Chapter 7
When I returned to Frostwood Lodge, the numbness in my frozen body finally eased, warmth slowly seeping back into
my limbs.
That was when my phone–usually stuck without a signal–started vibrating repeatedly.
I shrugged off my heavy coat and curled up under the warm blankets.
When I opened Instagram, I saw something rare: a whole string of messages from Hunter.
[Penny, why aren’t you home?]
[Why is there only leftover food in the house? What exactly do you do all day?]
[Not replying? What–are you thinking about divorce?]
When I still didn’t respond, more messages came flooding in.
[No reply? You think ignoring me will get my attention? Childish.]
[If you don’t want to cook, fine. Plenty of people are willing to cook for me.]
[See? A hundred times better than what you make.]
There was a photo attached.
I tapped it open.
In the picture. Hunter grinned broadly at the camera, his smile almost painfully bright.
Behind him, at the kitchen counter, a slim figure in an apron was busy cooking.
Even without seeing her face, I recognized her instantly.
His assistant–Luna.
I stared at the photo, and a blunt thought surfaced instinctively:
[When did Hunter become so… greasy?]
His expression looked like congealed oil from last night-
smeared thickly across my screen.
So greasy it made me uncomfortable.
And oddly enough, a trace of guilt crept into my chest.
Chapter 7
Net Short
A Life and Death Lie Under Christmas Lights
45 67%
Sorry, Penny, I thought.
Missed out on dating some ridiculously ripped guy–really let you down, huh? With that. I replied.
[Okay.]
[When I get back, we’ll get divorced.]
After the message was sent. Hunter didn’t reply immediately.
At this hour, he was probably enjoying himself in someone else’s arms.
I didn’t wait.
I switched my phone to silent and placed it face down on the nightstand.
Nothing was more important than getting a proper beauty sleep.
The next day. I slept straight through until noon.
When I finally checked my phone, Hunter had sent several messages in a row.
[Divorce? You’re finally willing?]
[What do you mean by “when you get back“? I’m home–where are you?]
[Where did you go?]
[Penny, you didn’t come home last night?]
[Pick up the phone!]
[Penny, are you dead or what?]
I scrolled through them expressionlessly, not bothering to respond.
Instead, I started packing my luggage, preparing to head back.
Chapter 7
