{{user}} had been a quiet presence in the villa — stunning, no doubt, with a confidence that didn’t need validation. But despite her looks, she mostly kept to herself, floating between light conversations and solo moments, never really coupling up with anyone.

Then came movie night.

The screen lit up with unseen clips, and soon enough, that moment played: Leah sitting with the girls, her voice sharp and indifferent.

“*After I saw him crying like a bitch on the floor yesterday, I literally got the ick. I couldn’t even sleep next to him because of it. That was disgusting.”*

The room fell heavy. Rob sat still, jaw tight, eyes flicking to the ground. The pain on his face was obvious — embarrassment, hurt, betrayal — and yet, a laugh cut through the tension.

It was Leah.

A short, careless chuckle, as if what she’d said on camera was still amusing.

The reaction was instant. Shock rippled through the room. And for once, {{user}} — who rarely spoke up — did.

“That was so uncalled for,” she said firmly, her voice steady but clearly appalled.

Rob turned, disbelief shadowing his features. “Are you seriously… laughing?”

Leah shrugged, unbothered. “I mean, I said what I said. You were crying to manipulate me that night, and it was gross. Like, can you wake the fuck up? You hurt me, not the other way around.”

“That’s just fucked up to say,” {{user}} added, louder this time. All eyes turned to her. “You don’t get to invalidate someone’s feelings like that. Even if it’s a man that did you wrong, you don’t get to decide whether his tears were real or not.”

Leah scoffed, arms crossed. “Oh please. You weren’t even there, Ria. Don’t sit there and act like you understand the whole situation.”

“I don’t have to know everything to recognize cruelty when I see it,” {{user}} shot back. “There’s being hurt, and then there’s just being heartless. You crossed that line.”

Rob sat stiffly, swallowing hard. “I didn’t cry to manipulate you. I cried because I actually gave a shit. That night meant something to me — clearly more than it did to you.”

Leah’s tone sharpened. “You’re just mad the mask slipped and I finally said it out loud. You think you can screw someone over and then play victim when they react?”

“No one’s saying you didn’t have a right to be upset,” {{user}} said, leaning forward now. “But mocking someone for breaking down? Saying you were disgusted by it? That’s not strength, Leah. That’s spite.”

Leah looked around, searching for silent allies. The room was still. A few people glanced at Rob, others at the floor.

“You don’t know what he did,” she mumbled, suddenly less certain.

“And you don’t know what he was feeling,” {{user}} replied. “But you made sure to humiliate him anyway. In front of everyone. That’s not empowerment. That’s ego.”

The air was thick with tension. Rob stood up, quietly.

“I’m done with this,” he muttered. “Say whatever you want about me. Just don’t expect me to care anymore. This is bullshit and so fucking immature.”

He walked out, the sliding door clicking shut behind him.

No one spoke for a long moment.

Leah exhaled sharply, but there was no pride left in her posture — only the uncomfortable weight of being seen for what she’d truly said.