Chapter 3
Wendy Wilson POV
I went to Simon’s company.
I wanted to return the love token from when we were together, give back what should be given back, and make a clean break.
When the receptionist saw me, she did not even put on a polite smile.
“Mr. Stone is in a meeting. Please wait.”
I sat down on the sofa in the lobby and called Simon.
No one answered.
I waited for a while, then went to ask the receptionist again.
The receptionist did not even raise her head. “Mr. Stone is still busy. Please keep waiting.”
So I sat back down.
One hour passed. Two hours passed.
Employees came and went through the lobby. When they saw me, their eyes held subtle judgment and avoidance.
I knew what they were thinking.
The news that Simon was going to marry Phoebe Ford had already spread through the entire company.
In the past, when I came here, the receptionist would at least inform him for me.
Today, she had not even done that.
This was not exactly new.
Simon had never given me a pass.
Every time I came to see him, I had to register in the lobby and wait for the receptionist to notify him.
Simon knew, but he never asked about it.
At six in the evening, people began leaving work one after another.
In the end, it was the janitor who could not stand watching anymore. She secretly told me, “Ms. Wilson, Mr. Stone didn’t come to the office today.”
I froze.
I had sat here for an entire afternoon, and the receptionist had known from beginning to end that Simon was not here.
In the past, although they had been neglectful toward me, at least they would not openly toy with me like this.
Today was different.
Simon was going to marry someone else, so they could not wait to come up and stomp on me a few more times.
I looked at the name tag on the receptionist’s chest. “I’ll remember you.”
The smile on the receptionist’s face stiffened for an instant.
I turned and left, then called Simon.
It was still the familiar unanswered call.
With no other choice, I could only go to the Stone family home to find Mrs. Stone.
The car stopped at the entrance of the Stone family villa.
I had just gotten out when my phone rang.
It was Gordon Wilson.
“The Kingsley family agreed. They’ll send a car to pick you up in half a month.”
Gordon could not hide his excitement. “Don’t try anything with me. When the time comes, you’ll obediently marry into that family.”
“Okay. It’s a deal. In half a month, I’ll be there on time.”
“Go where?”
Simon’s voice came from behind me.
I turned around.
Simon got out of the car, one hand in his trouser pocket and the other holding Phoebe Ford’s hand.
He was still wearing the same black shirt from last night, two buttons undone, looking like he hadn’t come home all night.
“Who were you calling? Where are you going?”
I put my phone into my bag and said calmly, “I’m getting married.”
Simon Stone glanced at me and couldn’t help letting out a scornful laugh.
“Married? Besides me, who would want you?”
He let go of Phoebe Ford’s hand, took a few steps forward, and looked down at me from above. “Playing hard to get? Useless.”
Phoebe followed him and said softly, “Simon, maybe Wendy Wilson just likes you too much. That’s why she’s saying things out of anger.”
Simon turned back to look at her, his gaze softening.
He reached out and ruffled Phoebe’s hair. “Whether she likes me or not, I don’t care. I only care about you.”
Phoebe lowered her head with a blush and obediently leaned into his arms.
I didn’t say anything else and walked straight inside.
The maid opened the door. I entered the living room and asked the butler where Mrs. Stone was.
The butler said Mrs. Stone had left yesterday for a trip and wouldn’t be back until next week.
Simon came in behind me and tossed his jacket onto the sofa.
“What do you need my mom for? Going to tattle again?”
I gave a bitter laugh inwardly.
Every time Mrs. Stone spoke up for me, Simon decided I must have been complaining behind his back.
The less I said, the more Mrs. Stone pitied me.
The more Mrs. Stone pitied me, the more Simon hated me.
“Since Mrs. Stone isn’t here, I’ll ask you for it.”
I took a jewelry box out of my bag and held it out to Simon. “You’re getting married. I’m returning this bracelet to you. Give me back my mother’s cross.”
Simon lowered his head and glanced at the pink diamond bracelet inside the box.
He had put it on me himself back then.
He said that once I wore it, I was part of his family.
Simon’s expression shifted uncertainly.
After a long while, he suddenly let out a cold laugh and snatched the bracelet.
“Your wrist is thick. It never looked good on you anyway.”
He turned and walked toward Phoebe, took her slender wrist, and fastened the bracelet around it.
“It fits Phoebe perfectly.”
Phoebe hurriedly shook her head. “Simon, this belongs to Wendy Wilson. I can’t—”
“If I give it to you, you wear it.”
Phoebe bit her lip, lowered her eyes, and obediently stopped refusing.
“Once you wear our family heirloom, you’re mine.”
Phoebe blushed again, smiling shyly.
I watched that bracelet encircle another girl’s wrist, as if something had finally been ripped out of my chest by the roots.
It hurt, but I also felt relieved.
It’s all over now, I thought.
“I’ve returned the bracelet. What about my mother’s cross? Give that back to me too.”
Simon leaned back on the sofa and crossed his legs. “I gave it to Phoebe.”
I froze. “That was something my mother left me.”
“I know.” Simon tilted his head and watched my expression. “If you want it back, fine.”
He pulled Phoebe’s hand over and said carelessly, “Phoebe wants mango mousse. Go make it. Once it’s done, I’ll give it back.”
Phoebe tugged gently at Simon’s sleeve. “Simon, isn’t it a little inappropriate to make Wendy Wilson make mango mousse?”
“She loves doing servants’ work like this.” Simon said it casually.
I knew arguing was meaningless. I only wanted to get my mother’s keepsake back, so I turned and went to the kitchen.
As I peeled mango flesh, painful red rashes bloomed across my arms—Simon knew perfectly well I had a severe mango allergy.
I was allergic to mangoes. Simon knew that.
That was why Simon had deliberately asked for mango mousse.
The sap got on my skin, itching and stinging, and soon a patch of red, swollen bumps rose up.
I kept peeling.
In the living room, Phoebe leaned against Simon’s shoulder while watching TV, and Simon kissed her forehead every now and then.
When the first mango mousse was brought out, Phoebe took a bite and frowned. “It’s a little too sweet.”
Simon glanced at me. “Make it again.”
When the second mango mousse was brought out, Phoebe shook her head again. “Too sour.”
“Make it again.”
For the third mango mousse, Phoebe said, “The mango is a little underripe.”
For the fourth mango mousse, Phoebe said, “The mango is a little overripe.”
When I brought out the fifth mango mousse, the rashes on my arms had already connected into one angry patch, and my wrist was so swollen I could barely hold the bowl.
I walked up to Phoebe and bent down to hand her the mango mousse.
Phoebe reached out to take it, but the tip of her foot silently stretched forward.
Caught off guard, I tripped and fell forward.
The porcelain plate shattered on the floor.
The porcelain dish smashed against the tiles. I crashed onto the jagged fragments, shards slicing my palms and knees as blood trickled freely.
Simon’s gaze fell on my bleeding hand. His pupils tightened, and he was just about to move.
“Simon!” Phoebe covered her finger and screamed. “My hand is bleeding…”
Simon’s eyes instantly shifted to Phoebe.
There was a shallow little cut on her fair finger, with a tiny bead of blood seeping out.
Simon took her finger into his mouth, frowning, his voice low and hoarse. “Does it hurt?”
Phoebe leaned in his arms and nodded pitifully.
Simon lifted his head and looked coldly at me, still kneeling on the floor. “Look what you’ve done.”
“If anything happens to Phoebe, you’ll regret it.”
I knew Simon had clearly seen Phoebe stick out her foot to trip me, but he didn’t care.
If he hadn’t allowed it, how would a poor college student dare trip up the heiress of the Wilson family?