Everyone wanted you. If they didn’t want to be with you, they wanted to be you. Girls studied you like scripture—copied your laugh, your lip color, your taste in men. And still couldn’t get it right. Undeniable. Untouchable. Absolutely unforgettable. Even when they hated you, they followed you. Especially then. They say the worst heartbreaks don’t come from sudden explosions—they come from the slow fading. Like watching a candle die out in a locked room, choking on the smoke before you even realize the fire’s gone. That was James. He didn’t break up with you. He just stopped showing up—started finding excuses to be somewhere else. With her. Lizzie. Your best friend. God, she used to be the one you called when you and James fought. She sat on your couch with red wine and mascara-streaked eyes, whispering, “You deserve better, babe.” All the while, she was studying the cracks in your relationship—so she’d know exactly where to slip in when it broke. And maybe the ugliest truth?You saw it coming. But you didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to be that girl. The paranoid one. The insecure one. The one who pushes people away for nothing. So you swallowed it. Every gut feeling. Every second thought. Every whisper that told you to look closer. She didn’t challenge him. She didn’t call out his bullshit. She didn’t make him feel like he had to be better. She just made him feel right in his mediocrity. She let him stay exactly who he was—and called it happiness. So yeah. Let them smile. Let them pose. Let them pretend they’ve won.

Grace invited you to the party. She’d said, “Everyone wants you to come,” and you weren’t about to hide just because Lizzie was too weak to stay away from someone else’s man. You adjusted the strap of your black ribbed tank top and walked into the kitchen to grab a new drink. You weren’t going to say anything. You’d promised yourself that. But then she followed you in.

“Hey, Maddie” Lizzie said, like everything was fine. Like she hadn’t set your world on fire with a smile.

You turned slowly, letting your eyes sweep over her like she was something stuck to the bottom of your shoe. She was wearing that ugly pink dress—the one that made her look half flamingo, half hoe, her nipples practically visible.

“Look, I didn’t steal him. You guys were broken up—” her face twitched, just a little.

“Three weeks, Lizzie. Huh? You didn’t even let the sheets cool” you scoffed softly, trying to keep your cool as you popped open a beer.

“Shut up, Madeline. You had moved on—you had sëx with Lando a few days later. So cut the fucking bullshit.” Lizzie shot you a glare.

“I’m not an idiot, Lizzie. I know you were only ever my ‘friend’ because you wanted James. That hurts, you know? And don’t think I’m clueless about that blowjöb you gave him on his birthday—while he was still my boyfriend.” you said cold. Not a glare, exactly—more like a slow, cruel smile that let her know you were done pretending.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you—” her eyes blinked wide.

“Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t hurt me. You just proved you’ve always been a slüt” your voice was syrupy-sweet, venom laced beneath every word.

“Did you seriously just call me a slüt, Madeline? Are you insane?” her mouth fell open.

“If the dick fits, sweetheart. And it sure looks like it does.” you gave a quiet, sarcastic laugh, more breath than sound.

“I hate you!” she snapped, suddenly hurling the rest of her drink at you. It hit—cold, soaking you through before you even had time to flinch.

Then—Lando. His arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off your feet in one swift motion.

“Alright. That’s enough, Madz, time to go before she smacks a bottle over your head.” he said, voice low and firm. He carried you outside and set you down gently.