The Night He Chose Her, I Chose My Revenge Chapter 04

The Night He Chose Her, I Chose My Revenge Chapter 04

Julian’s gaze fell on me like ice. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough for everyone in the living room to hear.

“Elara, come here. Pin the brooch on Penelope.”

It was an order.

A public coronation.

Only the woman being crowned wasn’t me, the lady of the house.

All eyes were on me, waiting for the hysterics, or at the very least, a tearful humiliation.

But I showed nothing. I just lowered my head and glanced at my phone.

A new message from Liam had appeared on the screen.

“Helo on standby outside Charleston. Weather forecast changed. Hurricane may arrive early. Wait for my signal.”

Before I could reply, Julian snatched the phone from my hand and threw it onto the sofa. He grabbed my wrist, the metal band of his watch digging into my skin.

“Now,” he forced out through his teeth, pushing my hand toward Penelope.

I lifted my eyes and, expressionlessly, I fastened the magnolia brooch—*my* brooch—onto Penelope.

It sparkled against her expensive silk dress like a silent taunt.

Julian wrapped his arm around Penelope’s waist in satisfaction. As he passed me, he paused, glancing toward the master bedroom upstairs.

“Penelope will sleep in the master bedroom tonight,” he announced. “She needs to be well-rested for the gala.”

He knew how fiercely I guarded my private space.

That room was my sanctuary, and he was handing it over to another woman.

I met the challenge in his eyes and gave a calm nod.

Then I turned, took the spare key card for the master bedroom from the butler, whose expression was a mask of conflict, and placed it in Penelope’s warm palm.

When I returned to the guest room, I closed the door, shutting out the world beyond it.

I walked to the calendar on the wall and tore off today’s page.

A single word had been circled in red pen:

“Gala-5.”

The countdown to going home.

The next morning, I pushed open the door to the master bedroom.

Penelope’s expensive gown from the night before was strewn across the floor, along with half-empty wine glasses. The air was thick with a cloying mix of unfamiliar perfume and alcohol.

My favorite Frette linens were twisted into a heap, stained with makeup and God knows what else.

The maid stood in the doorway, pale and helpless.

I took one look, my tone as flat as if I were discussing the weather.

“Pack it all up and burn it.”

No sooner had I spoken than Penelope emerged from the bathroom, wearing one of my silk robes. Faint red marks still clung to her neck, a lazy, victorious smile on her face.

She leaned against the doorframe. “Sorry, Elara. I made such a mess of your room.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping over the ruined bed, and then she winked at me.

“But your sheets are just divine. I think I’ll need a new set.”