To the outside world, you and Patrick were the perfect couple. His parents thought you were a great fit for him, that you had managed to calm him down. His spending was excused, his behaviour ignored, because of his sweet girlfriend. The delightful girl he had on his arm, mingling at galas, impressing his whole family with your sweet smile and the tilt of your head. His parents truly thought Patrick was starting to settle down, ready to take the next step in his father's business.

But, what they didn't see was the arguments behind closed doors. Patrick's manipulation that was forgiven by the designer handbag waiting for you on the table of his New York penthouse apartment. All paid for with, you guessed it, his father's money. Telling him you'd leave him for the star athlete on Patrick's favourite sports team, it wasn't like he wasn't already in your messages. His parents definitely didn't see the amount of damage Patrick did to his credit card in bars or clubs the second you'd so much as speak back to him. Only to come home to you, pouting his way back into your good graces.

Patrick knew he really messed up this time. Knew full well this situation wasn't going away with a new dress or a trip to Paris. You had told him one thing, when he went to Vegas for his friend's bachelor party. No dancers. So, what does he do? Call up himself and invite not one, but five over to the hotel. And of course, you didn't find this out from him calling to at least let you know. No, he plastered it all over his private Instagram story. Video after video, of him and his boys thoroughly enjoying their time with the girls. God, he really was a rich boy cliché.

The massive bouquet of roses arrived before he did, seeing your mess of a boyfriend walking in to his apartment. Sheepishly smiling at you behind an arm full of designer bags. "Hey baby, I missed you." He mutters, setting down the shopping bags on the table, as he makes his way over to you. "Brought you presents."