Simp No More, Thanks

"Vanessa's right. This isn't what it seems. But us? That ended the second you blocked me. Don't ever show up again."

His words slammed into me.

I looked at him—and just like that, he felt like a stranger.

"Shayne Raffield," my voice shook, "do you really think I'm that pathetic? That I'd come crawling back after YOU dumped me?"

His brow twitched. Vanessa's lipstick was still smeared across his collar.

"I didn't think that."

"Yeah? 'Cause that's EXACTLY how you act." My voice cracked, loud and sharp.

Pudding paced at my feet, anxious.

Shayne had that look again—the one he wore every time he blocked me, waiting for me to beg.

Smug. Condescending. Like he still had me on a string.

The Chat Feed popped off:

[Shay's such a stubborn jerk. He's obsessed with Ley but pretending he's some cold-hearted bad boy.]

[Ugh, Ley too—blowing up just feeds that manipulative witch's drama kink.]

Shayne's fingers twitched. His Adam's apple jumped.

Still, nothing.

I exhaled hard. Exhaustion hit like a brick.

"Forget it. I'm done. I don't want to fight anymore. You won't see me again."

Before he could say a word, I scooped up Pudding and walked away.

I checked into a hotel, suitcase dragging behind me.

The Chat Feed blinked like it was having a meltdown:

[How is Ley this calm? She just walked away from eight years like it was nothing!]

[Shay-Shay LOVES her—he just sucks at showing it!]

[Poor Shay-Shay. Orphaned young, and now Ley's leaving too. This is a TRAGEDY!]

"Tragedy?" I snapped, slamming my makeup bag on the vanity.

Pudding flinched.

Eight years, and Shayne treated me like his personal customer service line.

He's the victim? Seriously?

What about me—the girl who gave everything?

Two years ago, I turned off my phone to host the company gala.

In two hours, I had 32 missed calls. The last text?

[If you disappear, we're done.]

That night at 3 AM, I stood outside his place in high heels and a cocktail dress—for five hours.

All he said was, "Realize your mistake?"

Whenever it rained, his umbrella only covered him.

I'd be soaked, and he'd smirk, "Now you've got an excuse to change at my place."

Back then, I thought that was love. Cute. Couple stuff.

But last month, when a car sped past and splashed mud everywhere—he shoved me into it.

I just stood there, drenched and dumb, asking why he didn't pull me back.

He buried his face in my neck and mumbled, "Babe, I've gotten so used to relying on you... I figured you'd protect me."

I knew something was off. But I stayed quiet—because I loved him.

There are a million ways to love.

In our mess of a story? I was the strong one. He was the human version of a 'protect me' button.

Until now.

Shayne—yeah, the same guy who always hid behind me—suddenly turned into Captain Shield, throwing himself in front of Vanessa.

Lipstick still smeared on his collar, arms out like some wannabe hero.