My mother, a Le Cordon Bleu-trained pastry chef, had ignited a deep passion for baking in me from an early age. Since Verity and I had become a couple, making her birthday cakes each year had become a beloved tradition.
Recently, I noticed a striking football star lighting up her phone, Colton’s WhatsApp profile picture, and the sight sent a jolt of discomfort through me.
An uneasy silence enveloped the living room as Verity, finally realizing the absurdity of her request, met my gaze with a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. I simply nodded, acknowledging the moment's weight between us.
“Send me the picture. I’ll head out to get the ingredients now,” I said, determination edging my voice.
Seven years ago, at a dinner party, Verity had been drugged, and in a blur, I found myself at a hotel with her.
When she came to, a wave of regret swept over her, and she wept, blaming me for going along with her reckless decision. Since that night, the burden of guilt had weighed heavily on me.
But once I baked this cake, I would finally be free from the ties that bound me to her.
As I strode toward the door, I sensed Verity’s hesitation before she called out to me. I didn’t bother to turn around, asking, “Do you have any other instructions?”
“...I’ve transferred the money for the ingredients to you,” she said, her voice tinged with reluctance.
Once in the elevator, I opened the chat with Verity and couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the staggering statistics: I had sent her a mind-boggling 5,363 messages, while she had responded 35 times.
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.