Her sense of entitlement made me want to laugh.
She must have forgotten that just last week she hadn’t come home for seven nights straight.
When I called, worried about her safety, she snapped at me.
And then Jason had sent me a taunting video—Sophia in it, her face twisted with disgust:
“I’m so sick of Ethan Parker. He nags like a woman, calling to check up on me. He even asked when I’m coming home. Does he not get that I can’t stand being around him for even a second? Home? What home?”
Remembering that, the woman before me looked even more repulsive.
I didn’t want to argue. I got up to sleep in the guest room.
But Sophia called after me:
“This time, add more honey and less ginger.”
I laughed in disbelief.
The audacity—she actually thought I was going to make her a drink to sober up.
Glancing at her, I said flatly:
“If you want it, make it yourself. I’m not your servant.”
She froze for a moment, finally sensing something was wrong. Her expression softened slightly.
“What’s wrong with you? You don’t look happy.”
“I had a few drinks tonight, maybe my tone was too harsh. Don’t take it to heart.”
“Honestly, I came back because I was worried you’d be lonely.”
Three lies in a row, without even a pause.