The Night He Chose Her, I Chose My Revenge Chapter 03

The Night He Chose Her, I Chose My Revenge Chapter 03

Julian and Penelope’s laughter drifted from the living room, piercing my ears like needles. Holding the cold magnolia brooch, I descended the stairs one step at a time, each one feeling like a footfall on the bones of the last five years of my life.

As I neared the study, I heard Julian’s lowered voice. He was on the phone. The door was ajar.

“…Yes, Mother. She put it on. Just like you said, this particular move worked beautifully.”

My feet froze. My hand clenched around the brooch.

The person on the other end must have said something, because Julian laughed softly, his tone thick with smugness and contempt.

“A wild mare from Texas needs to be tamed. She can’t leave the Croft family. Don’t worry. Once the gala is over, I’ll give her a little reward, and she’ll be back in line, just like always.”

The air conditioning was set to a perfect seventy-two degrees, but I felt as if I’d been plunged into an ice bath.

So my five years of effort, my five years of pain, had been nothing more than a carefully orchestrated performance for him and his mother.

“Liam? Her brother?” Julian’s voice grew even more dismissive. “A tech upstart from Austin. What does he know besides throwing money around? Does he think Charleston is Texas? He can’t lay a finger on the Croft family.”

I closed my eyes.

To marry him, I had crossed half of America, leaving vibrant Austin for this suffocating Southern soil. And now, every sacrifice I had made for love was just another reason for him to despise me and my family.

I couldn’t listen anymore. I was about to turn away when the study door was suddenly pulled open from the inside.

Penelope saw me, surprise flashing across her face before melting into a syrupy smile.

“Elara! What are you doing here? Come on in. Julian was just looking for you.”

Without another word, she grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the living room. Her grip was so tight I stumbled, and the antique velvet box holding the brooch slipped from my hand, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

Penelope didn’t even glance at it. She walked straight to Julian’s side and curled into his arms, her voice a practiced Southern drawl. “See? I told you Elara was generous.”

Julian’s gaze landed on me, then shifted to the empty box on the floor. He frowned slightly, his tone a clear command. “Pick it up.”

I looked at him. I looked at the victor in his arms. Then I looked at the empty box on the floor, the symbol of five years of humiliation.

I smiled.

I lifted my foot.

Not to pick it up.

I kicked the empty box.

It skidded across the polished marble floor to strike the fireplace with perfect accuracy.

“The brooch is right here,” I said, raising the coldly glittering pin in my hand. My voice was ice. “But *that* box isn’t worthy of it.”

The air in the living room froze.

Julian’s face darkened. He stared at me with a blackness I had never seen before.

He was offended.

He was losing control.

The next second, he looked away. His hand, however, came to rest on Penelope’s shoulder, his fingertips brushing over the brooch that should have been mine.

He looked at Penelope, but his words were for me.

“Penelope is right. Some things are just meant for the right person.”