The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 22

Once Zebulon had changed, they went downstairs together.

The rest of the family was already seated at the dining table. Mr. Sullivan’s expression was thunderous, casting a tense chill over the room.

Zebulon knew exactly what was wrong. After pulling out a chair for Penelope, he turned to Rebecca. “Is the KINY Group unhappy with something on our end? We were supposed to sign the contract, so why are they suddenly demanding a redesign? This throws us back to where we were six months ago. Was all that work for nothing?”

Penelope, acting as if it had nothing to do with her, calmly poured herself a glass of juice. Mrs. Sullivan shot her a glare for her nonchalance.

“Would you like some, Mom?” Penelope asked sweetly.

“That’s all you do,” Mrs. Sullivan snapped. “So thoughtless.”

“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

“You—!”

“That’s enough! Isn’t there enough tension already?” Mr. Sullivan boomed.

His shout made Rebecca flinch. “The KINY Group wasn’t satisfied with the proposal,” she said quickly. “But that’s not my fault. After all, I wasn’t the one who designed it…”

Not her? Then who?

As all eyes turned to her, Penelope took a slow sip of her juice before responding with an amused smile. “All I know is that I used that proposal to get the KINY Group to the verge of signing. As for why the deal fell through, whether it’s a problem with the design or something else, it’s no longer my concern.”

“How is it not your concern?” Mrs. Sullivan cried. “You were part of the project! You should see it through to the end!”

“Please,” Penelope scoffed. “Dad fired me, remember? Even if I wanted to, would he let me?”

Mr. Sullivan cleared his throat. “If you really wanted to…”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Penelope cut him off smoothly. “After all, that might give my colleagues the impression that the company can’t function without me!”

The words died on Mr. Sullivan’s lips. He shot her another cold glare.

Penelope pretended not to notice and picked up her fork, helping herself to some food.

“Hmph. If you ask me, the deal fell through after six months of negotiations because her design was flawed from the start,” Mrs. Sullivan declared, wrapping a proud arm around Rebecca. “Now that Rebecca is in charge, I’m confident she’ll create a new design that gets approved on the first try.”

Zebulon coughed nervously and told his mother to stop.

“What’s wrong with saying a few words? Are you defending her again?”

“Mom, that’s enough.”

“You, you, you! What do you even see in her? She’s disrespectful, has no manners, can’t cook or clean. She’s utterly useless!”

“Penelope, you should apologize,” Rebecca chimed in, feigning concern.

Penelope blinked innocently. “Who should apologize to whom?”

“Penelope!”

With a derisive little laugh, Penelope ignored them and reached for the soup ladle. But Mrs. Sullivan swiftly moved the heavy tureen to the opposite side of the table, making it clear it was not for her.

Penelope dangled the empty ladle from her fingers, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her face. They were the ones who had started this.