At the Pearson residence, a sulking Aubree locked herself in her room.
She was so pissed off about the photos Frieda had sent her in the afternoon that she had no appetite for dinner.
She did not expect to receive more photos from Frieda when she was about to sleep.
In the photos, the man, whom Aubree could not get to meet no matter what she did, was doing all sorts of service for Roxanne—putting his jacket on her, buying her flowers, and holding her wrist.
The two looked just like a couple in love.
Rage burned in Aubree as she looked at the photos.
They were practically disregarding her position as Lucian’s fiancée.
If word got out, not only would she be utterly humiliated, but her dream to become Mrs. Farwell would also be shattered.
A vicious look crept over Aubree’s face when
