The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 81

Did they think it was over?

Penelope was far from finished. After dousing Zebulon, she upended the rest of the wine bottle over his head. When Rebecca shrieked and tried to intervene, she got soaked as well.

“Penelope, are you insane? Stop it!” Rebecca cried.

Zebulun, recovering from the initial shock, roared, “Penelope, you’ve gone too far!” He lunged for the bottle.

The wine was gone anyway. Penelope gripped the neck of the bottle and slammed it down on the table. It shattered, sending shards of glass flying. Zebulon and Rebecca, being the closest, were nicked on their faces by the flying fragments. Penelope had been careful, ensuring the other tables were out of range, but she needed this release.

Her explosive fury stunned them both into silence.

Penelope glared at them, her eyes blazing. Before, this had been a game, a way to vent her anger. But now, she wanted them to pay. She wanted them on their knees, begging for her forgiveness. And Penelope always got what she wanted. They would see.

She gritted her teeth, spun on her heel, and stalked out of the restaurant.

Next to the restaurant was a liquor store. She went in, bought a bottle of clear spirits, found a bench outside, and took several long swallows. The fire in her throat did little to quell the fire in her heart.

It’s okay, Penelope, she told herself. You see them for who they are now. You won’t be fooled again. You can hate them, but don’t torture yourself. You did nothing wrong. If you hate them, get your revenge. Make them pay until you’re satisfied.

That’s right, she thought. No one gets to hurt you.

She kept drinking, her internal monologue a soothing balm. By the time the bottle was empty, she had managed to calm herself down.

“You bastards,” she muttered to the empty street. “You just wait. I’m going to make every single one of you cry and beg for my forgiveness.”

With that, she shook her head to clear it and started walking back to the hotel. She didn’t bother with her own room. She just called Theodore.

“What room are you in?” she asked.

There was a pause, then he gave her the number.

She took the elevator up and was about to knock when the door swung open. Theodore stood there, still in his white shirt, one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his trousers. He was frowning at her.

“I… hic… I can do it,” she insisted, her words slightly slurred.

Theodore scoffed and disappeared into the walk-in closet.

“You don’t believe me, do you? When I say I’ll do something, I do it. Starting today, I’m not drinking another drop. I…”

She followed him into the closet just as he was taking off his shirt, revealing a broad, muscular back.

“What are you doing? Why are you taking your clothes off? We’re not even married yet! Don’t you dare try anything! I won’t let you!”

Theodore turned and clamped a hand over her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

Her world went dark. Her breath hitched, and her heart began to pound against her ribs. His hand was large, covering most of her face. It was cool against her skin and smelled faintly of tobacco.