The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 367

He had invited her to dinner, yet the guest had arrived first.

Penelope sat down at the table Hans had reserved, ordered herself a coffee, and started a timer on her watch. She was curious to see just how late he would be.

“Zebulon sent me to find you! He said you’re the only one who can help him!”

The restaurant was quiet, with patrons speaking in hushed tones, so the sudden shout was jarring. Penelope looked over and saw Rebecca Winters standing up agitatedly, facing Anna Flores.

It had been a while since she’d seen Rebecca. The expensive clothes were gone, replaced by her usual innocent, simple style. Anna, on the other hand, looked gaunt and weary. Penelope wondered if she had ever gone to see her first love. It was obvious Rebecca had sought out Anna, desperate for help to save Zebulon from a harsh sentence.

Anna laughed dismissively. “And how am I supposed to help him?”

“The lawyer said that if Penelope signs a letter of forgiveness, the court will be lenient.”

“Then you should be talking to Penelope, not me.”

“She’ll never help us. But you could ask Theodore, and he could persuade her to sign it.”

Hearing this, Penelope’s eyes narrowed. So that’s what they were up to. At least the Sullivans had the sense not to approach her directly this time.

“I have no desire to beg anyone for anything, especially not Penelope,” Anna refused flatly.

“You have to help Zebulon!” Rebecca pleaded.

“And why is that?”

“Because… because you were his mistress!”

The accusation drew glances from several other tables. Humiliated, Anna stood up to leave, but Rebecca grabbed her arm. “I have no one else to turn to. Please, help Zebulon. You don’t want him to get a heavy sentence, do you?”

Anna yanked her arm away. “First of all, I was never his mistress. And to be honest, he wasn’t worthy of being mine. Second, we’re through. Pestering me won’t do you any good.”

The other diners, startled, abandoned their meals and crowded around. A waiter, seeing the gravity of the situation, immediately called 911.

Penelope tore her gaze away and looked toward the entrance. Hans was finally arriving. Dressed in casual clothes, he walked in at a leisurely pace, looking completely at ease.

“Mrs. Stapleton, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” he asked, his smile grandfatherly.

Penelope glanced at her watch. “You’re fifteen minutes late.”

Hans' smile faded slightly as he took the seat opposite her.

“And since you invited me, not the other way around, is it really appropriate for you to be late?” she asked, her eyes sharp as she looked up at him.

Hans' eyes narrowed for a moment before he replied, “My apologies. I was held up.”