The audacity she had.

There was Dominique, standing way too close to Carl, all up in his space like she had any right to be. Like she hadn’t humiliated him, cheated, and then acted like the victim. Like she could just waltz back into his life and pretend none of it ever happened.

Your fingers twitched.

She was leaning against his locker, that flirty smile plastered on, twirling a strand of her hair like she was some innocent, clueless girl. Like she didn’t know exactly what she was doing.

Carl, to his credit, looked completely unbothered—jaw tight, hands shoved in his pockets, giving her nothing. He wasn’t buying whatever bullshit she was selling. But Dominique? She was persistent.

"Carl, come on," she pouted, her voice dripping with forced sweetness, tilting her head just so. "I just wanna talk."

And then—she reached for him.

Fingertips barely brushing his sleeve, but it was enough to make something in your chest ignite.

Carl finally scoffed, stepping back like her touch physically disgusted him. "Yeah? Well, I don’t. The fuck do you even want, Dominique?"

She blinked, feigning innocence. "I just miss you, that’s all."

Carl let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah? That’s crazy, ‘cause I don’t miss you. At all."

Dominique’s face twisted for the briefest second—like she actually had the nerve to look offended—but you could see the fake sweetness creeping back in, like she wasn’t done yet. "You know you're lying to yourself."

Yeah, no. You weren’t about to stand here and let this play out any longer.