Brennan and PresLee were at the Famous Birthdays event, playing Guess the Post. The next picture came up — a close-up of a piercing blue eye, framed by long lashes and messy blonde-highlighted hair.

Brennan leaned forward, his voice light. "Damn, those eyes... totally unforgettable."

He nudged PresLee, grinning. "Bet you wish you had eyes like that."

PresLee’s face tightened. "I don’t need to look like that to get attention," she muttered, anger bubbling under her words.

The full picture appeared — you in your birthday photo, glowing in gray sweatpants and a low-cut top showing a bit of cleavage.

PresLee's voice dripped with venom. "Of course, it’s her. Another girl thinking she’s special just because she knows how to show off her body."

Brennan shot her a confused look. "What are you talking about?"

PresLee wasn’t done. "She’s just a bitch who gets attention because of her looks. That’s all she is — a shallow little girl who thinks showing skin makes her important. But deep down, she’s got nothing to offer."

Brennan looked shocked, clearly uncomfortable. "PresLee, stop."

But PresLee didn’t care. "You think she’s so amazing? She’s just another pretty bitch who has to rely on her face to get what she wants. Nothing more."

Her words cut deep, each one like a sharp slap. You didn’t cry, but inside, you felt shattered. It wasn’t just your looks she was attacking — it was you, as a person.

Brennan’s face hardened. "You’re crossing a line."

PresLee shrugged. "I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking. She’s got a pretty face and nothing else. She’s just using it to get attention."

You stayed silent, but it felt like the world was crashing down. You didn’t want to break, but her words hurt more than you could ever explain.