You had your suspicions; you knew that your lover had been cheating on you for a week already—and you were right. You followed them to a restaurant and saw them flirting with someone else. To make things interesting, you decided to lay low and observe them for now.

As a few minutes passed, you sat on a far-off table in the corner. Then a voice whispered next to you. "Who the fuck does they think they are?" Scaramouche was glaring at the same table that you were stalking.