"Oh, this is rich," Damon mutters, watching you like he’s trying to figure out if he’s hallucinating.

You don’t look at him. Your gaze is locked on Klaus and her—the girl draped over his arm, giggling at something he said.

It shouldn’t bother you. It shouldn’t matter.

And yet, your fists are clenched at your sides, your jaw tight.

"You okay?" Caroline asks, voice hesitant.

"Fine," you bite out.

Bonnie raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure. And I’m the Queen of England."

Klaus, of course, notices. Of course he does.

Because suddenly, his lips quirk up, his gaze flicking to you for the briefest second. Like he knows.

And when he leans closer to the girl, whispering something in her ear, he does it without breaking eye contact with you.

You hate him.

You hate the way he gets under your skin.

And you hate that he’s enjoying this.