A very small, smug part of me wanted to post that she had it wrong—he was at the Renouvelle Hotel, not the W—but I closed the screen and moved on.

Next search: Ryan Hooks and Tiffane.

She only had one name, a popular one at that, but the auto search filled it in by the time I started Ryan’s last name. They’d met at the MTV Music Awards a few years back, which again seemed fitting, and the rest was history.

Couple name, Tyan.

Together three years before getting married in a small ceremony with friends and family in Palm Springs. Their wedding cake was vanilla with fresh strawberries and a dark-chocolate shell.

The things you can learn on the internet…

I scrolled through countless pictures of them: him dark, brooding, and unbearably sexy; her small, curvy, and gorgeous. The last year, though, had been rocky. A TMZ segment of Ryan being chased down by cameras and accused of cheating. Tiffane quoted as saying she’d leave him if she heard any more rumors about him messing around. Another article stated there was “trouble in paradise” and even threats of a divorce, but nothing had materialized from it.

In the back of my mind, there was a question brewing, one that, even then, I knew would cause me a lot of pain, but I let it simmer there anyway.

What would Tiffane do if she knew about the woman in the Gold Coast?

It was such a ridiculous thought, but it lingered while I scrolled through article after article and watched video after video. By the time I realized that the sun was coming up, I’d watched Ryan Hooks singing at concerts, in music videos, at award shows, and even for fans at the airport. Every single one of his songs was about how much he loved someone, missed someone, or wanted to be a better man for someone.

And even though I’d watched him do something that looked a lot like cheating, I couldn’t help but get drawn under his spell. Every interview was funnier than the last, every sultry pose sexier than the one before it. In the span of two hours, I all but fell in love, as much as the unending swamp of the internet would allow, and I couldn’t keep myself from being dragged away.

It had to be the alcohol.

It had to be.

I dropped my phone on the living room table and then reached into my purse and pulled out Ryan’s. I pressed the home button to illuminate it, and there he was again, smiling up at me with his face pressed against his wife’s. I pushed the button again, causing the keypad to appear on top of their faces, and thought about Vanessa’s words:

You could hack into it and read all his texts.

I swallowed and let my thumb hover over the screen.