The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 17

Penelope got stuck in traffic and by the time she arrived at the KINY Group building, she only caught a glimpse of a man in a black suit getting into a white Maybach before it sped away.

So handsome she would fall hopelessly in love?

That was him?

Penelope’s eye twitched. The man was short, with a sallow complexion and features that brought to mind a potato pulled from the mud. One look was an insult to her eyesight.

But then again, it made sense. Mr. Johnson himself was short, stout, and homely. Genetics could be a cruel thing. She couldn’t believe she had actually bought his hype.

Now what? She was already having second thoughts.

Inside the Maybach, an assistant handed a file to the young heir and began rapidly summarizing the key points for his next meeting. The heir listened, his gaze fixed on the documents. His skin was flawless, his brows perfectly sculpted, and his features were sharp and defined. The line of his jaw was strong, giving him an air of cold authority, yet every movement he made was imbued with an innate, aristocratic grace.

It was the kind of presence one would expect from the heir to the Stapleton family’s multi-billion-dollar fortune.

Even though the assistant saw that face every day, it still felt like a personal attack from the universe. God was truly unfair.

“I want to call off the engagement!”

The moment Penelope walked into Mr. Johnson’s office, she made her announcement. She was, admittedly, shallow. Why else would she have fallen for Zebulon, a man who was less capable than her and completely coddled? Because he was handsome.

But Mr. Johnson’s son… his appearance was something she couldn’t stomach. On the elevator ride up, she had weighed the KINY Group fortune against her own aesthetic sensibilities, and her eyes had won. Money could be earned again. But her sanity was priceless.

Mr. Johnson, whose bald head was fringed with unruly white hair, looked at her with genuine confusion. “But why?”

Penelope took a deep breath, deciding to be diplomatic. “I saw your son. I just don’t think we’re a good match.”

Surely that was tactful enough.

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