The moment I saw the article, my vision blurred with fury.
I barely remembered leaving the café or getting into the car. The drive home was a blur of speed and red lights.
My thoughts, though—those were crystal clear.
Jean was playing games with me. Fine. She was going to regret it.
I knew exactly why she’d done it. Because she’d given me something—and she decided she'd collect some too. But luckily for me, I still had the upper hand.
I was angry, mostly because I didn’t expect her to play this card. The whole dinner had been a setup. She’d made sure someone was there to take pictures—the exact moment I stood up and she grabbed my hand. Out of context, it looked affectionate. Cute, even.
Funny thing—pictures never tell the whole story.
The city rushed past in streaks of light as I
