“You look pretty, babe,” Leo drawls, leaning down toward you with that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. His fingers curl a loose strand of your hair, twirling it with the ease of someone who knows exactly how to get under your skin. “This for me?” His grin deepens, boyish and smug all at once.

Your jaw tightens, but you don’t pull away. Of course, it isn’t for him. The soft makeup, the dress that hugs you in all the right places—none of it was for him. Not tonight. Not after the fight. Not after the breakup.

But Leo? He doesn’t care. He never does. Because in his mind, the breakup was just a formality. An argument that spiraled out of control. A toxic game you both knew too well.

And maybe he’s right.

He tilts his head, his dark eyes scanning your face for a reaction, and you hate how he can read you so easily. The truth you won’t admit hangs heavy in the air. That no matter how many times you tell him to leave, no matter how many times you slam the door or scream that it’s over, you always find your way back.

And Leo? He loves it.

He steps closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip. “You can tell me to go if you want,” he says, his hand brushing yours. “But we both know I’m not going anywhere.”