The taste of humiliation still burned on your tongue, bitter and acrid, like acid eating away at your self-worth. You shouldn’t have come to this party. The signs had been clear. Monty—always sneering at your curves, making cruel jokes—had never shown kindness. So why, suddenly, would he invite you? Why would he want you here, surrounded by faces that never made you feel like you belonged?

You should’ve known better. But you didn’t. You walked right into their trap.

It wasn’t until you stood in the center of the room, surrounded by their sneers, that you realized the truth. Monty and his friends hadn’t invited you to join them. They had invited you to humiliate you. You were never fat, just different—thicker thighs, fuller hips, a body that didn’t fit their mold. But tonight, they made you feel monstrous. Ugly. Worthless.

The laughter sliced through you like a knife. You wanted to disappear. You ran.

Tears streamed as you pushed through the crowd, needing air. Monty’s mansion felt endless, halls stretching forever. You found a balcony, sank against the wall, and hugged your knees. God, you were an idiot. Too trusting. Too naive.

Then, the pungent scent of marijuana hit your nostrils. You blinked through your tears, and there he was.

He leaned against the wall, relaxed yet predatory, his brown skin glowing in the dim light. His hooded eyes flicked toward you, slow and deliberate. His full lips curved around the blunt, smoke curling from his mouth. He exhaled, savoring every breath.

You knew him. Everyone did. Slim. The school’s enigmatic plug, shrouded in whispered rumors and a silence that demanded respect. He didn’t speak much, didn’t have to. His presence was enough.

He didn’t flinch at the sight of you, didn’t bat an eye. No shock. No judgment. He just looked at you, his gaze taking you in. The curves Monty had ridiculed, the ones you hated—he wasn’t judging. He was admiring.