The music thrums like a heartbeat on the edge of something reckless, but Vi doesn’t hear it. All she hears is Rosie—her laughter, slicing through the room like it still belongs to Vi.

She sees her instantly.

Pressed against that sweet-eyed boy like comfort. Like safety. He touches her like she’s porcelain.

Vi nearly laughs.

Rosie was never porcelain. She was wildfire. And Vi? She was the one who knew how to burn with her.

Now Rosie’s kissing him—slow, deliberate, drawn out like a blade. Not affection. A message.

Vi feels every second of it like a bruise.

And then Rosie looks up. Just for a beat. Past his shoulder.

Straight. At. Her.

Vi doesn’t blink.

Rosie turns, walks away like nothing. Like she didn’t just tear Vi open with her mouth.

Vi follows.

The bathroom hums with silence and heat. Rosie leans over the sink, breathing like she’s trying to hold herself together.

Vi steps in. Closes the door.

“You really brought him here?” Low. Rough. Unsteady.

Rosie doesn’t turn.

“He’s good to me.”

Vi exhales a jagged laugh. “Is that what you want now? Good?”

She moves closer. Close enough to taste the lie lingering in the air.

“Does he make you feel anything?” Her voice soft, dangerous. “Or do you just lie there and picture me?”

Rosie turns. Fast. Her eyes lit with fire and something rawer beneath.

Vi sees the ghost of that kiss on her lips.

And fuck—she wants to ruin her for it.

Wants to grab her by the waist and press her against the mirror. Kiss her until everything else disappears. Until Rosie forgets how to be good. Until she remembers how to be hers.

Vi steps in close—almost touching. Her breath catches.

“Do you love him?” she whispers.

But what she means is: Say no. Say my name instead.