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The first thing I heard when I woke up was the persistent, annoying, and unrelenting vibration of my phone against the nightstand.
I cracked an eye open, glancing at the screen. Five in the bloody morning. Who the hell needed to text me this early? I rubbed my face before reaching for my phone.
Elina Halim: Are you serious?
Elina Halim: At least try to be discreet next time, Elio.
Elijah Koesnadi: Mate. You’re all over the internet.
Adrian Mulia: Call me.
Bernie Collins: You told me you’re going alone.
I exhaled through my nose, sitting up against the headboard. Brilliant.
I scrolled down. More notifications. WhatsApp, Instagram, even Twitter — my name was everywhere. And next to it? A picture of me with a woman I barely remembered.
I clicked one of the links Elijah sent.
“Spotted: Elio Joesoef Moving On? Mystery Woman at a Wedding. New Romance or PR Move?”
I groaned. For fuck’s sake.
I ran a hand through my hair. I should’ve seen this coming. A wedding, cameras everywhere, one poorly timed photo, and now the internet had lost its mind.
