The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 8

“Didn’t you change your clothes last night? You smell like sweat.”

He had driven Rebecca home, probably staying with her until dawn before grabbing these flowers on his way back, a pathetic attempt to soothe his minuscule conscience.

“Do I?” Zebulon sniffed his shirt. “Oh, right. I drove out to the flower fields at dawn and waited for them to open so I could get you the freshest roses.”

Penelope wanted to roll her eyes. The flowers were clearly from the shop across the street; the florist’s logo was still on the wrapping paper.

She didn’t call him out on it, instead offering a sweet smile. “Thank you, honey.”

“Wait for me. I’m just going to take a quick shower, and then I’m taking you somewhere,” Zebulon said.

“But I have to go to the office today.”

“The office will survive without you. We haven’t had a proper date in ages.”

“But today—”

“Just wait.”

Before she could protest further, Zebulon was already heading upstairs. Watching him go, Penelope smirked. This was his way of keeping her from work.

Fine. She’d play along. Let’s see what other tricks they had up their sleeves.

An hour later, Zebulon was driving her down a narrow alleyway in the old part of the city. To put it nicely, the area was “full of life.” To be blunt, it was a chaotic mess of illegal structures, poor sanitation, and non-existent traffic laws.

But three years ago, this was where they had lived.

Back then, she didn’t know who he was. They were both just junior employees at Stone Group, living on entry-level salaries. To save money, they rented a small apartment in this dilapidated neighborhood, far from the office. A one-bedroom flat for eight hundred a month.

The reality was, she would wake up early to cook breakfast while he slept in. When the food was ready, he would sit at the table and wait for her to hand him his utensils. After they ate, he would go get dressed while she washed the dishes. During the day, she would be swamped with work, while he, the boss’s son, was given easy tasks and spent his time drinking coffee. At night, she’d come home exhausted and have to cook dinner while he, just as he said, sat and read a book. And when they finally got into bed, he would pester her for sex and then complain that she wasn’t passionate enough.

The memory of it made her want to slap herself. What had she been thinking, letting him treat her like that?

And now, when he could easily afford to buy her a luxury condo or a mansion, he chose this dump and acted like he was giving her the world.

“I don’t like this place. If you love it so much, you can live here yourself.”

With that, she turned and walked out.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her phone rang. It was Wilma, a colleague from her team.

“What’s going on? They’ve transferred Rebecca to our department and said she’s taking over for you!”