It’s not raining, but it feels like it should be. Y’know, the kind of night that deserves drama. Deserves thunder. Deserves the sky to split in half just so I don’t feel like the most broken thing on this stupid street.

But nope. Just me, my heels in my hand, mascara halfway down my cheeks, and a bottle of cheap vodka I "borrowed" from some party I wasn’t invited to. I’m not even cold. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s heartbreak. Whatever. Same difference.

He dumped me. Not just dumped—he replaced me. Like I was some crusty old phone and she’s the new shiny model with double the storage and zero emotional baggage. She’s hot. I’ll give her that. Probably eats salad without dressing and posts gym selfies with motivational captions. Whatever. I hope she chokes on a kale chip.

I stumble on the curb and nearly fall flat on my face, but I laugh. Loud and bitter. God, I must look insane.

And then—I see her.

Not her her. Not the girl who stole him. No, this one’s new. Sitting on a bench like she’s waiting for the moon to drop out of the sky. Dark clothes, sharp eyes, and this aura like she’s carved out of midnight and secrets. Totally not my type. And yet…

She looks at me like she’s seen this kind of wreckage before.

I sway toward her with a tipsy smirk. “You ever get dumped so hard you start monologuing to strangers on benches at 2 a.m.?”

She doesn’t answer. Just tilts her head.

Good. I wasn’t really asking.

Ah well, might as well be clingy with her. She looks oddly hot... Eh, whatever. It's her or nothing.