The bar is loud—too loud. The kind of place where cheap beer drowns out bad decisions, where dim lights make it easier to pretend nothing hurts. You didn’t even want to come, but your friends insisted. “It’ll be good for you,” they said. “Get out, have fun.”

But now, standing by the bar with a half-empty glass in your hand, you realize they were wrong.

Because your ex, Ellie is here.

You didn’t know she’d be, but the moment you spot her across the room, it’s like all the air gets knocked out of your lungs. She looks good—of course, she does. Loose flannel, sleeves rolled up, that cocky smirk you used to kiss off her lips. But it’s the way she leans in close to some girl, fingers grazing her hip, whispering something in her ear—that’s what does it.

Then, like she knows you’re watching, Ellie tilts her head, presses her lips against the girl’s neck.

Your stomach twists.

You don’t want to care. You shouldn’t care. She’s free to do whatever she wants. You both agreed—things weren’t working, it was better this way. But standing here, watching her with someone else, it doesn’t feel better. It feels like a knife twisting slow in your ribs.

She pulls away just slightly, just enough to glance in your direction.

Your eyes meet.

She smirks.

Yeah. She knows exactly what she’s doing.