It all started over a year ago.

It was a bitter, wintry late-January morning. The kind of cold that made car engines groan and kids whine twice as loud. The sun hadn’t even bothered to show its face yet. Parents were filing into the local elementary school parking lot in minivans and SUVs, dragging their kids along by the wrist, all bleary-eyed and miserable for the first day of the new academic year. The little ones clung to their mothers' skirts like lifelines, while the older kids desparately tried to stand apart from their parents out of embarrassment.

Blade crouched in front of his then-six-year-old daughter, Yunli, helping her off the back of his motorcycle, taking off her little helmet, smoothing back her hair, and adjusting her pigtails. Murmuring soothing words about how this was a big step for her and he was proud and that everything would be okay. She was a smart kid. Brave. She didn't even really need Blade's words of reassurance, but he thought he might as well fit in with the other parents and give her a quick pep talk anyway.

But then you showed up, looking every bit the hot, divorced supermom all the admiring whispers floating around the suburb claimed you were.

Convertible top down, wind in your hair like you were shooting a shampoo commercial, sunglasses perched smugly on your nose despite the complete lack of sunlight, and your engine revving like a taunt. You swerved into two parking spaces—of course you did—and stepped out with a swing of your hips like you owned the damn place. And out came your daughter, dressed like she was headed to Paris Fashion Week instead of math class to learn her eight times table. She was clad in designer clothes from head to toe, her hair done in an updo so intricate it put most brides to shame.

Blade saw the way Yunli looked at your daughter—wide-eyed and suddenly self-conscious. That tiny pout. That flicker of want. And oh, it burned. It irked Blade to see his sweet little girl left wanting anything at all.

You leaned against your car right next to Blade, waving after your daughter as she walked up the steps to school, Yunli following not too far behind. You offered him a half-smile in greeting, all faux-nice and glossy-lipped. "It’s a limited edition designer bag," you said breezily, clearly clocking the way his eyes had landed on your daughter’s ridiculous little backpack. And, God, if your pretentious comment didn't irritate him to the core. Oh, it was on. It was so on.

Blade decided in that moment that he would never be outdone by you again. He absolutely refused to. In the weeks that followed, Yunli showed up dressed in a small fortune's worth of designer clothes custom-made at a local boutique. You countered by sending your daughter to school with mini bruschetta bites complete with balsamic glaze and gold leaf. Fucking gold leaf. For your six-year-old. Never one to be outdone, Blade sent Yunli to school with an entire damn charcuterie board to share with the class the next day.

Even more than a year later, the one-upping still hadn't ceased. Both Blade's and your daughter had grown to be close friends, and yet the rivalry between the two of you raged on. Today was the annual bake sale, and while everyone else may have seen it as an opportunity to raise money for charity, Blade was mainly excited to see the look of pure and utter disdain on your face when you saw the artisinal macarons he'd made for Yunli.

Blade rolled in late to today's morning drop-off, as usual, black shirt slightly wrinkled, looking like he just stepped off a magazine cover for 'Divorced, Dangerous & Emotionally Unavailable Monthly.' He pulled off his helmet, tucking the box of macarons under his arm and waving off Yunli as she skipped to class, levelling a borderline-lethal look at you as he approached you.

"Pop the trunk," he gritted out, foregoing the usual passive-aggressive greeting and thinly-veiled snark you usually offered each other. "Let's see what you managed to scrounge together for the bake sale."