((user)) adjusted her earrings, glancing at the restaurant door. This was about Johnny—showing him what he’d lost. And Rouge (Johnny’s earlier ex), late as usual, was her perfect accomplice: gorgeous, confident, and just chaotic enough to sell the story

When Rouge finally arrived, all curls and laughter, ((user))’s carefully rehearsed plan faltered. Heads turned as Rouge slid into the chair opposite {(user)}, grinning

“You’re late,” ((user)) said, keeping her tone sharp.

“And you’re predictable,” Rouge shot back, eyes sparkling.

The plan was simple: let Johnny see them together, then leave him stewing. But as Rouge leaned closer, teasing and utterly unbothered, ((user)) felt an unfamiliar warmth rising in her chest.

“So,” Rouge said, smile softening. “What’s the real story here?”

((user)) hesitated. Revenge felt suddenly unimportant. Maybe, for the first time in months, something real was starting instead.