The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 389

Penelope had recorded the entire call.

She handed the phone to her brother and told him to export the audio file.

As he worked, Timothy seethed. “I’m going to post this online. It’ll go viral. Let’s see how Judy faces the world after this.”

Penelope shook her head with a wry smile. “You underestimate Mrs. Bishop. She has the money and connections to bury this story, to make the recording disappear from the internet entirely. She could even trace it back to us, and don’t forget, we didn’t exactly obtain this legally. Besides, what do you mean, ‘face the world’? As long as she’s shameless enough, she’ll carry on just fine. Once the scandal dies down, no one will even remember.”

Timothy frowned. “So the recording is useless?”

“Of course not. We just have to wait for the right moment to use it.”

She had Timothy send the file to her. “I’ll handle this from here on out. You stay out of it.”

Leaving Jack to Louis, she washed her hands of the matter.

When she returned to the Johnson estate, it was just her and Mr. Johnson for dinner again. Seeing his downcast expression, she placed some food on his plate.

“Theodore’s been really busy lately. He often has dinner at the office.”

Mr. Johnson sighed. “You don’t have to make excuses for him. I know he won’t be coming back here.”

“He will. This is his home too.”

“But he hates me.”

Theodore did hate him, but everything Mr. Johnson had done was for his son’s sake.

“I’ll bring him back in a few days.”

“Don’t force him. He’s carrying a heavy burden of his own.”

It was true. Theodore was still suffering from Lorraine’s death. Mrs. Stapleton, Mr. Johnson, and Theodore were all trapped in a cycle of self-blame and self-punishment. Though no one was truly at fault, hate and resentment were the only things that seemed to ease their pain.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” he murmured, his forehead pressed against hers, his breath hot and ragged.

Penelope inhaled his scent, feeling a little dizzy. “I had lamb stew, stir-fried greens, and mushroom soup for dinner…”

“So?”

“So now I’m realizing my diet has been far too bland,” she whispered, leaning in to nip his lower lip. “I’m in the mood for something more… substantial.”

“How substantial?”

Penelope wrapped her arms around his shoulders and climbed onto his lap. The buttons of her silk pajamas had come undone during the scuffle. She pressed herself against him, a silent invitation.

Much later, as the night deepened, Penelope lay limply against Theodore’s chest, listening to the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart.

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