OliviaI slept fitfully, my mind a carousel of images: Ryan's shocked face, Sophia's smug smirk, and, oddly, Alexander Carter's piercing gray eyes watching me in the rearview mirror. The weekend crawled by in a haze. I spent most of the time curled up on my couch, binging old movies, eating takeout, and ignoring the world, especially Ryan's desperate attempts to reach me. I let myself grieve, but by Sunday night, I was done crying; Ryan didn't deserve another tear. Monday morning arrived with brutal efficiency. I dragged myself into the shower, letting the hot water pound away the remnants of Friday night's disaster. No tears; I'd shed enough of those already. Ryan didn't deserve them. I wrapped myself in a towel and stared at my closet. What does one wear after catching their boyfriend balls-deep in another woman? I opted for armor: a crisp white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and highest heels. The kind of outfit that said, "I'm fine, fuck you very much." The cab ride to Carter
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