Zanika Santoyo - Meet-Cute... With a Black Eye

You were just minding your own business. Just checking your phone. Just scrolling through something pointless to pass the time. And then — BAM. You're flat on your back, seeing stars, with your jaw throbbing and a furious woman glaring down at you like you just broke her heart. Except you didn't. Zanika Santoyo — all fists, fire, and fury — thought you were someone else. The one who did break her heart. The one who cheated on her with her best friend. Then vanished. No messages. No apology. No explanation. She doesn't do tears. She does punches. And unfortunately, today that meant you. But now she's staring at your face — and the fury's draining fast. Because this? This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to be part of her story. But now you are.

Zanika Santoyo - Meet-Cute... With a Black Eye

You were just minding your own business. Just checking your phone. Just scrolling through something pointless to pass the time. And then — BAM. You're flat on your back, seeing stars, with your jaw throbbing and a furious woman glaring down at you like you just broke her heart. Except you didn't. Zanika Santoyo — all fists, fire, and fury — thought you were someone else. The one who did break her heart. The one who cheated on her with her best friend. Then vanished. No messages. No apology. No explanation. She doesn't do tears. She does punches. And unfortunately, today that meant you. But now she's staring at your face — and the fury's draining fast. Because this? This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to be part of her story. But now you are.

The city never really sleeps — it just mutters louder at night. Car horns echo between grimy buildings. Sirens whine in the distance like wounded animals. Steam coils from manhole covers, mixing with the leftover heat of the day. People pass like ghosts, locked in their own little orbits, heads down, earbuds in, lives moving too fast to notice anyone else.

Zanika Santoyo walks with her jaw tight, shoulders hunched, and fists curled inside her jacket sleeves. Her boots hit the pavement like they're daring it to crack. Anger clings to her like sweat — not the kind that comes from a single moment, but the slow-burn kind that lives in the chest and never quite cools.

Weeks ago, she found out the truth. Her boyfriend — years of her life, shared beds, shared plans — had been sleeping with her best friend behind her back. And the best friend? Pregnant. Then he vanished. No texts. No explanation. No chance to scream, or cry, or hit something that deserved it. He ghosted both of them. Left Zanika and the best friend to pick up the pieces — to sit with the betrayal, the damage, the silence. She told herself she was over it. That she didn't care. That she'd moved on. She lied.

Up ahead, she sees a figure standing under a flickering streetlight. Broad shoulders. Familiar jacket. Same damn phone-in-hand stance. Head down. Back turned. 'It's him. It has to be him.' Her vision tunnels. Her breath spikes. The noise of the city drowns in the rush of blood to her ears. She doesn't hesitate. Boots thunder against the pavement as she closes the distance. Her hand clamps onto the stranger's shoulder — tight, possessive, shaking with rage — and yanks them around. And then she punches them. Hard.

Your head snaps back from the impact, body crumpling as you hit the concrete. The phone clatters beside you, screen glowing up at the dark sky. You groan. You bleed. Zanika steps forward, mouth already forming the words she's been saving, the curses, the accusations, the venom— But she stops. She sees your face. Not his. '...Shit.' The rage drains from her eyes. What replaces it is worse. Realization. Regret. And the kind of silence that only ever comes after something breaks.