The Man Who Ruined My 22nd, the Customer Who Wanted a Steamed Bun Chapter 11

The Man Who Ruined My 22nd, the Customer Who Wanted a Steamed Bun Chapter 11

Vivienne’s expression shifted wildly from shock to sheer malice.

She snapped her chin up, scrambling to piece her haughty, untouchable persona back together.

“Don’t use that tone with me. You’re only a few years older than me. Don’t actually start thinking you’re my big brother.”

“And who are you, exactly, to speak to the real daughter of the Quinn family like that?”

“This is between me and Elena. Stay out of it.”

Wesley did not move.

He stood firmly in front of Maisie and me.

“I’m the owner of this breakfast shop. I’m Maisie’s father, and Elena’s husband.”

“I don’t give a damn about heiresses. Anyone who walks through that door is a customer, but you two are destroying my property and threatening my family. I don’t welcome trash in my shop.”

Vivienne was left speechless.

Then she let out a cold laugh and turned her attack toward Wesley too.

“Elena, you really did find yourself a wonderful husband. So blind, so eager to defend you. I guess you haven’t told him what a disgusting, rotten person you really are.”

“You’re selfish, fake, useless, and a compulsive liar.”

“Someone like you doesn’t deserve to be alive. And you had a daughter? That girl will turn out just as ruined as you.”

“One day, the whole world will abandon you. You’ll live worse than death.”

Vivienne looked ready to keep throwing her tantrum.

Wesley took out his phone and played a video.

It was the security footage from the moment Vivienne walked into the breakfast shop and started screaming insults.

Every word had been recorded clearly.

“I’m giving you two choices,” Wesley said. “Leave now, or I call the police.”

“And while I’m at it, I’ll post this video online so everyone can see how a so-called society heiress walks into a neighborhood breakfast shop and abuses an ordinary working family.”

“My wife’s character isn’t something an outsider gets to define.”

Elliot stared at the man in front of him.

Wesley was plain-looking, dressed simply, with flour still on his hands.

Yet his eyes were unwavering.

Then Elliot looked at me, protected behind Wesley, cherished so openly that happiness was written across my face.

Only then did he suddenly understand what a terrible boyfriend he had been.

Tears gathered in his eyes.

His gaze filled with the memory of all the loneliness and despair he had once caused me.

He had never given me this kind of rock-solid security.

And yet this man, who seemed to have nothing and looked ordinary in every possible way, had done it.

Elliot had spent half his life chasing status and money.

In the end, all he had was a mess he could not clean up.

I, who had suddenly lost everything back then, had left him in the dust of his own ambition.

Free of him, I had found a beautiful, untouchable peace.

Elliot let out a long sigh. His steps turned unsteady.

He dragged the half-hysterical Vivienne toward the door, one step at a time.

“Let’s go. Shut up. Just go home.”

Go home.

Back to that empty, polished, fake home that belonged to them.