Page 5 of Never Been Worse

“She’s an Astor, for one,” he says, as if being his boss’s daughter makes her the obvious better choice. “Much more of a career boost than a pageant gown designer.”

That hits straight into my gut, especially considering I’ve confessed more times than I can count how I want to be known for more than pageant gowns, something he swore up and down for almost two years now he would help me with. All those promises of opening doors, of mentioning my name in meetings, seem pretty empty at this moment.

Was I truly this stupid, this naive all along?

Choosing the easy, solid, “safe” choice only to be completely blindsided?

“And, of course, she’s got a model’s physique.” My eyes open as I try and think of a response or at least ask him to stop telling me all of my shortcomings, but he doesn’t stop. “She’s blonde.”

“I could have dyed my hair,” I say low and impulsively, even though I love my red hair and always have. In the morning, I’ll probably be embarrassed, but right now, I’m in shock. I thought I was sticking by Jeremy, riding out the rough years when we both worked hard to build our careers so that, later, we could enjoy life together, but he was just using me as a stepping stone.

“And she’s spontaneous,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken, and from the corner of my eye, I see Clarissa smiling at my pain, at my humiliation.

“Spontaneous? I can be spontaneous!” I say louder than I intended to.

Jeremy gives me the kind of smile you give a small child when they say they can fly or that they believe fairies exist. “Sure you are, Harper.” He might as well pat me on the head at this point. “When was the last time you were spontaneous? You plan your breakfast a month in advance.”

“It’s easier that way to shop!” I shout. “So I can make sure you have a solid breakfast every morning, like you asked.” I think of my Sunday mornings spent meal-prepping breakfasts and lunches for us while he went out golfing or sleeping in, half of which would end up in the trash or untouched when he went out for lunch or forgot them at home.

“Honey, you should really stop now,” Clarissa says, giving me a pitying look. “It’s just making you look…sad.”

I blink at her, at the woman who’s been knowingly fucking a taken man.

And what’s even worse is that she pities me, like even she knows I’ve wasted the last few years of my life catering to this man who might not have ever cared about me, who definitely never saw a future with me if he was willing to let it go so easily.

The reality hits me like a train and with one look around the room, around the house I thought would be mine forever, I nod and decide it’s best to get out before I do something stupid, like rip this girl's hair out.

“I...I’m going to leave. Go to Ava’s or Jules’ or…I don’t know.” I don’t know why I’m telling him, since he surely doesn’t care where I go. “I’ll come back another time to get my things, we can...we can coordinate. I’m just going to grab a few things.” My throat hurts with unshed tears, but I won’t give them that, I won’t give them that when clearly, there is no remorse here. I won’t make a fool of myself again.

I step away, grabbing three large bags and quickly packing up my already incredibly organized things. It takes me less than five minutes before I’m walking toward the door, ready to get to my car and sob when I’m stopped.

“Actually, before you leave, I need something from you,” Jeremy says.

When I turn around, he’s pulling out a stack of papers and handing them to me, and once again, my world comes crumbling down.

“Harper Abbott,” the bored officer says, pulling me out of my memories.

I give a tight smile to Ava and Jules in the cell beside me and stand, raising my hand.

For the first time in four years, I acted spontaneously, and it got us arrested.

“That’s me,” I say.

“Come with me,” she says, unlocking and opening the door, before motioning for me to step out. When I do, she locks the door behind us and guides me down a hallway.

“Where are we going?”

“The victim wants to speak with you,” she says bluntly, and my jaw drops.

“The victim?” I ask. Jeremy is far from a victim in this situation. For the love of God, all we did was pour some glitter on his lawn. I would happily pay to get it resodded if that’s what he needs.

“And his counsel,” she adds.

“His counsel?!” I ask, aghast. “For glittering his yard?”

She shrugs, then glances down at the paper. “Says here they’re looking to charge you with vandalism, criminal stalking, and harassment.” My stomach plummets because those are not easy, silly charges. “Oh, and littering. Fuck, what did he do to you?” she asks, looking at me in a new light.

I sigh. “Cheated on me with his boss’s daughter after stringing me along our whole relationship,” I say low, her words ricocheting in my mind.

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