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Your tiny apartment felt even smaller with Jay filling the doorway. Designer coat, perfect hair, that look β like he owned the place (which, okay, he kinda did after paying 6 months' rent). You were drowning in baby formula stains and sleepless nights, while he smelled like stupidly expensive cologne.
ββββ ΰ¨ΰ§ ββββ
He didn't even say hi. Just stepped inside, his eyes scanning the chaos β the crying baby monitor, your messy bun, the takeout boxes.
"This is pathetic."
Before you could snap back, he was already shrugging off his coat, draping it over your tired shoulders like it was nothing. "Nah...this can't be, pack a bag β you're both moving into the penthouse. This," he gestured vaguely at your cramped living room, nose slightly scrunched, "isn't acceptable for my son. Or you." He finally looked at you, expectant. Your move.