Not my finest moment, but surprisingly cathartic.
I hesitate, my finger hovering over the notification. Nothing good can come from opening this.
Nothing.
I tap it anyway.
And that's the moment my world shatters.
It's a photo of Ethan on one knee in front of the Eiffel Tower at sunset. His arm is extended, a ring box open in his hand. Across from him stands a woman with sleek blonde hair and a perfectly curated winter outfit, hands covering her mouth in "surprise."
The caption reads:@HustleHardHarper She said YES! Can't wait to spend forever with my soulmate @TheOliviaSutton
My vision blurs as I read the comments—a parade of congratulations and emojis. And there, directly beneath the photo, a comment from Olivia herself.@TheOliviaSutton From the moment we met, I knew you were the one. Finally found my forever!
The timestamp on the photo says it was posted three hours ago. The one on Olivia's comment also says three hours ago. Almost like she was waiting, phone in hand, for the exact moment he posted it.
Zooming into the picture, because apparently I’m a glutton for punishment, I recognize her. Olivia Sutton. The marketing coordinator who kept trying to talk to Ethan at his corporate Christmas party last year. The one who laughed too hard at his jokes and "accidentally" kept touching his arm or his shoulder while I was standing right there.
The woman that he said I was "being paranoid" about.
I slam my laptop shut and grab my bag. This isn't happening. Not here, not with the janitor whistling down the hall. Whatever emotional breakdown is coming, it's not happening at my desk.
The client can wait.
I take the elevator down to the parking garage, my heart pounding against my ribs like it's trying to escape. The photo keeps flashing in my mind—her perfect, surprised face. His perfectly timed kneel. The perfect Parisian backdrop.
It's so staged I can practically see the director's notes.
I stab at my car's ignition button three times before remembering I need to step on the brake pedal. My hands are shaking. When did that start?
The drive home is a blur of traffic lights and muscle memory. I park crookedly in front of my apartment building and sprint up the stairs, fumbling with my keys at the door.
The door flies open, banging against the wall as I stumble in. Emily freezes mid-twirl, one arm dramatically poised overhead while Lily's blonde bob whips around, both caught in their elaborate living room choreography as Taylor Swift's latest hit pulses through the karaoke machine's speaker.
"Charlie?" Emily lowers her hand. "I thought you were—"
I drop my bag and make a beeline for the kitchen counter, where a spread of tacos sits in their foil wrappers. Without a word, I grab one and stuff nearly half of it into my mouth.
"Ooookay," Lily says, her British accent stretching out the word. "Who died?"
"Mpggh hmm," I try to speak around a mouthful of deliciousness.
"Chew first, existential crisis second," my sister advises, coming to stand beside me. "What happened? Did your client finally push you over the edge?"
I swallow hard and reach for my phone in my jacket pocket, unlocking it with trembling fingers. Without speaking, I turn it around and show them the photo on my screen.
Emily's eyes widen. "No. Fucking. Way."
Lily rushes over, peering at my phone. Her head shakes in disbelief. "Is that—"
"Ethan," I confirm, my voice cracking. "Engaged. To her."
"Her who?" Emily grabs the phone for a closer look. "Wait. Is this the woman from his office? The one with the wandering hands?"
I nod, grabbing another taco and unwrapping it with unnecessary force. "The Olivia Sutton.” I roll my eyes. “Apparently, his soulmate."
Lily's face hardens. "That absolute cunt."
