He Jilted Me, I Rejected His Plea

Chapter 2

An impatient, snappish voice crackled through my phone receiver, and the next thing I knew, Edward was barrating me for what I said.

"Aren't you done throwing your fit?" he started. "I already told you, there's nothing going on between us! Is it my fault that your mind's in the gutter? Why do you have to go out of your way to frame me and spread lies? Gwen, how did you turn into this?

"But fine, whatever. Think what you want to think. My dad just chewed me out over the phone, so hurry up and sort out that investment deal, and I'll come back once I talk some sense into Mackenzie."

I listened to his holier-than-thou words, and a sharp, bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat.

In the past, he was the one who'd claimed he was just introverted and begged me to be patient with him, yet he turned around and laughed and joked freely with his female student.

He was the one who brushed off my birthday for 'work reasons', but went out of his way to put together a fancy gift for that same student.

And he was the one who, just to make another woman happy, was willing to leave me humiliated in front of the entire wedding audience.

I'd given him countless chances to make the right choice.

But he'd deliberately picked the most humiliating option: ditching me at the altar in front of everyone I knew.

I loved him once, but that love ends right here.

I was already reaching to hang up and block his number when I realized that I’d never actually ended the call.

Right then, Mackenzie’s taunting voice drifted through the speaker.

"Professor, between your fiancée and me, who has a better figure?" she asked, her tone sultry and obviously fishing for compliments.

"You do," Edward answered.

I arched an eyebrow and hit the record button without a second of hesitation to have a copy of their whole conversation.

Next, I dialed the private investigator who'd been staking out Edward's villa.

"Tonight, I want you to watch every single move they make, every position they get into. Record the whole thing, nonstop," I said.

I grin. He can come back all he wants. But when he does, there'll be no one left standing behind him.

Sure enough, at five o'clock in the morning, Edward was dragged back to my place by his father's threats.

The second he walked through the door, he walked past the entrance and hurled several huge boxes of cosmetics and fancy gifts straight at my feet, as if all of that could make me forget what he did to me on the day we were supposed to get married.

"Babe, how far are you gonna push my dad?" He wailed dramatically. "Just because of a few boxes of skincare, you had to go make trouble at my work? You're abusing your power for personal reasons! You never used to be like this!"

Then he pushed the gifts he bought closer to me. "Here. Take these. You're not getting any younger anyway. What's the harm in using a little more of this stuff?"

Every word he spoke cut straight through me, like he was deliberately driving a knife into my chest.

I smiled coldly, stepped forward, and ripped his shirt open to reveal the bite mark left on his skin underneath.

He froze. "It was Kenzie's cat that bit me..."

I laughed again, harsh and humorless, as I remembered when he first chased after me. Back then, he'd deliberately hidden the fact that he was the eldest son of the Smith family.

Back then, I’d fallen hard for his awkward, boyish approach to chasing me.

Later, when he got all holier-than-thou, buried himself in his research, and turned up his nose at money like it was filth? I was the one bankrolling him behind the scenes.

I even roped in all my close connections from my social circle to pitch in and back his work.

And here he was, with a few lazy, dismissive words, painting me as nothing more than a jealous, hysterical woman fighting over a man.

His phone blared to life. He answered it in a hurry and rushed out the door.

Right before he left, he threw a warning at me. "If you still want me to go through with this wedding, behave yourself and stop stirring up trouble. Fix the company issue quickly. I don't have time to keep playing your silly games."

Three minutes later, Mackenzie posted a new update to her i********: Note.

Trained my crush like a dog, he comes running whenever I call.

My eyes flickered with cold intent. I turned and typed a message into the Manhattan Elite group chat.

Me: Pull all funding for Edward's lab. Every last cent.

Row after row of instant replies popped up: Got it.

He wanted to hand Mackenzie a shortcut to the top? Fine. I'd give him exactly what he wanted.

Let's just see how long they can keep going when their whole budget gets cut off at the knees.

Even so, I never expected what would happen the next afternoon.

A loud, chaotic ruckus erupted downstairs in my company.

My assistant came sprinting toward me, sweat pouring down her face. "Miss Gwen, emergency! Professor Smith brought a bunch of his students and researchers down to the lobby, demanding answers!"

I narrowed my eyes and peered down through the building's glass skylight.

I saw it clear as day. Down below, more than a dozen people were holding up big banners. The words blared out:

Capitalist Gwen Harold, stop holding science hostage!

Capitalists get out of the investment industry!

*****

I forced my racing heart to steady, then sent the order down to security to let them in.

Ten seconds later, the crowd came thundering en masse into my office.

The second Mackenzie spotted me, she flumped down to her knees with a heavy thud. She sobbed hysterically, slapping her own face over and over as she cried.

"Miss Harold, I know you've always hated me! You can have someone beat me, curse at me, even ruin my face... but you can't encourage other people on just because you're jealous and pull all the funding!" she cried, playing the perfect role of a poor victim. "If you're that mad at me, just hit me yourself! Slap me as hard as you want!"

Smack! Smack!

The sharp blows echoed loud and clear through the whole office as she made a demonstration, slapping herself again on the cheeks.

Edward lunged forward from behind her immediately, yanking her up to her feet, his face twisted with worry. "Kenzie, stand tall! None of this is your fault!"

Then he fixed his cold, sharp gaze on me, his voice dripping with ice, "Pulling funding for this project isn't some petty game for you capitalists to play with. This matters to the country!"

I said nothing, just stood there and watched this cheap drama unfold with icy eyes.

The second he finished speaking, all the students and researchers behind him were riled up by his words.

Some of them shoved their phones right in my face to stream live, screaming with righteous anger. "Guys, we're live right now, showing how a capitalist is blocking scientific progress! She's bullying innocent students!"

Others snuck up behind me, red paint in hand, and splashed it straight at me without warning.

The sticky paint soaked my whole body, its thick stickiness seeping through my limbs and to my very core.

But Mackenzie wasn't done yet. She dropped to her knees in front of me again, then turned toward the camera and ripped the bandage off her arm.

The second that gruesome and huge scar came into view, the whole room sucked in a collective gasp.

I stared down at her, cool and unimpressed.

"Please just let us go! I know this is all my fault! I'll do anything you want, anything at all!" she wailed.

Then she crawled on her knees right up to me and whispered, only loud enough for me to hear, "So what if your parents are the richest people in Manhattan? Professor Smith hates rich elites like you the most," she murmured, before adding in a hiss, "He's mine. You can't steal him from me."

The very next second, she pulled out the knife she'd hidden and slashed herself on the cheek, letting the blood flow and create a nasty gash that no doubt would leave another horrendous scar, all part of her pre-planned act, and making it seem like I was the villain all over again.