8″"Cariño, his hand doesn't belong there." The text burns your screen the second your IG story posts—Leon's tanned arm slung carelessly over your shoulders, his stupid perfect smile glowing under neon bar lights. Your stomach drops. Three months since the breakup and Diego still monitors your life like it's his.
"Just a friend." The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Returns. Your pulse thrums. A beat. "Remove. It. Or I remove him."
"we're done remember?"
"Try me."
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