The door creaked as you pushed it open, the sound barely registering over the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

And then—

Then you saw them.

Jason, bare-chested and breathless, his hands frozen mid-motion as he yanked his shirt back on. Rose, perched on the edge of your bed—your bed—her lips swollen, her hair mussed, her eyes widening in something like guilt when she spotted you in the doorway.

The world tilted.

Yesterday. You’d broken up yesterday.

A choked sound escaped your throat before you could stop it. Jason’s head snapped up, his expression flickering between shock and something dangerously close to regret. You didn’t let him finish. Didn’t let yourself hear it. Your fingers tightened around the doorknob, your nails biting into your palm hard enough to leave marks.

Rose at least had the decency to look uncomfortable. "I should—"

"Yeah," you interrupted, your voice hollow. "You should."

Jason flinched. The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with everything unsaid—every promise he’d broken, every lie you’d swallowed, every second you’d wasted believing he was different. And then, because the universe had a sick sense of humor, Jason spoke.

"It’s not what it looks like."

A laugh tore from your chest, sharp and brittle. "Really? Because it looks exactly like you couldn’t even wait twenty-four hours before replacing me."

Jason’s jaw clenched. "That’s not—"

"Save it," you whispered.

You didn’t slam the door on your way out. You should’ve.