After three years of secret marriage, Patrick Sanchez had finally agreed to go public with our relationship.
But right at that moment, the one that got away had just returned to the country and found herself caught in a media firestorm.
Edith Pruitt — former girl-group member — had been exposed for chasing a married man, and rumors swirled that she'd secretly given birth overseas.
When reporters cornered Edith in an underground parking garage, demanding answers, Patrick stepped in with an air of unshakable authority and pulled her into his arms.
"I, Patrick Sanchez, am the father of that child."
"Let me make this perfectly clear: Edith and I are in a committed relationship. She is not a homewrecker. And if I find out anyone is spreading lies about her again, expect to hear from my lawyers."
"Patrick..." Edith gazed up at him, tears brimming in her eyes, as though a god had descended from the heavens to save her.
A reporter pressed them on why they'd never gotten their marriage license. And right there, in front of everyone, Patrick dropped to one knee. He pulled out a silver ring and declared:
"You once threw this into a lake in a fit of anger. I had every drop of water drained just to find it again."
"Now I want to ask you, Edith Pruitt — will you put this ring back on, as a promise to marry me, as a symbol of our love?"
Edith pressed a trembling hand to her lips, overcome with emotion.
"Yes. I will."
……
And I — Patrick Sanchez's legal wife — could only watch through the car window as the two of them kissed passionately while the reporters cheered them on.
They were close enough that I could see the thin silver thread of saliva that stretched between their lips as they reluctantly pulled apart.
Strange. The heater in the car was running full blast, but my hands and feet were ice cold. My teeth wouldn't stop chattering.
My phone buzzed.
A text from my best friend, congratulating me — she said I'd finally waited long enough for the clouds to part and the sun to shine through.
My fingers trembled over the screen. I couldn't bring myself to reply.
Three hours ago, after all my begging and pleading, Patrick had agreed to make our marriage public. Even though he'd said he could only announce it internally at the company, I'd been over the moon. I'd actually let myself believe I meant something to him.
Then we ran into Edith Pruitt in the company's underground parking garage. She was surrounded by a pack of reporters, cornered and terrified.
I knew who she was. Former girl-group member. Years ago, she'd been so lovesick she walked away from her contract, risking millions in penalties just to quit.
She'd chased a man overseas, threw herself at him for three years, and never got so much as a title. In the end, someone else beat her to it, and she became the other woman. Then came the rumors — pregnant and unmarried, a failed power play, and a humiliating return home.
I turned to tell Patrick we should leave, but froze. He'd already gotten out of the car. I hadn't even noticed. He was walking toward Edith with steady, purposeful strides.
I sat there, stunned, watching him take Edith's hand with an intimacy that made my stomach drop. And then it clicked — the rumors before our marriage, about Patrick having a first love he could never get over. It was her. It had always been her.
No wonder he'd leaned over my shoulder that time I was scrolling through gossip about Edith online. The next day, the account that posted it was permanently banned.
A bitter smile tugged at my lips. All the signs had been there all along.
I didn't know how much time passed before the garage fell quiet again.
Patrick and Edith let go of each other's hands at the same moment, then exchanged a smile — the kind that said all was forgiven, water under the bridge.
Edith spoke first, her cheeks flushed pink.
"Patrick, I never expected you'd be the one to come to my rescue."
Patrick looked away, his Adam's apple bobbing.
Just moments ago, his eyes had been full of barely concealed longing when he looked at her. Now he put on an air of casual indifference.
"It's nothing. I would've done the same for a stranger."
"Is anyone coming to pick you up?"
Edith shook her head, her expression dimming.
"What a hassle. Come with me."
She followed close behind him as he walked to the car. When she saw it was a limited-edition Rolls-Royce Phantom, something flickered in her eyes.
She pulled open the passenger door, and her gaze collided with mine.
She let out a gasp.
