Robin
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She won't move.

Heather won't fucking move.

She just stands there, all wide eyes and pretty sundress looking at me like I'm the unreasonable one. Like I didn't just tell her to go away.

Like she didn't lie to me. Like she didn't break my goddamn heart and then waltz in here, into my house, pretending everything was fine.

I should slam the door in her face.

I should tell her to take her fake apologies, her fake innocence, and shove them up her pretty ass.

I should-

God, her eyes are really pretty.

Annoyingly, frustratingly, unfairly pretty.

I grit my teeth, trying to hold on to my anger, but it's slipping through my fingers like sand. I want to slap her, shake her, hate her-but all I can do is stare at those stupid, pretty eyes and wonder how the hell I let this happen to me.

How the hell did I let Heather become my biggest mistake?

And worse-why do I still want her?

I sigh and step aside. "Fine. Two minutes. Make them count."

Heather hesitates, probably shocked she actually got past the door, then slips inside, careful not to brush against me. Like touching me might set the whole house on fire.

She's not wrong.

I shut the door and lean against it, arms crossed.

"Alright, let's hear it. What pressing matter plucked you from your perfect little world with my brother?"

She fidgets. "Robin, I....I-"

"No, no," I cut her off, waving a hand. "You wanted my attention, you got it. So go on. Explain. Explain why you're here. Explain why I shouldn't despise you. Explain why I shouldn't laugh in your face and remind you that you're engaged to someone else."

She flinches. Good.

But then, instead of cowering, she straightens her shoulders. "I don't want you to despise me."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Wow. What a touching confession. Guess I'll cancel my 'hating Heather' membership now."

"Robin-"

"You know, you're really testing my patience." I push off the door, walking toward her.

"I have options here, Heather. I could throw you out. I could yell at you. I could make a scene so big the whole house would know you came slinking into my room and our little secret." I tilt my head, watching her swallow. "But no. I'm giving you a whole two minutes to make your case. So, by all means, stop stuttering and get to the point."

Heather exhales, looking at me like I'm the difficult one. Like she didn't do this.

Like she didn't kiss me like I was the only person who ever mattered to her-then turn around to choose my brother.

I hate that my chest tightens at the memory of that torturous engagement party. Hate that it still stings, still burns, still makes me want to do something reckless like drunk drive.

Heather licks her lips-bad move, terrible move, why would she do that?-and says, "I don't know what to say to make this better."

I scoff. "Great start."

"But I miss you."

My brain stutters.

No. No, no, no, she doesn't get to say that. She doesn't get to come in here with her soft voice and her sad eyes and say things like that.

She doesn't get to miss me.

Not when she's wearing an engagement ring that isn't mine.

I clench my jaw. "You don't get to miss me, Heather."

Her expression cracks. "Robin-"

"No." I step closer, and she doesn't move back. Her chest is rising and falling fast.

I hate that she doesn't move back. I hate that I want her to.

"You don't get to miss me. You don't get to want me. You don't get to stand here, in my room, and act like we're still-"

I stop myself.

We were never anything, not really. Just stolen moments. Just secret touches and fucks. Just late-night orgasms that meant more to me than they ever should have.

Just a big, stupid, heartbreaking lie.

Heather looks up at me, and I swear, she's about to touch me. Her hand twitches at her side like she's fighting the urge. Like some part of her wants to reach for me the way she used to.

But she doesn't.

And for some reason, that pisses me off more than anything.

I take a step back, muttering a curse under my breath.

Heather hesitates, her lips parting like she wants to say something else. Maybe a final plea, maybe an apology that would do absolutely nothing to fix the mess she made.

And I should let her walk out.

I should let her slink away, let her feel the sting of rejection, let her be the one left with unanswered questions for once.

But no.

No, no, no.

That's too easy.

Telling her to go isn't working. She's still standing here, still looking at me with those infuriatingly pretty eyes, still thinking she can win me over with soft words and regret. Get me back on her good side while she goes riding into the sunset with Javis.

And I still don't know why I don't feel bad for that narcissistic bastard for sleeping with his fiancée. He kind of deserves it for always being a dick to me. And making it seem like I'm trash in our parents' eyes.

This could be my only chance to fuck them both over like they fucked me over. My only payback.

So if she won't leave, I'll do something better.

I'll make her wish she had.

I'll give her exactly what she wants-me, playing along. Me, pretending that everything is fine, that I forgive her, that I'm over it. And when she's in too deep, when she's comfortable, when she's convinced that she can have her perfect little fiancé and keep me too-

I'll rip the ground right out from under her.

Yes. That's a plan.

That's a damn good plan.

I school my expression, letting the hard lines smooth out, tilting my head just slightly-like I'm softening, like I'm considering whatever bullshit she's selling.

Then, I let out a slow breath, just enough to seem reluctant.

This is painful but worth it.

"Fine," I say, letting my voice drop into something quieter, something that sounds dangerously close to a truce.

Heather's brows lift in surprise. "Fine?"

"Yeah." I shrug, stepping close enough to make it seem like I'm letting my guard down. "You miss me? Okay. Let's see what that means."

She blinks, wary. "Robin, I-"

I smile. Not my usual smirk, not my sarcastic edge-no, I make it soft, inviting. I watch the way she reacts to it, the way she looks at me like she wants to believe this is real.

"Relax, Heather," I say, voice warm now, playful even. "You wanted to talk, didn't you?"

She nods, but she's still hesitant. She knows something's off but can't put her finger on it.

That's fine. She'll figure it out eventually. But it will be too late.

"Alright then," I say, walking over to the bed and sitting down, patting the space beside me like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Let's talk."

Heather stares at the spot like it's a trap. Which, technically, it is.

But she moves toward it anyway.

Good.

Her innocence in this moment is such a turn on and I know my head is all messed up for feeling this way but...

Is it okay if I say I'm enjoying the idea of causing her equal amount of pain she caused me?