Mirabelle saw it too—her boyfriend ignoring her calls while posting on Instagram.
In that moment, everything clicked into place.
She stopped obsessively redialing his number and instead opened up their chat window.
Mirabelle: If you don't reply, we're done.
On the other end, Zeke was sitting back, smugly waiting for her call to go to voicemail. But when he glanced at his phone, he saw her message pop up instead.
His temper flared instantly.
How dare she!
If anyone was going to end things, it should be him. No way was he letting her pull this trick on him a second time.
So this time, he was the one who angrily dialed her number.
"Mirabelle, what's your problem? Is breaking up your solution to everything now? You have no idea how disappointing you are!"
He didn't care in the slightest that others were around—Zeke's usual domineering tone filled the air.
Mirabelle seemed used to it. Her voice dropped, quiet and hurt: "Zeke, you finally picked up."
He let out a cold, humorless laugh. "Just spit it out, Mirabelle. I'm busy, I don't have time for your childish games."
Mirabelle didn't hesitate. She told him straight about the dress.
"Is Mr. Blake there? I don't have his number. This gown is really important to me, and I want to get it repaired as soon as possible so I can wear it on the red carpet."
Zeke's patience was already wearing thin, but when he realized Mirabelle was only calling to get to Lance, his anger shot through the roof.
Unbelievable, he thought. She was more calculating than he'd ever expected.
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