My Cheating Ex Plays My Fake Husband

EVER FITZPATRICK POV:

My worn-out electric scooter rattled beneath me, the cheap helmet hooked on the handlebars knocking a frantic rhythm against the frame. This was my third job of the day, delivering for FastDash.

The phone in my pocket buzzed. A low-balance alert from my bank. My stomach clenched, the same tight knot it always did.

I pulled over, swiping the screen open.

Balance: $127.50.

It wasn't even a drop in the bucket for the fifty thousand dollars Grandma Maeve needed for her surgery. I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing her pale, smiling face.

A new order notification shattered the image. Blackrock Steakhouse to the Laurel Hotel.

My brow furrowed. Both were the most expensive places in town. A single steak from Blackrock cost more than I made in a full day.

"It's just a job, Ever," I muttered, the cold night wind biting at my cheeks as I sped off.

The warm, buttery scent wafting from Blackrock Steakhouse felt like a personal insult. I stood awkwardly by the entrance in my faded FastDash jacket, an intruder in a world of soft lighting and clinking wine glasses.

While waiting, I saw a couple celebrating an anniversary. My mind unwillingly drifted to Ethan Beaumont, my boyfriend. He'd promised to bring me here once he graduated and landed a good job. Every year, he'd said.

The hostess handed me the order, a heavy paper bag with a gold logo. I could smell the filet mignon and black truffle sauce inside.

I secured the bag in the insulated box on the back of my scooter and headed for the Laurel Hotel. Its flashing neon sign and valet attendants screamed of a different universe.

I parked my scooter in a dark corner, away from the gleaming luxury cars, and walked into the grand lobby. The polished marble floor reflected a wind-blown, tired version of me, making my shoulders hunch.

I pressed the button for the top floor, the presidential suite.

The order note read: "Deliver to my door, please. —E."

My heart skipped. E? Ethan? It couldn't be. He was supposed to be at the library, cramming for his thesis.

The elevator ascended silently, my own anxious face reflected in the mirrored walls.