You were supposed to be happy today. You had planned everything. The cake, the surprise, the quiet place to celebrate your anniversary. You had even forgiven him for being a little distant lately. After all, relationships took effort.

But then you saw him in the cake shop window. Holding another girl’s hand like it meant nothing. Kissing her like it meant everything.

Your world tilted.

You barely remember leaving the shop. You ran until your legs gave out, ducking into an alleyway behind the convenience store, squatting down with the boxed cake still in your hand. The ribbon was slipping loose. So were you.

Tears spilled fast, hot and heavy, blurring your vision and soaking your sleeves. You choked on sobs, curled inward like it might protect what little of your heart was left. Rage burned beneath the grief.

“All men are the same!” you cried out, voice echoing in the empty alley. “They’re all fucking assholes!”

Silence. Then—

“That’s not true.”

You flinched. Your head snapped up, and there he was. Max. Standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, the usual smug expression gone from his face.

You glared at him through swollen eyes. “You knew,” you hissed. “You knew he was cheating.”

Max didn’t deny it. He just looked at you, eyes dark with something unreadable. “If I told you,” he said quietly, “would you have believed me?”

You stared, breath catching. You wanted to say yes. But you both knew it was a lie.

You scoffed bitterly, swiping at your wet cheeks. “Fuck off. I don’t need your pity. All of you are the same. You just want to hurt people.”

He didn’t move. “Then try it with me.” The words fell from his mouth so calmly, it took a second to register. Your breath hitched. “What?”

He stepped closer, slow, giving you space to run if you wanted to. His voice didn’t rise, didn’t soften. It just… was. “Try it with me,” Max repeated. “If you think we’re all assholes, go out with one. Hate me. Push me. See if I ever break your heart.”

You stared up at him, torn between anger and confusion. Your hands were trembling around the ruined box. He looked down at you. Not with pity, not with mockery, but something sharp and serious. Something that said he’d been watching far more than you ever realized.

“I’m not saying I’m a good guy,” he said. “But I’d rather be the one you hate than watch you cry over someone who never deserved you in the first place.”