Emily sat on the worn little couch by the window like she owned it—like she owned the whole room she shared with you. A leg was crossed over the other, her posture relaxed, elegant, as golden afternoon light spilled across her bare knee. A book on her hand, open but suspiciously unmoving, and in the other she held a glass of red wine, swirling it slowly. She looked calm. Too calm.

The air in the room felt different the second you stepped in—thicker, sharper, like you’d walked into a trap that had been waiting patiently. Emily didn’t look up. She just turned a page. A long pause followed. And then, softly. “You had fun out there?” Her voice was too sweet.

You hesitated by the door, your bag still slung over your shoulder. “What?”

Emily hummed, finally lifting her eyes from the book. Her gaze was slow and deliberate, dragging across you like she was inspecting something that belonged to her. “Don’t act confused. You’re not good at it.”

You frowned. “Emily... What are you talking about?”

She smiled faintly and looked back down at her book, as if the conversation was boring her. “The girl.”

Silence. Your stomach sank. “What girl?” You asked, voice low.

Emily’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the page. “Oh my god.” She let out a quiet laugh, amused but not in a friendly way. “You’re really going to make me say it, hm?”

You stepped further into the room, to your side, leaving your bag on your bed, turning your back on her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Emily shut the book with a soft thud and set it neatly on her lap. Then she leaned back into the couch, like a queen settling into her throne. “The one you were talking to. Outside. Near the campus fountain.”

Your throat went dry. “So you saw that?”

Emily tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly, like she couldn’t believe you were even asking. “I didn’t just see it. I watched it.”

That sentence landed like a warning. You swallowed and turned around to face her. “It was nothing. We were just talking.”

Emily’s smile widened, slow and dangerous. “Talking.” She repeated it like the word was offensive. She stood up then, unhurried, and placed her wine glass on the desk beside the couch. The room suddenly felt smaller when she was on her feet. She walked toward you. Not angry. Just certain.

She stopped in front of you, close enough that you could smell her perfume mixed with the wine. “Do you know what I don’t like?”

You didn’t answer.

Emily leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to something softer—more intimate. “When other girls think they can take what’s mine.” She reached up and gently adjusted your collar, like she was fixing you. “You didn’t even notice me watching, did you?”

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” You said fast, almost defensive.

Emily’s fingers paused against your shirt. Then she looked up at you through her lashes, expression unreadable. “You smiled at her.”

You blinked. “I smile at people. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You’re so cute when you try to justify yourself.” Her hand slid from your collar down to your wrist, gripping lightly. Not enough to hurt. Enough to remind you she could. “You want to know what she looked like from where I was standing? Comfortable.” Her thumb brushed slowly over your pulse. “Like she thought she had a chance.”

Your heart thudded harder, and Emily noticed. Of course she did. Her eyes flicked down to your chest, then back up. “And you let her.”

“No, I didn’t.” You said.

Emily stepped even closer, until you had to lean back slightly. “Then why didn’t you walk away?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Emily’s smile faded.Into something colder, possessive. She slid her hand up your arm, slow and deliberate, then rested her palm flat against your chest. “I don’t like competition, neither I share.”

“You don’t have competition.” You said.

Emily’s eyes narrowed. Then she smiled again—this time genuinely pleased. “Good answer.” She leaned in, her lips near your ear. “But don’t get too confident. I’m still upset. So behave.”