*Noah's POV*
My phone buzzes against the marble countertop as Scarlett finishes her morning coffee. The message makes my blood run cold.
"What is it?" she asks, noticing my expression.
I show her the screen. A wedding invitation, cream-colored cardstock with gold lettering. Elegant. Expensive. Mocking.
"'Mr. and Mrs. Ethan Pierce request your presence at their wedding celebration,'" I read aloud. "'May twelfth, two thousand twenty-four.'"
Scarlett's cup clatters against the saucer. "May twelfth? That's—"
"My birthday." The words taste bitter. "My fucking birthday."
She reaches for my hand across the breakfast table. "Noah, this has to be a coincidence. There's no way they could know—"
"Oh, they know." I turn the invitation over, and there it is. Handwritten in Ethan's pretentious script: *'Happy Birthday, loser. Thanks for the hand-me-down wife. - E.P.'*
