“If… you forced her to get an abortion, humiliated her in public, flaunted other women on your arm, sabotaged her career, and just stood by while the internet tore her apart—maybe even threw in a few kicks yourself?”
The hotel manager stared, speechless.
Jonathan fixed him with an intense gaze, voice earnest, “So, do you really think a few sweet words and some designer bags could ever make up for that?”
The manager blinked rapidly, then snatched up his walkie-talkie as if it were a lifeline.
“Uh—yes, copy that, I’ll be right there.”
He set the device down and shot Jonathan a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Mr. Thomas, I’m needed back at the front desk. Duty calls!”
With that, the manager all but sprinted away.
Jonathan let out a heavy sigh, his brow furrowed. He’d hoped to get some advice, but apparently even the hotel manager thought he was beyond help.
Night pressed in, thick and heavy as pitch.
A white Lexus tore down the highway.
“Sorry to make you drive all the way out to Coralis this late,” Niamh said quietly from the passenger seat, guilt in her voice.
Elmer’s smile was gentle as ever. “If you’re apologizing for being polite to your own boyfriend, maybe I’m the one who should be sorry. Giving you a ride is the least I can do.”
Silence settled between them, sudden and awkward.
If Elmer hadn’t brought it up, Niamh might have forgotten that he’d announced their relationship to the entire internet not long ago. At the time, he’d been helping her out of a tight spot—back before Jonathan’s marital status with her had exploded all over the news.
The conversation had cast a shadow over the car, stifling as it was. Even with the air on full blast, it felt hard to breathe.
Niamh kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead, saying nothing.
Elmer glanced sideways at her, again and again.
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