The car was already parked. Rhys wasn't rushing toward the building. He was standing by the vehicle with Emily, chatting idly. Their smiles were ambiguous, intimate.
I dialed him again. He picked up, but before he spoke, Emily's voice filtered through the speaker—sickly sweet, dripping with feigned innocence.
"Rhys, you're the best. Thanks for helping me park—and for offering to cook my birthday dinner personally. But... didn't your wife say her water broke? Is it really okay for you to be here?"
Rhys scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain.
"Ignore her. She's been crying wolf for three days, claiming she's in labor. I'm exhausted dealing with her drama."
He paused, and I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Besides, she's an adult. If she's really giving birth, she can call an ambulance. Why does she need me to hold her hand? If she can't handle a little thing like childbirth, she's not fit to be a mother."
His voice softened for Emily. "But you—you're just a young girl, new to the city and all alone on your twenty-second birthday. I help you park, I cook you a meal, and she throws a tantrum? It's just petty jealousy. Completely unreasonable."
Unreasonable.