Exposure • h.s.

CHAPTER25.

If someone had told me just a year ago that I'd be crashing influencer parties – those buzzing hives of celebrities– alongside the most idolized singer of our generation, I probably would have burst out laughing. But here I am now, and it feels like the craziest plot twist ever. It's got me thinking about how unpredictable life can be: even with all the careful planning, strategic moves, and long-term goals, one day you can stumble upon a life-changing encounter, come across something that speaks to your soul, choose one path over another, and trigger a series of consequences that defy any predictions.

Against all odds, I'm about to spend a night at an event organized by the team behind an emerging artist, someone I suppose is new to the music scene in Los Angeles.
And I'm here with Harry Styles and his group of friends/colleagues/employees.

What's even more mind-blowing, against all expectations, is I'm actually enjoying all this.

We slyly slip into the main hall where the event is taking place, trying to keep a low profile to avoid becoming the center of attention right away, since, from what I gather, this marks Harry's first venture outside his exclusive inner circle since the tour debacle.

Many had bet on his downfall.

Or maybe many other secretly wished for it – or, in the best-case scenario, hoped he'd check into rehab.

Despite less-than-ideal circumstances, the vibe tonight is way lighter compared to the heavy, lust-filled desperation that seemed to hang over the party last Saturday – the event orchestrated by Zayn.

I'm not entirely sure how we managed to sneak in unnoticed. Strangely, it seems like no one seems to have spotted us just yet.

And tonight, Harry is just... beaming. He moves with confidence, every gesture measured, his laughter precise and deliberate, brimming with a newfound determination. The guys, too, seem carefree to me: they scan the surroundings with curiosity, casting appraising glances at some of the girls brushing past us, and scrutinizing the faces of the other guests, as they're on the hunt for the perfect spot where they can officially set up for the evening.

And me?
I mean, I'm just going with the flow, secretly thrilled to be here, soaking up some good, clean fun after enduring so much solitude.

The event's happening up on the rooftop of this massive glass building, which I guess must be some swanky hotel. The room itself is huge, bathed in crimson lighting, studded with plush couches and round tables that practically scream 'reserved.'
From photo booth stands, and some other stands illuminated with funky LED lights, each showcasing an EP title, I gather this is all about launching an album for some singer I've got zero clue about.

Despite being a rooftop, the music's all indoors, sheltered by this beneath some sort of awning that's open along one side, allowing the evening breeze to flow in effortlessly, giving the venue a pleasant airy feel.

The entire setup screams opulence, with red velvet decor everywhere, just like my cheeks (still burning) after Harry mentioned it's his favorite color, clearly alluding to my panties.

Now, Harry and I? We're like oil and water, always bound to collide thanks to this deep-seated mutual animosity that's been simmering since the day we first laid eyes on each other. We've done our fair share of damage, ripping away any chance to choose a different path than the one we're stuck on.

A shared destiny, you could say.

But beneath all that venom, there's an undeniable tension between us, like an electric current cursing through our veins, surging through our chests, somehow jolting me when he talks to me or even brushes against me, whether by accident or design.