The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 34

“But what?”

“She’s a drunk.”

“…”

Penelope was already feeling the effects of the alcohol. Aware that she was losing her composure, she finished her last drink, paid her tab, and left. Just outside the door, she bumped into a man who reeked of cheap liquor. She shot him a glare and kept walking.

“Well, hello beautiful!” The man, who had been about to curse, changed his tune the moment he saw her face. A lecherous grin spread across his face as he hurried after her.

Penelope picked up her pace, and so did he.

“Hey, beautiful, let me buy you a drink, what do you say?”

“Don’t walk away! Give me a chance!”

She walked faster, and he broke into a jog, cutting her off. He rubbed his nose, his eyes filled with a predatory greed.

“A woman drinking alone late at night is either heartbroken or looking for some company,” he slurred, stepping closer. “Either way, I can help you out.”

The foul stench of his alcohol-laced breath made Penelope cover her nose. “Get lost.”

“Ooh, a feisty one. I like that even better.”

“I’m warning you, don’t mess with me,” Penelope said through gritted teeth.

“How about this? You give me one kiss, and I’ll let you go.”

Penelope was drunk. Her limbs felt heavy, and her head was spinning. The last thing she wanted was a fight. She tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed her arm.

“Let go of me!”

“Spend the night with me!”

“If you touch me again, I won’t be so polite!”

“You can hit me all you want. Take off my clothes and go wild!”

The sight of his disgusting leer made her snap.

“Fine,” she hissed. “You asked for it.”

She turned and walked into a nearby alley, snatching an empty glass bottle from a bin as the man followed, chuckling to himself, thinking she had given in.

“I’m taking her back to the hotel.”

“Wait, I don’t get it. Do you even know who she is?”

Theodore tightened his grip on Penelope’s waist to keep her from sliding to the ground.

“She’s my fiancée.”

Michael’s eyes bulged. “You… are you kidding me?”

“Do I look like a man who jokes?”

Michael shook his head dumbly, then the pieces clicked into place. “So she… she’s the one your father set you up with?”

“Yes.”

A sliver of clarity pierced through Penelope’s drunken haze. This man was taking her to a hotel. Alarms blared in her head. She struggled, but it was useless. She looked up at him, ready to threaten him with a world of pain if he laid a hand on her.

But then she saw his face—chiseled and severe, yet impossibly beautiful, like a king from a storybook.

“Hey, handsome,” she slurred. “How much… for one night?”