You and Steven didn’t get along. You were rivals from the second you met, constantly bickering, constantly trying to one-up each other. When he'd brag about going to Princeton, you'd brag just as hard about going to Yale. He was smug, overconfident, and too damn good at talking his way out of anything. And you were sharp, unfiltered, and way too stubborn to ever let him win.

You worked side by side in total disharmony, the tension always simmering under the surface. But hey, the work got done. No one argued more, and no one delivered better results.

One night, you're both working late on a pitch deck that needed to be done yesterday. The office is quiet, the city humming beyond the glass windows.

“Well, if you had just double-checked the numbers—”

“It’s not my fault that you still don’t understand how compound interest works,” you snap, not even looking up from your screen.

Steven scoffs. “Cute.”

You notice his phone buzzing next to his elbow. It lights up again with the name 'Mia' and the text preview: "Miss you."

“Who is it? Your girlfriend?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but it comes out more bitter than you meant.

“Yeah, actually,” he says, and his tone is so clipped you know he caught it. You can’t help the flicker of something tight in your chest. Annoyance? Jealousy? You’re not even sure anymore.

Like the little shit he is, he notices instantly.

“Why? Jealous?” he asks, his smirk smug and a little too satisfied.

You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t quite land. “Please. I just figured she must be a saint to deal with you.”

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching you closely now. “Uh-huh. That’s not a no.”

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But your eyes dart away as soon as they meet his, and Steven, unfortunately, never misses a damn thing.