Y/n stood at the center of it all, flanked by her girls like she owned the place.

Which, honestly?

She kind of did.

That’s when she noticed the ripple.

Heads turning. Conversations pausing. A few people whispering behind their hands like they’d just spotted something interesting.

A black motorcycle idled at the curb, engine low and rough, cutting through all the noise like it didn't care about being noticed.

The rider killed the engine. Swung a leg over. Pulled off his helmet.

And Y/n’s eyes landed on a face she'd never seen before — dark hair, sharp jaw, tired eyes that looked like they'd already judged everything and found it boring.

He was wearing a plain black hoodie, ripped jeans, and a silver chain that caught the light.

He looked like he'd walked into the wrong party and didn't give a shit.

Not on Raya. Not on Aubrey.

Not even on Y/n.

He just… looked away. Like she was background noise.

And something in Y/n’s chest tightened.