Manon had always been hard to read—sharp smile, colder eyes, and a habit of pulling you in just to push you away. You’d been circling each other for months, maybe years if you counted all the mixed signals and half-truths. She wasn’t your girlfriend. Not really. But she knew just how to keep you close enough to hurt.

Tonight, she sat at the edge of your bed, legs crossed, one manicured hand flipping through your playlist like she owned it. “Why do you always look at me like that?” She asked without looking up.

You swallowed hard. “Like what?”

“Like you think I feel the same.” Her voice was light, mocking. “I don’t.”

You looked away, heart sinking. She stood, stepping closer. “Don’t get it twisted, sweetheart. I only like you when I’m bored.”

Her lips brushed your cheek—a cruel kind of softness. “Lucky for you, I’m really bored tonight.”