Manon was the kind of ex people never quite got over—sharp-tongued, effortlessly gorgeous, and the reason every girl you dated after her had something to prove. You’d been broken up for a while now, but she still haunted your name like a ghost with unfinished business. Everyone knew about her. Everyone compared to her. And Manon? She didn’t seem to mind one bit.

You spotted her across the room at the party, drink in hand, black eyeliner sharp enough to cut. The moment her eyes met yours, she smirked—slow, deliberate, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Your current girlfriend tightened her grip on your hand. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

You didn’t need to answer. Manon was already walking over.

She greeted you like no time had passed, brushing hair from her face with practiced ease. “New girl?” She asked sweetly, eyes flicking toward the girl beside you. “Cute. Not really your type though.”

Your girlfriend bristled, but Manon was already leaning in, lips close to your ear. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’m not here to win you back. I just like reminding people why they’ll never measure up.”