Friends

Chapter 50

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Marc's POV:

I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket.

I pull it out just enough to see Jasmine's name lighting up the screen.

Later. I'll open that message later.

Right now, I need to end this.

"For one," I say, sliding my phone back into my pocket, "that's none of your business."

Maria raises an eyebrow, lounging against the couch like she owns the moment.

"And two," I continue, my voice flat, "I was a virgin when we met. I didn't even care about sex like that. You're the one who got me like this."

She laughs—a slow, mocking sound.

"It doesn't matter if you knew it or not," she says. "The point is, you've been chasing my energy ever since. Trying to fill the hole inside you with women who remind you of me."

She's not wrong. But she's missing the bigger picture.

"Maria, there's a reason I fell in love with you," I say, voice steady. "You're confident. You're sexy. You're smart. There's nothing wrong with admiring those things—and finding them again in someone else. I'm not about to start dating women I don't admire just because you happen to be smart and beautiful."

I pause, watching the way her mouth tightens at the edges.

"But there's also a reason we've been on and off for as long as I can remember," I add. "You have a lot of bad qualities too. Qualities Jasmine doesn't have."

She narrows her eyes at me. "Such as?"

"You're too confident sometimes. To the point where it crosses into arrogance. You understand men, sure—but only at a surface level. You know how to use your beauty to manipulate us when you want something. Like now. Like you've been trying to do from the moment you opened that door in lingerie."

Her lips curl, almost like she's proud of it.

"Jasmine?" I continue, shaking my head. "She's genuine."

"She's insecure," Maria snaps.

"Maybe," I say, refusing to flinch. "But two things can be true at once. She wears her heart on her sleeve. She doesn't hide it. She doesn't mask it behind games and half-truths."

I take a slow step forward.

"When you get insecure, Maria, you cover it up with arrogance. You overcompensate. You make everything about your sex appeal because you're terrified people won't stick around for the rest of you."

Her jaw clenches, but she doesn't say anything.

And in the silence, it's obvious: I see her. I always have.

"What I did to you was fucked up," I say, voice low. "It scarred you. I left you when you needed me most. And ever since then... you got cold. Kept everyone at arm's length."

I take a breath, watching her eyes flicker—like she wants to look away, but won't.

"You strung me along. Whether it was revenge, or maybe just some defense mechanism to stop me from hurting you again—either way, you refused to heal. You stunted your own growth. You're still that same wounded Maria... from all those years ago."

"I told you what you did isn't a big deal," she says quickly.

Defensive.

But her voice cracks just enough for me to catch it.