I should've known something was wrong the second my phone buzzed like it had been possessed by a demon.
Normally, the only notifications I get are from my bank reminding me how poor I am, or Yuna sending me TikToks at 3 a.m. with captions like "THIS IS YOU, DUMBASS." So, when my lockscreen lit up with an unknown number, I almost ignored it.
"I miss you.."
Excuse me?!
I widened my eyes at the notification like it was a live grenade.
An unknown number.
No profile name. No warning. Just three innocent words sitting on my lockscreen like they didn't just emotionally body-slam me into oblivion.
I swallowed and opened it, praying it was just a scammer trying to sell me insurance. But no.
Nope.
Of course not.
I clicked the profile picture.
"HANUEL?!?"
Yep. It was him. Park freaking Hanuel. My ex. The enemy of my peace. The reason I have stress pimples and a lifelong distrust of men with good jawlines.
But the real kicker?
His profile picture.
