The notification sound of the ten thousand dollar transfer being returned to the living room made Verity grip her phone tightly, her expression darkening with unease.
At 8 PM that night, my phone buzzed, and it was Verity.
“Tyron, where are you?” she asked, her voice unexpectedly gentle.
I chose not to answer her directly. “Is something wrong?” I probed.
Her tone softened even more. “Nothing's wrong. As always, I just wanted to tell you that the cake you made is absolutely delicious.”
After a brief pause, she added, “Thank you for your hard work.”
Before I could find the words to respond, a lively, cheerful voice burst onto the line; it was Colton.
“Tyron! I heard from Verity that you made the birthday cake today. Is that true? I never would’ve guessed a man like you could whip up something so impressive! Meanwhile, I’m all thumbs and can’t even print a report without Verity swooping in to save me!”
When Colton invited me to the birthday party, Verity's voice sliced through the air. “Tyron, you don’t need to come,” she said sharply before hanging up.