The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 125

Her words made Theodore finally stub out his cigarette, his eyes narrowing on her.

“I may have forgotten, but this isn’t just about me! This is a partnership! You have a responsibility to remind me!” she pressed on, gaining momentum. “And is making a baby my job alone? Why do you get to wash your hands of it? And another thing, my body might have some issues, but are you sure you’re perfect? What if, when the time comes, the problem is with you? What will you say then?”

A laugh, laced with disbelief, escaped him. “So, what you’re saying is, I should rush back right now and give you a demonstration of my body’s capabilities?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Penelope backpedaled, suddenly afraid she’d pushed him too far. Her tone softened. “Mr. Stapleton, you have a million things to deal with. Please don’t neglect your work for my sake. I’d feel terrible.”

“Do you require an apology from me?”

“Of course not! I wouldn’t dare ask for such a thing.”

“I’m curious,” he said, his voice dangerously smooth. “If Zenith Group and KINY weren’t working on this project together, if I wasn’t your client, how would you be treating me right now?”

“Want a demonstration?”

“Go ahead.”

Instantly, Penelope’s expression hardened. “You think you’re so great because you have money? Because you’re handsome? Well, I don’t need you! I am sick and tired of putting up with your rotten attitude! That’s it, I’m done. You can sit there and think about what you’ve done. I’m hanging up!”

And with a decisive tap, she ended the call. A surprising wave of satisfaction washed over her.

Just then, she heard the front gate creak open. It had to be Rebecca, but Penelope was in no mood to deal with her and headed upstairs. She fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, but with the night’s drama still on her mind, her sleep was light.

Sometime later, she heard the front door again, followed by urgent, hushed voices. She immediately opened her eyes, slipped out of bed, and peeked through a crack in the curtains.

Two figures were struggling in her front yard: Rebecca and a woman in a floral dress with her hair in a bun—Rebecca’s mother, looking every bit as unsophisticated as Penelope remembered.

“You think you’ve got wings now, huh? Getting married without even telling me!” the woman hissed. “Who is this man? Why haven’t you brought him home to meet me?”

“Mom, keep your voice down!” Rebecca pleaded, terrified of waking Penelope.

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