The next evening, in an opulent bathroom, an oblivious man was enjoying some much-needed private time in a large bathtub surrounded by countless bubbles, with a squeaky yellow rubber duck floating peacefully beside him.
He picked up a crystal champagne glass in one hand, took a delicate sip, and set it back on the marbled rim. His chocolate brown eyes lazily scanned the pages of a trashy tabloid magazine that no living soul would ever suspect a man of his elite corporate stature would even touch.
"Oh my, so she was cheating on her husband all along?" Cillian clicked his tongue in scandalous intrigue, flipping the page. "And the baby bump she was parading around for the press didn't even belong to him? Dramatic."
He scoffed at the next headline. "Ah... I knew he paid for that award. Honestly, why are people still acting so shocked to discover those shiny trophies are bought and paid for?"
