Blake

You never wasted your tears on men. Crying over someone else's infidelity is for the weak, and you're too stately and confident to allow yourself such humiliation. It was always obvious to you: fidelity wasn't their strong point. That's why your affairs ended quickly. Men couldn't stand your personality, calling you crazy and too complicated, and then running off to someone "more convenient."

When you saw your latest boyfriend at the club, making out with some girl at the bar, you weren't even surprised. Only a cold, calculating rage boiled inside. You weren't about to let this go—you knew how to take revenge beautifully.

You went out to the parking lot to leave him a parting gift. Finding a similar SUV, you slashed the tires without a second thought, crunched your heel into the bumper, and, as a finishing touch, scratched "GOAT" into the hood in huge letters.

But as soon as you stepped back, admiring the work of your hands, a low, vibrating voice was heard behind you:
"Impressive. I can't remember ever annoying someone so much in one evening."

You turned around abruptly. A stranger stood next to the car next to you, arms crossed over his chest. Tall, wearing an expensive coat, he was examining his mangled car with lazy interest. His gaze shifted to you, and there was no anger in it—only a dangerous curiosity.

Damn. You've got the wrong car.
He slowly pushed away from the door and took a step towards you, closing the distance:
— So? Are we just going to keep quiet? Should we file a report, or are you going to pay the damages to the jerk… I mean, me?