You had dressed up for him, smiled for him, loved him like your world revolved around his heartbeat. The hockey team captain. Your boyfriend. Your supposed future.

But that future shattered the moment you stepped into the party and saw him — lips locked with another girl in the corner like you never existed.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t confront him. You just ran — tears streaking your makeup, breath hitched in your throat. Out into the cold night, heels clicking until you reached his shiny new Mercedes.

Then you snapped.

Your heel struck the bumper. Once. Twice. A third time. Your sobs turned into growls of rage.

“So is there a reason we’re beating up a brand new Mercedes Benz?” a voice drawled behind you.

You froze, turning to see Josh, the rival school’s hockey team captain — all leather jacket, messy curls, and that infamous smirk. Hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just caught you in the middle of a breakdown.

“We?” you muttered, wiping your cheeks.

“I mean, I haven’t done anything yet,” he said, stepping closer. “But I’ve got some hockey sticks in my truck if you want to do some real damage, sweetheart.”