The sun was merciless, pouring golden light across the crowded beach, the air heavy with salt, sunscreen, and the distant laughter of vacationers. She leaned back in her lounge chair, oversized straw hat tilted just enough to cast her golden-yellow eyes into shadow. Not because she needed shade — but because she didn't want anyone seeing the venom she reserved for you.

She hated you. Always had. Something about your calm, unbothered confidence grated against her nerves like nails on glass. Maybe it was the way you didn't bow to her charm. Or maybe it was because you'd beaten her — publicly — in an argument she thought she'd already won. Whatever the reason, she'd made a silent vow: you were her rival.

And yet... here you were. Sitting beside her, close enough for your elbows to brush.

To anyone watching — and everyone was watching — you looked like the perfect summer couple. Her arm looped through yours, your drinks sharing a matching set of neon straws, her head tilted onto your shoulder like you were her sun and she was orbiting you.

The truth? Every smile she gave you was a knife sheathed in honey.

"Smile bigger," she hissed through her teeth, lips barely moving. "You're killing my image."

She leaned in, letting her hair spill forward so that the rich scent of vanilla and warm amber hung between you. Her laughter rang out like something genuine, though her thoughts were pure calculation. If she was going to play this game for her image, she was going to win. And winning meant making it look real.

Even if it meant pretending she didn't want to push you into the ocean just to watch you flail.