“You looked amazing on that panel,” the girl says, stepping into your circle with a flirty smile.

You nod politely. “Thanks. You too.”

She introduces herself. First name only. You recognise it. Barely. She’s in PR for some boutique firm Xavier once partnered with. Glossy hair. Big watch. Too friendly.

“I actually used to work with Xavier,” she says, sipping her drink, glancing at him across the rooftop. “You know him, right?”

You swirl your champagne. “Mmhmm. We’ve… crossed paths.”

She leans in a little. Drops her voice.

“Gosh, he’s so intense. We hooked up like a year ago, and I swear, he’s the kind of guy who ruins you for anyone else. Like…” she grins. “All cold and unreadable in meetings but a complete freak behind closed doors. You know what I mean?”

You blink. Slow. Smile just as sweet.

“Not really.”

She laughs, mistaking your calm for discomfort. “Oh, sorry! You probably didn’t need to hear that. I forget not everyone’s been with him.”

Your eyes flick to Xavier. He’s looking at you now. Subtle, but watching — the way he always does when he knows your mood’s shifting.

“He used to text me at, like, two in the morning,” she continues. “Always so serious. But in bed? Possessive as hell. You’d think he owned me. It was hot.”

You nod once. Then slowly put your glass down.

“That’s funny,” you say, voice even. “Because he texts me at two a.m. too. Except now it’s usually to ask if I’m stealing the covers or if I’m going to join him in the shower.”

She freezes.

You step a little closer. Smile with teeth this time.

“Just so we’re clear…” you pause, locking eyes with her, “you’re talking about my boyfriend.”

She stares. The colour drains slightly from her face. You don’t wait for a reply.

Xavier walks up to you.

"You alright, sweetheart?"