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Chapter 20
Daisy strutted into the room like a runway model, dressed head–to–toe in the most expensive outfit Quentin had ever bought her. Her confidence radiated as she approached Fiona, designer heels clicking against the floor with each deliberate
step.
With a dramatic flourish, she hurled Quentin’s diary directly at Fiona’s face.
“I’ve got two things to tell you,” Daisy announced, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “First, I’m pregnant. Second, Quentin has always loved me – and only me. So you might as well give up now.”
Just two weeks ago, Fiona would have desperately wanted to know Quentin’s true feelings. But now? She simply stepped over the diary with cool indifference.
“Are you done?” Fiona asked flatly. “If so, you can leave. And let me make this
crystal clear if either you or Quentin ever show up in front of me again, I’m
–
calling the police.”
Only people unhappy with their present tend to obsess over the past. Fiona had a thriving career, a happy family, and a fulfilled life she had no time to dwell on ancient history.
–
But Daisy mistook Fiona’s indifference for provocation. She grabbed Fiona’s arm, her perfectly manicured nails digging in slightly. “Stop pretending! I know you
care!”
“You don’t even know the half of it,” Daisy continued, her voice taking on a cruel edge. “Eight years ago, we slept together. God, he was amazing. He held me in his arms and told me you were nothing but a boring prude.”
Her words came faster now, like poison darts. “His kisses were absolutely incredible. But he hasn’t kissed you since then, has he? Because in his eyes, you
couldn’t even begin to compare to me!”
With excruciating detail, Daisy recounted everything she and Quentin had done together. All the precious moments Fiona had dreamed of experiencing were. apparently just ordinary occurrences for Daisy.
The Quentin who maintained a stoic facade in public had supposedly shown his
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wild, passionate side only to Daisy.
“When you had a fever, he was ‘too busy‘ to take you to the hospital,” Daisy continued, twisting the knife. “But when I sprained my ankle? He carried me through three city blocks.”
“He never had time for your honeymoon, but even when we were broke, he spent our savings to take me traveling.”
“Don’t you get it now?” Daisy’s voice cracked with emotion. “It was never about not having time – he just didn’t love you enough. Stop lying to yourself. His heart has always belonged to me, and only me!”
Tears began streaming down Daisy’s face – not the delicate, sympathetic kind, but
the raw, ugly tears of someone who’d been holding back too long, someone desperate to prove something.
Fiona stood there, bewildered by this display of emotion. She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t made a single move, yet here was Daisy, completely falling apart. “You’re right about everything,” Fiona said simply.
Fiona Lockhart had no interest in wasting any more time here. She had plans to
go swimming with her friends anyway.
As for who Quentin truly loved? She couldn’t care less anymore. That ship had sailed the day she bid him farewell. She’d finally seen through all the romantic nonsense about “perfect angels” and “passionate roses” – it was all just desire wearing different masks.
The truth was painfully simple: Quentin only truly loved himself.
He wanted it all – a perfect, devoted wife who would worship the ground he walked. on and cater to his every need. But that wasn’t enough. He also craved a passionate lover on the side, someone to fulfill his desires and add that spark of
excitement to his life.
The real joke? Quentin, ever the self–proclaimed paragon of virtue, couldn’t event face his own desires. Instead, he’d built this elaborate fantasy around Daisy, casting her as some sort of unattainable “perfect angel” from his past. It was
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laughable – as if slapping a romantic filter over their sordid affair would somehow. transform it into some epic love story.
Twenty years. That’s how long Fiona had known Quentin. She could read him like an open book now, seeing through every pretense and lie. Looking back, she realized love had been like a blindfold, keeping her from seeing what was right int
front of her face.
Fiona’s dismissive attitude sent Daisy into a rage. The casual indifference was more than she could bear. She’d come prepared for an all–out war with Lockhart, and here was Lockhart, winning without even lifting a finger. The thought was
unbearable.
In that moment, blind fury overtook reason. As Fiona approached the curb, Daisy did the unthinkable – she reached out and shoved her straight into the path of an
oncoming car.
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