Something in my chest locks.
The bass surges, deep and punishing, vibrating up through the floor and straight into my bones, rattling my ribs like it’s trying to shake loose whatever restraint I’ve been white-knuckling this whole goddamn time. My pulse spikes hard and fast, blood roaring in my ears, every instinct screaming the same thing.
Kill him.
Then, something snaps. Like a switch flipped and took all the patience I was clinging to with it, I fucking let it.
Because nobody gets to say that about her and keep breathing easy in the same fucking room as me. Least of all him.
The music shifts and stops being background. It turns into a countdown instead. Every bass drop a heavy fucking tick closer to the end of his luck.
I don’t fight it.
I let the sound swallow everything—the crowd, the lights, the sweat-soaked chaos. Let it fucking blur until there’s nothing leftbut instinct and pure intent, and in that split second of overload, the decision locks in.
Quiet.
Final and fucking irreversible.
I roll my wrist once, slow and controlled, like I’m loosening it before a fight, and finally give them my attention.
Mark clocks me right away.
Even with the mask on, and the lights stuttering and the bass shaking the floor like it’s trying to punch its way up through my boots, his eyes lock on me and narrow. Recognition curdles his expression like a bad taste he can’t spit out.
Big fucking mistake.
His chest puffs out, shoulders rolling back like he’s just found an audience. He takes half a step closer to Aeri’s friend, angling his body so his buddies slide into view behind him. Backup. Witnesses. The illusion of safety.
“You.” He points at me like he just spotted the source of all his life’s fucking problems. “You motherfucker. See? This is the shit I’ve been talking about.”
He laughs, ugly and sharp, eyes flicking over my mask like it personally offends him. “She was all over this fucking loser earlier. Grinding on him like a bitch in heat.” He steps closer, breath hot. “Bet you loved it. Bet you thought a freak like you finally fucking won something.”
The bass thunders, swallowing a few heads turning our way, but the shift still happens. You can feel it when a pocket of a crowd tightens, when people sense something ugly about to break and don’t know whether to watch or back away.
Something inside me goes still.
Not rage. At least, not yet.
Just that quiet click when patience runs out and something irreversible lines itself up.
The girl lets out a short laugh, sharp as glass. “God, you really can’t help yourself, can you?”
Mark whips toward her. “I wasn’t fucking talking to you.”
She doesn’t move. Bitch doesn’t even blink. “Like I give a shit,” she says flatly. “You’re talking about her. You’re talking about my best fucking friend.”
Her mouth curls, eyes cold and precise. “A girl who was always way out of your league. That’s what really pisses you off, isn’t it? Not him. Not tonight. It’s that you got cocky and fucked it all up on your own.”
She lets out a short, mocking laugh. “You had one of the hottest, baddest girls this sad little town’s ever seen, and you couldn’t even manage not to ruin it.”
The laugh lands where it hurts.
A couple of Mark’s friends snicker behind him. He snaps a look over his shoulder at them, face flushing darker under the lights, jaw tightening as the room turns against him.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you, Harper,” he snaps, stepping closer, crowding her space. “You three bitches always did think you were hot shit. Untouchable and above anyone else's league.”
She tilts her head, eyes flicking past him to me for half a second, then back. Amused. Curious. “I don’t know,” she says. “I always wondered why she wasted her time on you when she deserved so much better. I mean shit, if you’re this much of a fucking pussy when your drunk, I can’t imagine how bad you were to date, let alone fuck.”
