The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 101

As Penelope was leaving, she saw Rebecca dashing down the stairs, only to be stopped by a sharp slap across the face from Mrs. Sullivan.

Brimming with a rage she had nowhere else to direct, Mrs. Sullivan glanced at the doorway to make sure Penelope was gone before unleashing her fury.

“What the hell were you thinking, leaving the marriage certificate out like that? Did you want that woman to find out about you and Zebulon?”

“Was everything I told you last night just a waste of breath? You’ve got some nerve, pulling these petty little tricks. I completely misjudged you. ‘Innocent’? ‘Sensible’? You’re nothing but a two-faced bitch!”

“And don’t you forget, you’re more than half responsible for the project ending up in this mess! I’m telling you, if this deal falls through and the company takes a hit, I will tear you to shreds, you worthless tramp!”

Rebecca stood there, her face burning with shame from the verbal assault, not daring to utter a single word in her defense. She had to wait until Mrs. Sullivan had vented completely before helping the older woman to a chair.

Still fuming, Mrs. Sullivan glared at the marriage certificate in her hand and began to tear it.

“Mom, no! Don’t!” Rebecca cried, lunging for it.

But Mrs. Sullivan shoved her back and, with a few vicious rips, tore the document to confetti.

“Let’s see you try any more of your little schemes now!”

...

After work that afternoon, Penelope took a cab straight to Maple Haven.

Maple Haven was a private, members-only restaurant. The fact that Lilian had managed to book a table there showed she was making a real effort.

Just as she stepped out of the taxi, a figure rushed forward, blocking her path to the entrance.

“Penelope, are you really giving the project to LUNA Group? Don’t you know they’re Stone Group’s biggest rivals?”

It was Zebulon. The morning’s disheveled mess was gone, replaced by his usual suit and tie, though his face was still puffy from too much alcohol.

“Sobered up?” Penelope asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just the thought of you… of you wanting to divorce me… it’s tearing me apart. I drank a lot last night. When I woke up this morning, my head felt like it was going to explode,” Zebulon said, his tone laced with a hint of complaint as he rubbed his temples.

“What a shame the courthouse is closed. We’ll have to go tomorrow.”

“What are you talking about? You still want a divorce? Don’t you feel the least bit sorry for me?”

Penelope couldn’t be bothered to argue. She tried to walk past him, but Zebulon blocked her again.

But Penelope didn’t even glance back, walking straight into the restaurant’s interior. Seeing her dismissive attitude, the host escorted Zebulon back outside.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t come in.”

Furious, Zebulon kicked one of the large stone planters by the door twice, but it did little to quell his anger. He started arguing with the host again.

“Well, well, Mr. Sullivan. Who lit your fuse?”

Zebulon turned to see Michael Jackson approaching, a bottle of wine tucked under his arm.

“It’s nothing. I was just… just passing by.”

Michael clearly didn’t buy it and asked the host what was going on.

“This gentleman doesn’t have a reservation but insists on entering,” the host explained apologetically.

Michael slung an arm around Zebulon’s shoulders. “Is that all? Come on, I’ll get you in!”

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