The media called them the perfect couple, the center of every room they entered.
At a private auction, anything Edith so much as glanced at twice, Patrick bid on until he won it, no matter how absurd the price.
Posts praising the two of them flooded my social media feeds in real time. Articles congratulating them on their fairy-tale reunion were everywhere, and no matter how fast I blocked and muted, I couldn't keep up.
Then the paparazzi dropped a bombshell. Edith had casually mentioned missing her old girl-group days, and Patrick had immediately arranged for her to be parachuted in as the leader of the hottest girl group in the country.
The internet swooned, as usual. Everyone except the original group's fanbase.
Those fans rallied around their girls and started digging. They unearthed the truth: Edith hadn't left the group because of an injury. She'd abandoned her career to chase a man overseas. She wasn't some empowered girlboss. She was a lovesick puppy.
Someone claimed to know Patrick's wife. They called Edith a serial homewrecker.
And Patrick wasn't even the biological father of the child. The timeline didn't add up.