The Billionaire's Scandalous Fat Wife
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His thumb moved once, absent, across my knuckles, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it, and I sat there watching the city slide by the window with my heart doing something I refused to examine too closely.
Backstage, before we'd even reached the car, my phone had buzzed with a text from Priya —
three exclamation points and a photo pulled from the press pool's shared feed, the kind every outlet gets access to after an event like this.
I almost didn't open it.
I wish, honestly, that I hadn't.
Third row, dead center, credentials clipped neatly to her jacket like she belonged there as much as anyone in that room — Noel.
Not caught candid, not photographed by accident. Hair perfectly trimmed