Chapter 211

The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself · NovelDrama.Org

Timothy, who had just picked up his fork to eat his steak, slammed it back onto the plate with a loud clatter. He looked up, his face a cold mask.

"Was Penelope your first choice for a wife?"

Theodore raised an eyebrow. "Your tone is incredibly rude, but I'll answer you. Yes, she was."

"Because she's stupid?"

"Your Penny is anything but stupid."

"Then what do you want from her?"

"I want all of her."

"You don't love her."

"And how would you know that?"

"Hah. You've known each other for less than a month."

"Is time the only measure of love?"

"You think you're so great?"

"I'm nine years older than you."

"So?"

"So at least I don't ask such childish questions."

Though he'd lost the verbal spar, Timothy was far from defeated. He shot Theodore another glare.

Theodore's lips curved into a smirk as his gaze fell on something Timothy had placed on the table.

"You enjoy Sudoku?"

Sensing an opportunity to strike back, Timothy retorted, "I bought this for one of my students. He's in sixth grade, by the way."

"Then it would be pretty embarrassing to lose, wouldn't it?" Theodore's eyes narrowed.

"Care for a game?" Timothy challenged.

"Sure," Theodore replied, a cunning look on his face.

...

Penelope and Norton returned with plates piled high with fruit, deep in conversation.

"You mean the male lead from that hit historical drama this year? He's a mistress? No way. He's young, handsome, and rich. What would he gain from that?"

"The entertainment industry is complicated. The point is, the wife exposed him. It's a done deal."

"I think I just saw him at some event on my phone a few days ago."

"He's got a powerful woman backing him. I heard she was so angry she hired someone to beat up her own husband for him."

Penelope stuffed a piece of watermelon into her mouth, spraying juice everywhere.

"Where on earth do you hear this stuff?"

"We have a gossip group chat."

"There's a group chat for that?"

"Want in? I can add you."

"Yes, please!"

They were chattering excitedly when they returned to a freezing atmosphere at the table.

Theodore and Timothy were silent their hands moving in a blur over a piece of paper. One wore a faint, unreadable smile while the other radiated pure animosity.

Penelope peeked over and saw a Sudoku grid. They were taking turns filling in the squares, a silent battle of wits.

"Oh, Sudoku. I can play that."

She snatched the paper from Timothy just as Theodore was about to take it. She

glanced at it confidently, then again, and a third time.

"What do these little hook things on the grid mean?"

Norton snorted. "You don't even know how to read it, do you?"

"I just... haven't studied it before. If you're so smart, you do it."

Norton quickly held up his hands. can handle a normal puzzle, but this is some advanced-level stuff. I don't see the need to waste my brain cells on it." .

"I agree completely."

IMS

Penelope handed the paper back to Theodore, who took one look and filled in a square without hesitation.

When it was Timothy's turn, he did the same with ease.

Then back to Theodore, effortless. Timothy, simple.

Watching them, Penelope and Norton began to question their own intelligence

and decided to stop torturing themselves.

"So, you were saying the powerful woman is pregnant?"

"Guess whose it is."

"How could I possibly guess that?"

"Rumor has it, it's her husband's."

"Wow. That's messy."

Just as they got back into their conversation, Norton's phone rang. After a brief,

hurried exchange, he hung up and shot to his feet.

"What's wrong?" Penelope asked, seeing his furious expression.

Norton snorted. "My buddy just caught his fiancée in a hotel room with another guy. He needs backup."

"Oh, well, are you..."

"I'm taking Theodore's car."

"But you've been drinking."

"It was just fruit wine."

"That doesn't matter."

Penelope glanced at Theodore and

Timothy, who were still locked in

their Sudoku battler

era

moment's hesitation, she said, "I'll drive you."

The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself
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