The moment I walked through the door, my phone couldn't help but shove Patrick and Edith's love story in my face.
Childhood sweethearts. First love. Torn apart by fate. Reunited at last.
A pair of star-crossed lovers for the ages.
I sipped my Coke, tasting something faintly bitter and salt on my lips.
On the table, my phone still showed a message Patrick had sent three hours ago. He said he'd apologize in person when he got home.
I waited two weeks. No apology came. Instead, I watched Patrick escort Edith to event after event, right there on my screen.
The media called them the perfect couple, the center of every room they entered.
At a private auction, anything Edith so much as glanced at twice, Patrick bid on until he won it, no matter how absurd the price.
Posts praising the two of them flooded my social media feeds in real time. Articles congratulating them on their fairy-tale reunion were everywhere, and no matter how fast I blocked and muted, I couldn't keep up.
Then the paparazzi dropped a bombshell. Edith had casually mentioned missing her old girl-group days, and Patrick had immediately arranged for her to be parachuted in as the leader of the hottest girl group in the country.
The internet swooned, as usual. Everyone except the original group's fanbase.
Those fans rallied around their girls and started digging. They unearthed the truth: Edith hadn't left the group because of an injury. She'd abandoned her career to chase a man overseas. She wasn't some empowered girlboss. She was a lovesick puppy.
Someone claimed to know Patrick's wife. They called Edith a serial homewrecker.
And Patrick wasn't even the biological father of the child. The timeline didn't add up.
The revelations hit the internet like a match dropped in gasoline, and Edith was engulfed all over again.
That was when Patrick contacted me for the first time in two months.
"Was it you? The stuff online?"
"No."
He sounded like he'd already anticipated my answer.
"Edith was right. You'd never admit it."
The explanation I wanted to give died in my throat. All that came out was a hollow laugh.
If he'd already decided it was me, why bother asking?
I was about to hang up when his voice came through, low and cold as a devil's whisper.
"Babe, let's get a divorce. Someone dug up our marriage, and it's making things worse for Edith. Think of it as doing her a favor. Once this all blows over, we'll remarry."
"And while you're at it, post a public apology on her behalf. Say you were jealous and that you spread those rumors about her out of spite."
"I'll transfer twenty million dollars as compensation. I hope you can understand."
I refused on the spot. His tone went ice-cold.
"You know this isn't a negotiation."
He had more than enough ways to make me comply.
The second hand ticked. I heard my own voice, thin and nearly broken.
"Fine."
