The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 87

Not only was the scenery beautiful, but the food was delicious and the service was impeccable. To top it all off, she got a free show. Penelope was thoroughly satisfied as she left.

She had just reached the entrance when Zebulon caught up to her.

“308!”

308? Penelope looked at him, confused.

He frowned, took a deep breath, and clarified, “That’s my room number. Come by tonight.”

He was inviting her to his room?

And with that tone, as if he were granting her an incredible favor?

Penelope scoffed and turned to keep walking. Even yelling at him felt like a waste of breath.

“Penelope, I love you,” he called after her. “I love you enough to swallow my pride, to bend my principles, to forgive all the terrible things you’ve done these past few days.”

Oh, go to hell.

Penelope walked faster. When a person reaches the absolute peak of speechlessness, words truly fail them.

“Penelope, the KINY Group project is practically a done deal, as you saw. And I always keep my word. Do you really want me to divorce you?”

Divorce my ass.

“Come to my room tonight, and we can go back to how things were. This is your last chance!”

That was it. She had reached her limit. She stopped abruptly, her fists clenched at her sides.

Seeing her pause, Zebulon assumed he had her right where he wanted her. He slid his hands into his pockets, his confidence instantly returning.

“I know you love me, too. Hopelessly. After all, a man like me is a once-in-a-lifetime find. Penelope, I can forgive you, but you’ll have to apologize to my parents. Don’t worry, I’ll be there with you.”

When you can’t take it anymore, you don’t have to.

Penelope spun around, marched back to Zebulon, and drove her fist straight into his face.

Completely caught off guard, he staggered back two steps, nearly falling to the ground.

“Penelope!” he roared through gritted teeth. “Just wait for the divorce papers!”

Penelope smirked. “I certainly hope I get them!”

She hesitated for a moment before running to the changing room door, just about to call out.

“Mr. Sullivan, you have such a great body. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and those abs… look how firm they are. Not like my husband. He doesn’t have a single ab; he looks like he’s a few months pregnant.”

“Ms. Laurier, are you changing? I can wait outside.”

“Don’t be silly. We still have to discuss our collaboration.”

“This isn’t the right place.”

“You’re right, it’s not. Why don’t you help me get this pesky swimsuit off?”

Penelope’s mind reeled. She peeked inside and saw the middle-aged woman who was impersonating her pressing Zebulon against a locker, her hands roaming all over his body.

Zebulon was gritting his teeth, the veins in his neck bulging as he endured it.

“Ms. Laurier, that’s enough!” he finally snapped, pushing her hands away.

The woman’s expression instantly soured. “Do you want this project or not?”

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