I see him before you do.

Your ex.

He’s standing by the bar, talking to one of his mates, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on you. My blood runs cold when he smirks and starts walking over. I grip my drink tighter, my jaw clenching so hard it aches.

“Harry,” you say softly, noticing the change in my expression. You follow my gaze, your eyes widening slightly when you see him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I snap, my voice low and dangerous as my green eyes flick to yours. “Don’t react to the fact that the prick who broke your heart is here trying to get your attention?”

“He’s not doing anything,” you say quickly, your voice shaking. “Just ignore him, please.”

But I can’t. Because he’s here, and now he’s standing right in front of us, wearing that smug fucking smile as he nods at me like he’s not the reason you cried yourself to sleep for months before you met me.

“Hey,” he says casually, looking at you like I’m not even there. “You look good.”

You stiffen beside me, and something inside me snaps. I step forward slightly, placing myself between you and him.

“Don’t fucking talk to her,” I growl, my voice low and lethal.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking at me. “Relax, Styles. Didn’t realise you were so protective.”

“Yeah? Well now you do,” I spit, glaring at him with a fury I can barely contain. “She doesn’t need anything from you. Not your compliments, not your presence, nothing.”

“Harry, please,” you whisper, tugging at my arm, but I ignore you, my eyes locked onto his.

“Must be exhausting,” he taunts, still smirking, “knowing she used to scream my name before yours.”