Elle was lying on her bed like a wilted Victorian ghost in duck-printed pajamas. Her limbs were dramatically sprawled, one arm flung off the edge like she'd fainted from heartbreak and low iron. Her eyes were glazed over, fixated on the plain white ceiling as though it might offer answers—or at least a sign from the universe to stop breathing for Calen.
In the background, a tragic song played softly from her phone, filled with the kind of lyrics that made you want to sob into a pillow and then marry your therapist.
"🎵 🎵 I lit a candle for our love, but it just set off the smoke alarm. I wrote your name on my heart—Then misspelled it... with permanent charm. I tried to cry in the shower, but the water turned cold—like you. I whispered 'I miss you' to my soup. Now my noodles are heartbroken too. 🎵 🎵 "
She blinked slowly. One tear threatened to escape. A noodle did sink dramatically into her leftover bowl of ramen on the nightstand.
And then—
SLAM!!!
The bedroom door burst open with all the fury of a mother who just found out her child brought home a D-minus in life. Luna stormed in, her bun tighter than Elle's emotional repression, her earrings swinging like tiny wrecking balls.
"ENOUGH!!!" she yelled.
The music stopped. Mid-chorus. Luna stabbed her perfectly manicured finger at Elle's phone like it had personally cheated on her too.
She grabbed it, scrolled to the sad playlist, and deleted it with demonic precision.
"If I hear another line from that tragic-ass soup song, I will crawl into your body and choke you from the inside out."
Elle blinked at her, slow and traumatized. "She won't even let me be sad," she muttered, voice hoarse with... soup-related grief.
Luna didn't respond. She whipped open the curtains with a flair that could get her a contract on Broadway. Sunlight flooded the room like it had been waiting outside for this very moment. It struck Elle's face like a slap from the gods themselves.
Elle hissed and turned her head away like a vampire who had been forced to confront her unpaid bills.
"Get. Up," Luna barked. "Today is the day we make you hot."
Elle groaned. "I don't want to be hot. I want to dissolve into the mattress and be reborn as a potato."
"Too bad," Luna replied, already tossing clothes onto the bed like a stylist possessed. "You're about to become so hot, Calen's next girlfriend will get a yeast infection just from scrolling your profile."
She clapped twice, summoning chaos and exfoliation. "Up! Shower! Scrub! Pretend your past is a crusty skin cell and peel that sh*t off!"
"Luna…" Elle whined as she buried herself deeper into her comforter cocoon. "This feels like a rom-com cliché."
"This isn't a rom-com, babe. This is a revenge montage. Cue the drums. Cue the slow-motion hair flip. Cue the transformation that'll make people zoom in on your Instagram like it's the Da Vinci Code."
Elle sat up slightly, squinting. "What are we doing?"
"We have a 10 a.m. appointment with Roxie."
"Who's Roxie?"
"She's an underground beautician who only takes cash, secrets, and broken dreams. She once gave someone cheekbones so sharp, their ex had to get stitches just looking at them."
Elle's face paled. "What's she going to do to me?"
"She's giving you—brace yourself—breakup bangs."
Elle gasped, clutching her forehead. "Take that back."
"I've already booked. It's happening. You're getting bangs. You're getting a microcurrent facial. You're getting your hair colored so dramatically that birds will land on you, mistaking you for tropical fruit."
Elle touched her head defensively. "My hair is fine."
"Your hair," Luna said, "is lying to you. It's gaslighting you. Just like your ex. It's time to snatch both back."
Elle flopped onto the mattress like she'd been shot. "You can't make me do this."
"Oh, honey," Luna purred, leaning in close, "watch me."
***
Elle tried. She really did.
She tried to run. She tried to hide. She even considered faking her own death with a handwritten will that read, "Tell Calen I died beautiful and unbothered." But Luna, being the feral glitter hurricane that she was, dragged her out of the closet like a tax collector with a deadline.
"You smell like dust and denial," Luna said, spritzing her with designer body mist as Elle emerged, blinking like she'd been reborn in Sephora.
"I'm not ready!" Elle wailed, clutching her duck pajama top. "I haven't emotionally processed anything yet!"
"You've emotionally processed enough. We are now moving into the 'weaponize your cheekbones' phase of grief."
Luna shoved an iced coffee into Elle's hand. Elle sipped it out of pure instinct. Her soul began to stir.
"This is manipulation," she muttered between sips.
"This is caffeine-assisted healing. Now move."
***
[Roxie's 'salon' (a.k.a. the back room of an abandoned bakery with fairy lights and rage), Later...]
Roxie didn't walk into a room. She entered it—like a storm in stiletto boots, with scissors holstered at her hip like weapons and eyeliner so sharp it was probably outlawed in three states.
She looked Elle up and down with the intensity of a drill sergeant evaluating a wet tissue.
"Breakup?" Roxie asked.
Elle nodded weakly.
"Cheated?"
"Emotionally."
"Ugh, worse. Sit."
Elle sat.
Roxie tilted her head, cracked her knuckles, and stared into the distance like she was summoning the ghost of makeover montages past. "I see… curtain bangs… dark glossy waves… oh, and the kind of glow that says 'I eat men for breakfast and use their tears as setting spray'."
"Wait, wait, wait," Elle flailed. "Is this going to hurt?"
"No," Roxie replied. "It's going to reveal."
