The laughter in the room abruptly stopped when they saw me.
Ryan, his face splashed with alcohol, froze on the spot.
He quickly adjusted his expression,
ignoring my upset look, and smiled slightly at me:
"Claire, you came to pick me up?"
He didn’t care about the hurtful things he said.
After all, it wasn’t the first time he had spoken ill of me behind my back.
He was convinced that, with just a few sweet words, the matter would blow over.
But he shouldn’t have let me find out
that his feelings for me were a mix of false affection and deceit.
The atmosphere in the room gradually cooled,
but his brash friends were unfazed.
One of them grinned at me:
"Don’t be mad, sis. It’s bad for your liver. How about a drink with us?"
I ignored him, walked over to Ryan, and slapped him hard.
A red handprint quickly surfaced on his face.
I studied it for a moment—it wasn’t very symmetrical.
Before he could react, I slapped him again with my other hand.
Seeing his cheeks turn bright red, I felt relieved. I threw down a breakup and quickly walked away.
I didn’t want to stay in that disgusting environment for even another second.
Ryan, clutching his burning face, hurried after me, leaving his phone behind.