“Your turn, Will,” Fiona said, her voice teasing as she spun the empty wine bottle in the center of the circle. The dim glow of the flickering candles cast shadows across her sharp cheekbones and the curve of her lips. She leaned forward slightly, her dark hair falling over one shoulder, the neckline of her loose sweater slipping just enough to reveal the faintest hint of collarbone.

The group of six—college friends gathered in Fiona’s cramped, book-strewn apartment—had been playing for an hour, laughing through awkward dares and half-hearted kisses. Will, with his tousled brown hair and a faint scar above his eyebrow, smirked as the bottle slowed, its neck pointing directly at Fiona. “Lucky me,” he said, his tone light but his eyes lingering on her a beat too long.

Fiona raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Better make it count,” she said, leaning in. But as their faces drew closer, the bottle between them suddenly spun on its own, faster and faster, until it stopped with a sharp crack. The room fell silent. Will glanced at Fiona, her wide eyes reflecting the candlelight. “Did you… do that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.