The night had started with glamour, flashing lights, and the promise of a good time. Jenna had been excited about it all week—Enrique had been talking her ear off about some exclusive club opening, and with how busy she had been with filming, she wanted a night out. You weren’t against it, not at first. You were used to the lifestyle, the red carpets, the industry events, the extravagant parties where people whispered about things you didn’t care to hear. But something about tonight felt… different.

Maybe it was how quickly Jenna got caught up in the scene—the way Enrique hyped her up, dragging her from one conversation to the next, barely sparing you a glance.

It had started small. Little things. A dismissive nod when you tried to talk to her. A laugh at something Enrique said, but nothing when you made a joke. The way she seemed to be having the time of her life, and you? You were just there.

Then the drinks started flowing, and suddenly, it wasn’t just small things anymore.

The club was dark, pulsing with neon lights and music that vibrated through your bones. People danced close, whispered in ears, pressed drinks into hands. Jenna had a drink in one hand and Enrique pulling her towards the dance floor with the other.

You watched as she let him. Watched as she got lost in the music, in the crowd, in everything but you.

That’s when it happened.

When she finally turned, when her gaze met yours across the room, and there was something in her expression—something unreadable, something distant.

And that’s when you knew.

You weren’t just upset. You were furious.

Jenna finally notices the tension, the way you’re standing there, jaw clenched, arms crossed. She pushes through the crowd, stopping in front of you, her expression shifting from confusion to frustration.

“Are you seriously going to ruin the night over nothing?”