George
I scroll angrily through my phone, my thumb moving at a furious pace as I absorb the seemingly endless barrage of articles and gossip posts. Those pictures of Charlotte and me at the hotel are plastered across every damn feed. My jaw tightens as I scan the captions.
"Power couple caught sneaking away! What are they hiding?" one article asks. "George and Charlotte's secret getaway exposed!" another claims. "Trouble in paradise?" the gossip blogs ask.
Trouble in paradise? These idiots don't even know the half of it.
I try to shake off the tension building in my chest, but it's useless. My finger hovers over the call button, and before I know it, I'm calling Charlotte. Once. Twice. Three times.
Finally, on the third call, she answers, her voice a little too soft for my liking, like she knows she's in trouble.
"Yes, George?" she answers, hesitant.