Zoe didn't usually say yes to spontaneous drinks.But tonight, she made an exception.
The bar was one of those moody rooftop lounges where the lights were low, the music was vibey, and every drink was named something like "Betrayal but Make It Bubbly."
Dahlia arrived ten minutes late, in a leather jacket and winged eyeliner so sharp it could file a restraining order.
Zoe raised her glass. "You're early. I expected dramatic lateness."
Dahlia smirked as she sat. "I was outside timing the entrance."
They clinked glasses — not affectionately, but like rivals shaking hands before a duel.
"So," Zoe said after a sip. "This isn't about Eliot, right?"
Dahlia laughed darkly. "Oh honey. Everything is about Eliot."
Zoe leaned back. "You know what I hate most about him?"
"The fact that he still doesn't realize he's the eye of a hormonal hurricane?"
"That," Zoe nodded. "And how he makes you feel like you're the only one in the room. Until you realize… he's not even in the room himself."
Dahlia blinked. For a moment, the sharp edges around her softened.
"He did that to you too?"
Zoe nodded slowly. "He made me feel like I was a secret he wanted to keep — not because it was forbidden, but because it was safe."
They were quiet for a second.
Then Dahlia said, "We sound like a failed book club."
"No," Zoe said. "We sound like ex-wives at the same funeral."
They both burst into laughter — real, shocked, slightly unhinged laughter.
Half a drink later, the air was looser. They were swapping stories, not scars.
"How did he get you?" Dahlia asked, genuinely curious.
"He didn't," Zoe said. "I just kept offering myself like I was an answer to a question he never asked."
Dahlia winced. "Oof. Okay, that hit."
Zoe tilted her glass toward her. "Your turn."
Dahlia swirled her drink. "I liked that he didn't try to 'fix' me. But it turns out he didn't really see me either."
They clinked again — this time with a mutual nod of respect.
Then Dahlia leaned in.
"Look, I don't want to hate you," she said, voice low. "But I do want to win."
Zoe smiled softly. "I stopped playing to win a long time ago."
"Then what are you doing now?"
"Making peace."
Dahlia blinked. "You're dangerous."
"I know."
They sat in silence for a beat. Then Zoe pulled a napkin and started sketching something with her eyeliner pencil.
"What's that?" Dahlia asked.
"A pact," Zoe said. "You don't go full nuclear, and I don't go full saint. Truce."
Dahlia looked at the napkin. A line down the middle. Two names. One shared enemy: Emotional Chaos Named Eliot.
She signed it without hesitation.
"Temporary," she said.
"Always," Zoe agreed.
They clinked one last time.
Two former flames.One fragile alliance.And a man somewhere, completely unaware that his exes just formed a council.