The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 114

It was as if that car had been parked there specifically, waiting for her to cross the street before intentionally trying to hit her.

Since Zebulon’s injuries weren’t serious, Mr. Sullivan insisted she stay at the hospital to look after him while the rest of them left.

“You remember this: from now on, you owe your life to my son. You’d better repay him well,” Mrs. Sullivan said before she walked away.

Penelope watched the three of them leave, her eyes narrowing as she pieced things together.

“Penelope, are you still out there?” Zebulun called from inside the room.

Penelope took a few deep breaths, schooling her features into a neutral expression before pushing the door open.

“I’m going to buy you some toiletries. You should get some rest,” she said.

Zebulon looked worried. “You’re not going to leave me, are you?”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

After reassuring him, Penelope walked to the end of the hall and called the police officer who had taken her statement.

“I’ve remembered something else. I suspect the driver hit me intentionally. There may have been another motive.”

After hanging up, she walked back to Zebulon’s room and listened at the door.

Sure enough, a moment later, she heard his phone ring.

“What do you mean, my wife suspects you hit her on purpose?”

“Calm down. I’ll handle it.”

“I pay you, you do the job. You have your money, the job is done, so keep your mouth shut. If the police ask, you tell them it was an accident. That’s it.”

A few more words were exchanged before he hung up.

Penelope’s eyes hardened. So, the car crash had been orchestrated by Zebulon all along. He had arranged for the car to hit her so he could “save” her, making her feel indebted to him and thus ending any talk of divorce. And the ultimate goal was still to secure the KINY Group project.

Despicable.

Penelope was speechless. Yesterday, she had actually believed Mrs. Sullivan’s heart-wrenching sobs and had gone to that old apartment to find Zebulon. Now she realized Mrs. Sullivan had been acting too.

This whole family should have gone into theater.

“Honestly, there’s no need for all this drama. Weren’t you the one demanding a grand wedding? Fine. I agree. We’ll start planning it right away.”

Penelope had been on the verge of laying all her cards on the table, but Mrs. Sullivan’s sudden announcement stopped her cold.

“You’re going to give me a wedding?”

“I think it’s a waste of money, but I’m tired of all your theatrics. So, fine, you can have it,” Mrs. Sullivan said, waving her hand dismissively as if granting a great favor.

A fake marriage certificate was absurd enough. Now they were offering her a fake wedding?

What had she ever done to them to deserve being played with so cruelly and without any limits?

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