The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 169

The lock clicked. Penelope hastily drew the curtains shut, oblivious to the storm gathering on Theodore’s face.

By the time she turned around, Zebulon was already inside.

“Breaking and entering. Do you want me to call the police?” she said, her voice dripping with ice.

Zebulon swayed on his feet, clearly drunk. He seemed not to hear her and continued walking toward the sofa, but she blocked his path.

“Get out. Now. Before I do something we both regret.”

“I’ve had too much to drink,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead.

“And?”

“You always used to make me that soothing porridge when I drank too much, so my stomach wouldn’t hurt. It hurts right now. Can you…”

“Go home and ask your mother.”

He sighed. “If you didn’t want to divorce me, it must mean you still love me, that you can’t bear to let me go. I love you too. Can we please stop fighting?”

“Zebulon, did you come here in the middle of the night just to make me sick?”

“Penelope, if you want an apology, I’ll apologize. But please, let’s not do this. It’s tearing us apart.”

Zebulon reached for her, but she stepped back, leaving him grasping at air. In one fluid motion, she picked up a fruit knife from the coffee table.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, exasperated.

“I want you to get the hell out of my house!”

“I know Rebecca and I are having a child, but I don’t love her. If it bothers you that much, I… I promise I’ll never see her again. Will that make you happy?”

“Get out!”

Theodore stood there, shirtless, his suit pants still on. He had raked a hand through his hair and was leaning against the glass, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He hadn’t lit it.

“Theo… Mr. Stapleton…”

The formal address slipped out, and she immediately wanted to slap herself.

“So polite. Why call me Mr. Stapleton? Just call me ‘the other man,’” he said, his voice dangerously low. He shot her a cold glare and stalked upstairs.

Penelope rushed after him, trying to explain, but what was there to say? Theodore had investigated her; he knew all about her messy history with Zebulun. And if he already knew, why was he so angry?

Theodore dressed quickly, found a lighter, and lit his cigarette before heading for the door. He moved with a cold, contained fury.

“What are you so mad about? I can explain,” she pleaded, trailing behind him.

He didn’t answer.