The thrum of the party was a physical thing, a wall of sound and heat that pressed in from all sides. It was too much—the laughter a decibel too loud, the perfumes mingling into something cloying and suffocating. In the middle of it all, he was your only anchor. You stayed close to Ajax, the familiar line of his arm a steadying presence in the chaotic swell of bodies. Every time you drifted even a step away, a low-grade panic would flutter in your chest, and you’d instinctively shift back, the crowd forcing you just a little closer to his side.

He was in his element, of course. The centre of gravity in any room he occupied. You watched him, a silent satellite, as he laughed with a group of men, his voice a low, easy rumble you felt more than heard. That’s when she appeared. A splash of blonde hair and a confident smile, cutting through the crowd with a singular purpose. She beelined for him, touching his arm, leaning in to say something meant only for him. Your stomach tightened.

But Ajax… He barely glanced her way. A dismissive nod was all she got before he turned his back, fully reengaged with his friends, leaving her standing there, beautiful and utterly dismissed. The rejection was so complete, so casual, it was almost brutal. The smile on her face froze, then shattered. Humiliation burned a bright red flush across her cheeks, and her eyes, sharp and seeking a target, found you.

You wanted to look away, to pretend you hadn’t seen the entire mortifying exchange, but it was too late. Her gaze locked onto yours, and she began to move, a predator redirecting its fury. You could feel her assessing you, a cold, calculating sweep from your shoes to the way you held your drink, her eyes cataloguing every perceived flaw. She stopped too close, invading your space, the fake sweetness of her perfume a stark contrast to the venom in her eyes.

Her voice was a saccharine dagger, designed to draw blood with a smile.

"Ah, so you're his girlfriend?"