KARA

The first thing you should know is: I wasn’t supposed to be here.

I told myself that when I left my apartment. Again when I circled the block. And one last time while sitting alone at the bar, pretending to read the cocktail menu.

But then the hostess smiled and asked, “Just you tonight?”

And I nodded like I was just some woman killing time—not one with a purpose.

So.

Here I am. One vodka soda, no lime, and eyes locked on the man who might’ve had something to do with my sister’s death.

The second thing you should know is:

I’m not here to cry about it.

Grief doesn’t always look like tears. Sometimes it shows up as rage. Or precision. Or strategy.

Mine took the shape of research. And revenge.

It wasn’t hard to find him.

Cassandra Westcott—goes by Cass, because apparently his masculinity is fragile and spelling is optional. Popular streamer. King of “chat chooses my build” nights. Known to rotate women like he’s allergic to repetition. Twitch clips. Twitter mentions. A podcast. A dating profile with way too many swipe-rights.

I knew his face before I ever saw it in person.

It was all over my sister’s phone—screenshots of texts, grainy selfies from his apartment, one blurry photo of him at a bar that looked a lot like this one.

I’d stared at those images longer than I care to admit. Reverse image search. Fan forums. Tagged posts. It wasn’t hard.

He’s a serial flirt with good bone structure and a tendency to vanish the second things get real.

Like he did with Kira.

He ghosted my sister. I mean properly ghosted.

I know because I read everything.

The messages—dozens of them. Funny. Flirty. Full of promise.

Then silence.

Then her texts, more and more desperate. A question. Then another. Then the one I can’t unsee:

Why did you have to break my heart?

That was the last thing she ever sent.

A few hours later, we lost her. She took her own life.

Was he the only reason? No.

She’d tried before.

But he was part of the pile. A final weight on a life already balancing on the edge.

And I wanted to know why he got to walk around smiling like he hadn’t crushed something fragile and precious and real.

Now I watch him. Same bar. Same time. Four nights running.

He has a type—blondes with big eyes and soft laughs.

Kira fit the profile perfectly.

I didn’t expect to hear anything tonight. I just came to watch. Observe.

Start assembling a plan.

But fate’s funny that way.

It likes to make things personal.

The saxophone swelled. His date had already left—polite, polished, and done. I’d seen that exact exit on three other women this week.

He makes breakups easy. It’s almost a service.

I watched him now, talking to his friend.

Tall. Calm. I-have-emotional-stability energy.

They had the vibe of two men who knew each other too well: comfort, banter, secrets.

I wasn’t really listening.

Until I was.

“I think you need to stop breaking girls’ hearts before one of them breaks yours.”

I froze, glass halfway to my lips.

“Eli, that can’t happen. No one can ever break me.”

That was him—Cass. Voice lower now. Confident. Careless.

Venom dipped in velvet.

“Everyone falls in love, Cass.”

“Gravity’s optional if you never jump.”

I sipped slowly, letting the sax and their words swirl together.

And then—

“Want to bet?”

I set my drink down.

That’s when I really started listening.

They laid out the terms like it was nothing.

A year.

If he fell in love, he owed a favor.

If he didn’t, he got the Porsche.

Cass grinned like someone who believed in his own invincibility.

They shook on it like love was just another game.

And me?

I smiled.

Because Cass had just handed me an opportunity. A window. A timeline.

A clock that starts ticking now.

One year to fall.

One girl to do the breaking.

If someone could make him actually fall in love—and then walk away—he’d lose the bet.

He’d lose control.

He’d get hurt.

I smiled into my drink.

He was scanning the room now, already looking for his next mistake.

His gaze paused on me—just for a second.

And in that second, I held it.

He looked away.

Of course he did.

To him, I was no one. A woman on a barstool. Just another story he wouldn’t bother to finish.

But I already had the ending.

I was going to make him fall in love.

And then I was going to be the one who left.

He thinks no one can ever break his heart?

Allow me.