A Vow of Deception, A Vow of Revenge novel Chapter 137

The next day at noon.

Winona gave herself a final once-over in the full-length mirror of her walk-in closet, smoothing the skirt of her ivory dress. The pale color made her skin look even more luminous and fair—a porcelain glow she loved.

She couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips.

In a little while, she'd be having lunch with Veronica, her best friend, and then heading out on a date with Elvis.

The thought alone—seeing her closest confidante first, then the man she liked—filled her with secret delight.

Just then, the phone in her bedroom rang.

Since the closet connected directly to her bedroom, she crossed the carpeted floor and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Miss Thorne." The butler's voice was formal and respectful. "There's a visitor at the door—a Mr. Goodwin. Shall I let him in?"

Winona's good mood vanished instantly. Her tone turned icy. "Tell him to leave."

There was no mistaking which Goodwin that was.

Tyson had actually dared to show up at the Thorne estate.

Shameless, truly.

The butler, usually unflappable, hesitated for a fraction of a second—Winona almost never spoke so coldly. But he quickly recovered. "Understood, Miss Thorne."

She hung up, drew a deep breath, and forced herself not to think about that walking bad luck.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Veronica.

"Babe, I'm done with my makeup! Head out now?"

"Give me another half hour," Winona replied.

If she left now, there was a chance she'd run into Tyson.

Veronica sent back a thumbs-up gif.

She'd probably changed her number by now.

A number he didn't know.

Did Elvis have it? Did she call Elvis now, the way she used to call him for hours back in college?

A rush of blood made his head spin. Suddenly desperate, he cupped his hands and shouted toward the house: "Nona! Please, just come out and see me, will you? I need to talk to you! I know I messed up before, and I swear—I'll never hurt you again. Punish me however you want, just don't shut me out!"

His voice echoed hollowly. No reply—only the breeze, as if it carried his pleas away to mock him.

Tyson stood frozen, defeated.

His phone buzzed in his pocket—a reminder from his assistant about a video meeting with overseas clients at two o'clock.

As if he could focus on business now.

He had to see Winona.

And he had to do it before Elvis got there.