

He exhales again and then rolls his lips between his teeth. Part of me wants him to tell me no that it isn’t what he wants. So I hold my breath waiting for his response. He nods.

“Professional,” he echoes. “Yeah, of course. Then we can’t screw it all up.”

The words taste bitter, but I force a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. Professional.”

The silence that follows isn’t comfortable. It’s heavy—full of everything we’re both refusing to say. I can feel the rejection settling in my chest like wet concrete, making it hard to breathe, hard to keep the smile from cracking.

Kai shifts his weight, glances back toward the glass doors where the party lights pulse red and gold. “I’m gonna get back to Laney.”

I nod. My throat is closing up—tight, burning, emotions I’m not willing to voice clawing their way up. If I open my mouth right now, I might say something stupid. Something like I don’t want professional. I want you. I want this to be real. But I don’t. I can’t. Not when he’s already drawing the line.

“Yeah,” I manage. “Go ahead.”

He hesitates—just a second—then turns and walks back inside. The door closes behind him with a soft click, muffling the music, leaving me alone on the balcony with the city lights and the cold night air.

I stay there.

Leaning on the railing, staring at the skyline without really seeing it. My hands grip the metal until my knuckles ache. My dick is still half-hard, a traitorous reminder of how close I came to telling him how much I still want him. I drag a hand over my face, trying to shake it off and fail.

My phone is in my pocket. I pull it out before I can talk myself out of it.

Open TikTok.

Search #Kuca.

The feed floods instantly—clips from tonight’s show. The moment during “Starlight Ruin”: my arm around his waist, hand sliding under his shirt, dragging up his bare skin. His head falling back against my shoulder. His hand drifting up from my thigh, brushing over the obvious bulge in my leather pants. The way my hips jerked forward. The crack in my voice on the line I was supposed to sing.

The comments are feral.

Kuca4life: “THE BREAK IN HIS VOICE??? HE LITERALLY MOANED KAI’S NAME ”

KaiLover: “that hand placement was NOT choreographed i’m screaming”

ForeverKuca: “they’re so gone for each other it hurts”

ThornsofaRose: “Now, kiss. Or fuck. I’d watch both.”

I close out of the comments and watch it again. And again. Each loop twists the knife deeper—because it was real. Every second of it, and he still walked away and chose to be “professional.”

I lock the phone and shove it back in my pocket. Take a long, shaky breath. Then I straighten, forcing my face into something neutral. Something that looks like I’m fine.

I push the door open and step back into the party.

The music swallows me. Lights flash. Laughter rolls over the crowd. Michael’s in the corner with a group of the crew and some lucky fans, already loud and red-faced from whatever he’s drinking. Min-ho’s talking to Laney—quiet and serious, the way he gets when he’s trying to figure something out. Kai’s at the bar now, back to me, shoulders tense.

I mingle with everyone, but no one notices I’m off.

No one sees the way my smile doesn’t reach my eyes. The way my hands are shaking just a little when I grab a drink from a passing tray. The way I keep glancing at Kai even though I tell myself not to.