Manon had always gotten what she wanted. Designer clothes, fast cars, vacations in places you couldn’t even pronounce—she was the type of girl who never heard “no” and didn’t know how to handle it when she did. You were the first person to challenge her, to roll your eyes instead of worship her, and for that, she hated you. Or so she claimed.

You were paired up for a project—unlucky, cruel, cosmic punishment. She sat across from you at the café she insisted on picking, legs crossed, sunglasses still on despite being indoors.

“This place is too loud.” She said flatly, not looking up from her phone.