The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 184

The insult was thick and suffocating, but Mrs. Sullivan wasn’t finished.

“As for that… stuff… by the door,” she said with a cough, “it’s probably attracting flies by now. It’s certainly not fit for people to eat. Just throw it in the trash. Better yet, take it to the dumpster outside the neighborhood. We have high-class people living here; we wouldn’t want to offend them with the smell.”

With that, she seemed satisfied and went upstairs to change.

Penelope’s anger simmered, ready to boil over. She managed to hold it in until she had escorted her father back to her villa across the street. Then, using the excuse of needing to retrieve something, she stormed back into the Sullivans’ house, grabbed the teapot from the table, and hurled it onto the sofa.

Mrs. Sullivan, coming down the stairs, saw the scene unfold. “What is wrong with you? Are you having another one of your fits?”

As she rushed forward, Penelope seized her by the chin. Under Mrs. Sullivan’s shocked gaze, Penelope squeezed hard, forcing her mouth open. Then, she snatched a paring knife from the coffee table and thrust it between her teeth.

“Ah! Ahh!” Mrs. Sullivan shrieked in terror.

Mr. Sullivan and Luna looked over at the sound and froze, horrified.

“Penelope, what do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Sullivan demanded.

Penelope’s eyes were filled with a cold fury. She spoke, her voice low and menacing, “If you ever dare to insult my father again, I will cut out that rotten tongue of yours.”

“I… I… I won’t… I won’t do it again,” Mrs. Sullivan stammered, her body trembling.

Penelope tapped the flat of the blade against Mrs. Sullivan’s cheek a few times. When her legs gave out, Penelope shoved her away.

She then turned to Mr. Sullivan. “You say I have no manners? That my father is clueless? You invite him here without my consent, throw his gifts outside like trash, refuse him a seat on the sofa, and then, after offering him dinner, you abandon him to go to some other engagement. Is that what you call having manners? Is that what you call being sensible?”

Mr. Sullivan’s face darkened, his authority as head of the family trampled into the dust by Penelope.

“You look down on my father and me,” she continued, her voice dripping with contempt, “but in our eyes, you’re the ones who are garbage.”

“You—!”

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