Serving My Ex's Engagement Party - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading Serving My Ex's Engagement Party, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of Serving My Ex's Engagement Party.
Just when I thought my life had settled into a predictable rhythm—shuttling between the office, Alistair's kindergarten, and home—Hanson Byrd decided to blow everything up. I'd finally quit my maid job at Lesly's place, but apparently that wasn't enough change for the universe.
The office intercom buzzed. "Eleanore? There's a man asking for you downstairs."
My stomach dropped the moment I saw him—Alistair's father swaying by the reception desk, reeking of cheap whiskey. Hanson's bloodshot eyes locked onto me like a predator spotting prey.
"Eleanore! Loan me some cash!" His slurred voice carried across the lobby, drawing stares from my coworkers.
"Not here," I hissed, grabbing his arm to steer him outside.
He shook me off with a drunken laugh. "Make me. Or should I visit every day? Maybe cause a scene at Alistair's school? I'll ruin you!"
"Hanson, I don't have money!"
His fingers clawed at my blouse. "Bullshit! I know about your two hundred grand!"
"That's for Alistair's medical bills!"
"What about the million you got from your sugar mama? Just spread your legs for that rich boy again—"
His words hit like acid, dissolving five years of carefully rebuilt dignity. I saw red. My palm cracked across his face before I could think.
Big mistake.
He slammed me onto the pavement so hard my teeth rattled. As his shadow loomed over me, I braced for the beating—until a familiar figure sent Hanson sprawling.
Randell.
Again.
Of course it had to be him witnessing my humiliation. His polished dress shoes stopped inches from my face as he extended a hand. "Get up."
I willed my trembling limbs to move, but they'd turned to jelly. Without waiting, Randell scooped me up like a ragdoll.
The car ride was silent except for my sharp inhales as he dabbed antiseptic on my scraped knees. "So," he finally said, pressing just hard enough to make me wince, "you left me to pay for your sister's treatment? And Alistair...?"
"Yes." The word tasted like ash.
His jaw tightened. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"What would it change? That girl is gone, Randell. I just want to raise my son in peace."
His next words stopped my heart: "Why can't we raise him together?"
Suddenly his face was inches from mine, that damnably perfect face I'd fallen for on freshman orientation day. His breath warmed my lips as memories flooded back—our three-year anniversary when he'd confessed about the stupid bet, not knowing I'd orchestrated our entire meet-cute...
"Randell! You're engaged!"
"I'll end it today." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "I never believed you left for money. Five years searching, and my mother kept blocking—" His voice broke. "God, I thought I'd lost you forever."
My fingers interlaced with his, remembering how I'd once schemed just to hold this hand for a day. Now here we were, older and more broken, but somehow still drawn together.
"Then don't let go this time," I whispered.
Because when the person who once held your heart looks at you like that—like you're oxygen after years underwater—resistance is impossible.
The office intercom buzzed. "Eleanore? There's a man asking for you downstairs."
My stomach dropped the moment I saw him—Alistair's father swaying by the reception desk, reeking of cheap whiskey. Hanson's bloodshot eyes locked onto me like a predator spotting prey.
"Eleanore! Loan me some cash!" His slurred voice carried across the lobby, drawing stares from my coworkers.
"Not here," I hissed, grabbing his arm to steer him outside.
He shook me off with a drunken laugh. "Make me. Or should I visit every day? Maybe cause a scene at Alistair's school? I'll ruin you!"
"Hanson, I don't have money!"
His fingers clawed at my blouse. "Bullshit! I know about your two hundred grand!"
"That's for Alistair's medical bills!"
"What about the million you got from your sugar mama? Just spread your legs for that rich boy again—"
His words hit like acid, dissolving five years of carefully rebuilt dignity. I saw red. My palm cracked across his face before I could think.
Big mistake.
He slammed me onto the pavement so hard my teeth rattled. As his shadow loomed over me, I braced for the beating—until a familiar figure sent Hanson sprawling.
Randell.
Again.
Of course it had to be him witnessing my humiliation. His polished dress shoes stopped inches from my face as he extended a hand. "Get up."
I willed my trembling limbs to move, but they'd turned to jelly. Without waiting, Randell scooped me up like a ragdoll.
The car ride was silent except for my sharp inhales as he dabbed antiseptic on my scraped knees. "So," he finally said, pressing just hard enough to make me wince, "you left me to pay for your sister's treatment? And Alistair...?"
"Yes." The word tasted like ash.
His jaw tightened. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"What would it change? That girl is gone, Randell. I just want to raise my son in peace."
His next words stopped my heart: "Why can't we raise him together?"
Suddenly his face was inches from mine, that damnably perfect face I'd fallen for on freshman orientation day. His breath warmed my lips as memories flooded back—our three-year anniversary when he'd confessed about the stupid bet, not knowing I'd orchestrated our entire meet-cute...
"Randell! You're engaged!"
"I'll end it today." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "I never believed you left for money. Five years searching, and my mother kept blocking—" His voice broke. "God, I thought I'd lost you forever."
My fingers interlaced with his, remembering how I'd once schemed just to hold this hand for a day. Now here we were, older and more broken, but somehow still drawn together.
"Then don't let go this time," I whispered.
Because when the person who once held your heart looks at you like that—like you're oxygen after years underwater—resistance is impossible.
End of Serving My Ex's Engagement Party Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to Serving My Ex's Engagement Party book page.