Luna grinned and leaned against the wall like a proud mob boss. "You're in good hands. She once turned a girl from 'sad barista' to 'CEO of her ex's emotional bankruptcy.'"
[One Hour later]
Elle had gone through the five stages of grief and also the five stages of scalp detox.
She had been washed, toned, snipped, curled, massaged, and resurrected. Her hair now shone like betrayal under moonlight. Her cheekbones had appeared out of nowhere, and her skin looked like it had been blessed by a skincare deity.
But the real magic? It was in the mirror.
Elle blinked at her reflection like she didn't quite recognize the person staring back.And honestly? That girl in the mirror didn't either.
Gone were the oversized loose jeans that screamed emotional support sleepwear. Gone were the thick, foggy glasses that had been sliding down her nose since the ninth grade like they were on strike. Roxie had yanked them off with the same energy someone uses to throw away an ex's hoodie.
"You don't need these anymore," she'd declared, tossing them into a donation box labeled 'Calen's Regret.'
Elle had stammered, "But I can't see!"
"Exactly," Roxie replied, snapping her fingers. "You don't need to see the past to leave it behind. And besides, contacts exist. Welcome to the 21st century."
Her hair — once dry, tangled, and pulled into a tragic bun held together by trauma and a pencil — was now a glossy cascade of dark waves, slightly tousled, with the soft chaos of a heroine on the brink of revenge. Her curtain bangs framed her face perfectly, drawing attention to her most unfair feature—
Those yellow eyes.
They weren't just eyes anymore. No. Under Roxie's magic ring light, they gleamed like molten gold — feline, luminous, unnerving. The kind of eyes you didn't forget, even if you tried. The kind of eyes that could haunt a man in the middle of a wedding toast years later.
And her skin? Glowing like it had been personally high-fived by the gods of hydration. Her cheeks were sun-kissed, her lips tinted just enough to look dangerous, and there was a singular beauty mark near her jaw that made her look like a painter had paused halfway through creating a masterpiece — and decided this was enough to destroy someone.
Luna stared like she was witnessing a new religion being born.
Then came the outfit change. Roxie all but set her closet on fire. The loose jeans were respectfully retired with a small funeral and a candle. Elle now wore a simple black top that fit her like sin, tucked into high-waisted jeans that made her legs look miles long. Over it, a warm beige trench coat that flared out just enough when she moved, like drama itself was stitched into the hem.
Minimal. Elegant. Ruthless.
Elle stepped back, heels clicking softly. Her expression was unreadable, lips parted just slightly.
"Do I look okay?" she asked, her voice small.
Roxie folded her arms. "Elle, you look like a man's karmic punishment."
Luna clapped dramatically. "YOU LOOK LIKE A DANGEROUS FAIRY WHO JUST CRAWLED OUT OF A POET'S DREAM."
Elle blinked again. Her yellow eyes caught the light, and for a second—she saw it too.Not the girl who had sobbed into soup last night.
But the girl Calen should've never messed with.
Luna stared at Elle like she'd just witnessed Beyoncé descending from a glitter cloud made of vengeance and honey.
Then — with no warning — she lunged forward and wrapped Elle in a dramatic, bone-cracking hug.
"Oh my GOD," Luna gasped, voice muffled in Elle's hair. "You are so. Freaking. Pretty."
Elle blinked, frozen, arms awkwardly dangling at her sides. "I… can't breathe."
"You don't need air, babe," Luna sobbed, still clinging. "Pretty girls don't breathe. They float."
Roxie stood beside them, arms crossed, looking deeply satisfied, like a sculptor gazing at her finished work. She gave a single proud nod, as if saying, Yes. I have crafted a weapon.
Luna finally pulled away, still sniffling dramatically, and turned to Roxie.
"No words," she whispered, then reached into her bag, pulled out a thick wad of cash, and slammed it onto the counter like a mafia boss sealing a deal. "From now on... you're my mother."
Roxie chuckled darkly, pocketing the cash without blinking. "Good," she purred. "Now you're ready for step two."
Elle and Luna exchanged a glance.
"…There's a step two?" Elle asked suspiciously.
"Always," Roxie said ominously. "Go."
"Go… where?"
Roxie leaned in, her eyes glittering like a woman with too many secrets and not enough therapy.
"Go have a breakup party."
Elle blinked. "Is… is that a thing?"
"It is now," Roxie declared. "Go out. Wear that coat like it costs more than your rent. Walk like your thighs could legally be declared weapons. Order one drink—just one—and let the rest be bought for you. Flirt with a man whose name you won't remember. Dance. Eat something fried. Break at least three hearts. Ideally four."
Luna gasped like she'd been blessed by a higher power. "OH MY GOD THIS IS STEP TWO?!"
"Breakup party," Roxie confirmed. "And find yourself a hot man. Not to love, just to emotionally inconvenience."
Elle hesitated. "What if I'm not good at that?"
Luna grabbed her shoulders. "Elle. You just walked out of here looking like you charge men for eye contact. You were born ready."
Roxie pointed toward the door like she was launching a mission to Mars. "Now go. Be beautiful. Be dangerous. Be unavailable."
Elle swallowed, squared her shoulders, and nodded.
Luna threw an arm around her. "Let's go emotionally inconvenience someone hot."
And with that, the door swung open, and the chaos duo strutted into the sunlight — glowing, grinning, and absolutely unhinged.
Step one: complete.Step two: commence.
The hunt begins.