You didn’t expect to be stuck at a party with her.

Lizzie.

Hughie’s ex. The one who still lingered around like a bad smell, always managing to show up where she wasn’t wanted. And tonight was no different—loud, confident, and acting like she owned the place, or worse—owned him.

You were standing with Hughie, close enough that your arms brushed, just trying to enjoy the music and not overthink it. Then Lizzie sauntered up, red solo cup in hand and eyes locked on you like a target.

She didn’t even look at Hughie when she spoke.

“Didn’t think you’d still be around,” she said, smirking. “Figured he’d’ve already got bored of playing house with the charity case.”

You blinked. “What?”

She cocked her head, fake-sweet. “I mean… he used to go for girls who actually had something going for them. Clearly his type has changed. No offense.”

You stared at her, the words hitting like a slap and all you could think was: He’ll say something. He has to say something.

But he didn’t.

He just laughed under his breath. Looked at the floor. Said nothing.

You set your drink down slowly. “Yeah, I’m done.”

Later, back at his place, the tension finally boiled over.

“You seriously just stood there and let her talk to me like that?”

“She’s just being… Lizzie,” Hughie muttered, like that was some kind of excuse. “It wasn’t that deep.”