Chapter 6
Opening the chat, I was met with a barrage of praise for Brandon.
It started with a photo Fiona had posted.
The picture showed Brandon, exhausted, asleep on her sofa, my cashmere throw draped over him.
Her caption: So grateful for reliable neighbors! My place suddenly lost power last night and I was terrified. Thank goodness for Mr. Wilson! He not only fixed the electrical problem but stayed to chat until dawn. Such a safe and cozy vibe!
Beneath it, a swarm of clueless neighbors chimed in:
[Aww, Mr. Wilson is such a good soul!]
[Good neighbors are worth their weight in gold! You don’t see many like him these days!]
[Sophia is so lucky to have married such a responsible husband!]
[Right? I heard he’s a designer, too. Handsome and handy.]
[Ugh, so envious. I wish my husband was half as considerate.]
Looking at the rows of thumbs–up, I felt nothing but icy derision.
Responsible?
A responsible husband ditches his wife on her birthday to spend the night comforting a neighbor in a silk nightgown?
That’s it. Enough,
A cold smile touched my lips as I pulled up a file on my computer.
The Termination of Partnership Agreement I’d drafted a while ago.
I converted it to PDF and uploaded it directly to the neighborhood group chat with hundreds of members.
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Then I tagged them both.
[@Fiona Davis @Brandon Wilson Since you two are so deeply in love that fixing a circuit ends up in bed together, I’ll step aside and let you have each other.Consider this my contribution to keeping the neighborhood clean.Wishing you two a match made in heaven–perfect for each other, forever.]
The moment the message went through, the group exploded.
All the previous praise vanished, replaced by a flood of shocked and scandalized
reactions.
[HOLY SHIT! Tea is served!]
[And I just called him ‘good–hearted‘… More like good–hearted enough to end up in her bed!]
[Disgusting. Don’t shit where you eat.]
[I’ve seen that woman around. Always playing the delicate flower. Turns out she’s a professional homewrecker.]
Watching the tide of opinion turn, I felt a grim satisfaction. I logged out of the app.
Within minutes, Brandon’s call came in.
I declined.
He called again. I blocked the number,
Then came calls from unknown numbers. I rejected every single one.
I could only imagine the look on Brandon’s face right now. His precious reputation, the image he cared so much about, had just been dragged through the mud in front of the entire neighborhood,
Opening the app again, I found a barrage of messages from Brandon:
[Sophia, are you insane?! What the hell did you post in the group?!]
[Delete it now! Do you have any idea how this makes me look in front of the
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neighbors?!]
[Fiona and I are innocent! I was just tired and fell asleep last night!]
[How dare you go this far?! Do you want to end this for good?!]
Looking at his frantic, furious texts, I typed back a single line:
[Yes. I do. Now. Get back here and sign the papers.]
After sending it, I powered off my phone and started packing.
Not that there was much to pack.
Most things in this apartment were mine. What Brandon had brought into our life, aside from a few cheap pieces of clothing, was just his useless, forgetful presence.
When Brandon finally rushed back, I was directing movers as they carried boxes out.
A sleek black Maybach was parked downstairs. Leaning against it was a tall, imposing figure.
My childhood friend, Isaac Kingsley.
Also one of the most formidable lawyers in the city.
