AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ethan has always been a shady character, money somehow made him lose his moral compass. He's the type to betray his own family for a bit of publicity. And he did—he started rumors about me to stay in the limelight.
That's why I don't talk to the mother fucker.
The thought of handing over the reins of the family company to Ethan drives me mad.
A cold chill runs down my spine and my fists clench tighter. I take a deep breath, trying not to sock him in the fucking face right here in this Michelin star restaurant.
"Ethan."
Ethan grins, a smug look on his face. "Logan." His voice is as slick as oil. "Still playing at being the prodigal son, I see. How charming."
That's fucking it. I've had enough.
The white linen napkin on my lap crumples as my fists ball up at my side.
I stand from my seat, ready to wipe that smug grin off his face. But I catch my father's gaze, a silent plea in his eyes. A plea for me not to make a scene, not here, not now.
I swallow down the anger, gritting my teeth.
"Enjoy your fucking dinner," I say, through clenched teeth. I feel the betrayals kick me as I walk out, leaving them behind.
I am absolutely-the-fuck-not doing this with them.
I’m not playing this game.
23
BAILEY
As I slam the fridge door shut, I grab the butcher knife from its stand and chop the onions so intensely that it would make Gordon Ramsey proud.
There's something therapeutic about slicing a solid object into tiny pieces.
I try to suppress the image of Logan and that woman. Pregnant with his baby? Of course, she had to be beautiful too.
How unfair can the universe be?
I knew Logan was too good to be true. There’s no way a player like him would really fall in love with a woman like me.
"Damn you, Logan, and your stupid charm."
My knife hits the chopping board. "And his stupid smile. And his stupid hair. And his stupid... his stupid everything!"
I pick up a bell pepper, a stand-in for Logan's perfectly chiseled face, and start slicing it into thin strips.
I chuckle bitterly like a crazy woman. "How’s that for a metaphor, Logan?" I say to the pepper. "I'm literally cutting you into pieces in my kitchen."
I toss the vegetables into the wok, stirring them roughly as I picture Logan's face. A lump forms in my throat as I think about our interaction at work.
He looked genuinely hurt, a face I’m used to seeing on Mr. Playboy. The memory is overpowered by a fresh surge of anger. I pick up the chili powder and shake it over the stir-fry aggressively.
Take that, Logan.
"Bailey, you’re acting crazy," I tell myself.
But I can't help it. I was blindsided by that pregnancy bomb. Pregnant with Logan’s baby?
Ugh. What's this feeling doing? Again...
