The room fell utterly silent, the laughter dying in an instant as people turned to face the source of the commotion. It was as if time paused, everyone frozen in the surreal moment. I recognized him immediately—Evan, Trina’s husband. His normally composed demeanor was replaced by a tempest of anger.
Trina’s face paled, her confident smirk evaporating. “E-Evan,” she stammered, trying unsuccessfully to maintain her nonchalant act. “What are you doing here?”
He strode towards her, the crowd parting like the Red Sea to let him through. His gaze was steely, focused solely on Trina. “You think you can walk around wearing that knock-off bag, pretending everything’s perfect?” He practically spat the words, his voice laden with disgust.
