Page 36 of The Most Perfect Wrong

“Oh! Vivian, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Genevieve says, lowering her voice slightly. “Have you heard anything about Beth recently?”

Vivian shifts, casting a quick glance at the guys. “I have… but I’m not sure if I should be the one to talk about it. You’ll have to ask Ryan.”

Genevieve sighs, clearly disappointed. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

I frown, feeling suddenly out of the loop. “Who’s Beth?” I ask, trying to mask the unease rising inside me.

Genevieve turns to me with a quick glance at Vivian before her voice drops to almost a whisper. “Beth is Ryan’s wife.”

Wife?

I freeze, my heart sinking into my stomach. I can feel my pulse quicken as my mind scrambles to process what she just said.

“Wait, what? Ryan’s married?”What the fuck?

Genevieve turns to me, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, you don’t know about Beth? I figured, with how much time you two spend together, it would’ve come up.”

My mind reels.Married?After everything he’s said to me about Brad? The anger boils up inside me, a knot of betrayal tightening in my gut.

Vivian looks uncomfortable, her brows knitting together. “I don’t think we should talk about Beth here. It’s Ryan’s life, and I don’t feel right discussing it.”

I force a smile, my throat tightening. “Will you excuse me?” I say, my voice strained. “I’m going to grab another drink. Do you ladies want anything?” They both tell me they're good, and I’m beelining it to the open bar before I really process their answers.

Ryan’s married.I let that fact sink in. The nerve of him—the audacity—to confront me that first week of work, accusing me of being dishonest about my relationship with Brad.Ugh. He made me question myself, made me feel like a cheater, like a shitty person. And all along, he had awife?

“Can I get a shot of tequila, please?” I ask the bartender. The glass appears, and I kick it back with ease. I need more than a buzz to numb the thoughts that are spinning in my head.

I turn to find Brad, to drag him out of here, but then I see Ryan approaching the bar. His eyes lock onto mine, and that cocky grin of his surfaces, as if he hasn’t been lying to me for months now.

“Can I get a Blue Moon, a Guinness, and a tequila neat?” he asks the bartender before his attention flicks back to me.

He chuckles. “Did you just take a shot by yourself?”

“Yup. Sometimes you just need to take the edge off.” I pause, asking myself if being a total bitch is necessary—and yeah, it is. I turn to him. “You ever think you know someone and then”—I smack my hands together, the sound sharp—”bam, surprise, you didn’t know shit?” My tone drips with sarcasm as I stare him down.

Ryan’s eyes narrow slightly, but he plays it cool. “Alright, subtle. Are you talking about me? If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

I let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking my head. “Why would I have something to say to you? It’s not like you tell me shit.”

His gaze sharpens, but he still doesn’t push. Is he confused? Does he know why I’m pissed, or is he just too arrogant to care? Either way, I’m done.

I grab the Blue Moon that I know is for Brad and walk off to find him.

“Hey, babe, I brought you your beer,” I say, handing it to him.

Brad takes it, eyeing me. “Thanks. Were you just taking shots with Ryan?” His tone is casual, but the question catches me off guard.

“No. I took one by myself, and then Ryan came over to get drinks for you guys.”

Brad raises an eyebrow. “You never take shots. What’s up?”

I shrug, playing it cool. “I don’t know, just felt like one.”

“Is something wrong?”

Great. Now I have Brad up my ass with suspicion. “No. You know I’m just more of an introvert. I’m feeling anxious, I guess.”

“Why do you feel anxious?” he asks, his tone cautious, probing but not aggressive.

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