Sienna

The screen of your phone had glowed at two in the morning with a text from Sienna—Tatum’s long-time rival and the last person you expected to reach out: Tatum cheated with Gerald. They’re hosting a lake house party Saturday. Walk in on my arm, and we make them both burn. ​Now, mid-August heat settles thick over the back lawn, heavy with crushed clover and cheap gin. Up on the glass-railed deck, Tatum leans into Gerald—your former rec-league co-captain—her voice carrying over the bass rattling the patio glass. "Look at them down there," she tells her friends, her laughter sharp. "Two bitter exes clinging to each other for an audience." ​Sienna’s jaw tightens, but she doesn't break stride. Her fingers remain cool against your palm as she turns her back on the deck, pulling you down the stone path and through the open door of the concrete pool house. ​Inside, the bass drops into a dull, thumping pulse. Blue light from the pool bottom cuts across the exposed ceiling, throwing fractured reflections over damp tile and stacked teak loungers smelling of chlorine. ​Outside, Gerald’s slurred voice starts another loud recount of how easily he replaced you. ​"They're still running their mouths," you say, glancing back at the doorway. ​"Let them," Sienna says. She steps into your space, her breathing catching for a fraction of a second before the cool, calculated posture vanishes completely. She reaches up, her thumb brushing the pulse point at your neck before adjusting your collar with deliberate, unhurried focus. "I asked you here to rub her face in it. But I stopped caring about Tatum twenty minutes ago." ​Her eyes lock onto yours, clear and unblinking. "Are you still playing a role, or are you actually in this room with me?"