"My Friends Bet I Couldn’t Do Better Than You. I’m Just Proving Them Wrong," She Smirked After I...

"My Friends Bet I Couldn’t Do Better Than You. I’m Just Proving Them Wrong," She Smirked After I...
Tessa squealed and held up her phone like a trophy. “Oh my God, Finn, do it! Capture the moment—she looks ridiculous!”

Mira’s laugh hit a higher pitch, brittle, rehearsed. She tilted her head at Damon, who smirked like a man who already knew the punchline to the joke I hadn’t even realized I was part of.

I didn’t move closer. I didn’t yell. I didn’t shout. I simply framed the scene with my camera, letting the viewfinder sharpen the details: the way Mira’s fingers lingered on Damon’s shoulder, the casual authority in his posture, the smug amusement on Tessa’s face. Every little gesture told me what I already knew: this wasn’t a mistake, a lapse, or even an experiment in misjudged intimacy. This was performance, and I was the audience they had mocked into being.

Mira’s green eyes finally met mine. Not pleading. Not guilty. Calculated. Sharp. Like a cat that had cornered its prey but didn’t bother to strike yet because watching it squirm was far more entertaining.

“You really are early,” she said again, her tone drenched in mock politeness.

I tilted the phone slightly, snapping a picture anyway. The shutter clicked, loud against the background music, a small, defiant punctuation in the room.

“Finn,” Damon said, voice smooth and condescending, “didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m full of surprises,” I replied, voice even. I kept my gaze on Mira. “Though apparently, some people can’t keep theirs in check.”

Nadia let out a sharp, exaggerated gasp. Tessa snorted. Mira didn’t flinch.

I lowered the phone, slipping it back into my pocket. The moment of silent acknowledgment was enough. They all knew I saw everything. I didn’t need to yell, threaten, or humiliate myself—they’d already done that for me.

I took a slow, deliberate step back, scanning the city skyline behind the bar. The sunset streaked the clouds in shades of fire and gold. Beautiful. Calm. Indifferent. Everything my life had stopped being once Mira had started her little performance art.

Then I turned, letting the rooftop chatter swallow my retreating footsteps. Behind me, the laughter continued, the clinking glasses, the whispered bets. But I carried something they didn’t: a clarity sharp enough to cut through every lie, every façade.

Tonight wasn’t about confrontation. Tonight was about observation, calculation, and the quiet, certain understanding that some bridges weren’t meant to be rebuilt—they were meant to be burned.

I stepped out into the elevator, letting the doors close on their world, their performance, their illusions. And for the first time in months, the city below felt like mine, not hers.