Chapter 3
But before making my way to the Foster family estate, I had to swing by a copy shop.
The streets, normally buzzing with life, felt deserted thanks to the holiday.
I tried a few spots, but they were all shuttered.
The sharp wind cut right through me; I huddled deeper into my coat.
I figured printing was a lost cause, but then I spotted one shop with its doors still open.
For a second, I thought—maybe my luck wasn't completely shot after all.
The owner asked what I needed printed and if she could lend a hand.
I gave her a polite smile and handed the file over.
She hesitated, probably thinking, who prints divorce papers on Christmas'?
Then she bound them up quickly and passed me the stack.
And added, "Merry Christmas."
My hand froze as I reached for my wallet.
She was the first one to wish me that all day.
Not my own family, not even Duncan.
My eyes prickled with sudden tears. "Merry Christmas," I replied.
Stepping out of the shop, I tilted my head back, let out a long breath, stuffed the files into my bag, and dialed Duncan once more.
"Are you going back to the estate?"
"He's in the shower right now—kinda tied up. Ms. Bishop, anything I can relay?"
It wasn't Duncan on the line; it was his side piece.
Her voice oozed smug challenge.
"Could you please let Duncan know his mom wants him home?"
When I got to the Foster family estate, Briana was in the kitchen, prepping ingredients.
I walked in carrying my bags.
"Why'd you come back by yourself? Where's that good-for-nothing Duncan?"
Faced with his parents' questions, I didn't know what to say.
"Duncan's caught up with work—he'll be along later."
"It's Christmas, for crying out loud, and he's still tied up? I told that kid to get here early."
"I'm gonna find out exactly what he's so busy with."
Samuel Foster whipped out his phone, about to call Duncan.
I didn't bother stopping him—I didn't care one way or the other. I just headed into the kitchen to lend a hand.
Duncan's parents had always been good to me, and today was a major holiday.
No point in spoiling the mood for everyone.
Whatever mess was between me and Duncan could wait for another time.
We hustled through the afternoon, but there was still no sign of Duncan.
As the sky started to darken, we finally sat down to dinner.
That was when Duncan walked in.
But not alone.
"Mom, Dad, I'm home."
He had gifts in one hand and was holding the girl's hand with the other.
He must've figured I'd already clued in his parents.
Fireworks burst outside the window, perfectly timed.
Like they were toasting Duncan and her new life together.
The crackling died down.
Duncan's parents traded looks, obviously picking up that something was wrong.
"What time do you call this? You finally grace us with your presence?"
Briana shot a cool glance at the girl next to Duncan.
"On a day like today, why drag some stranger into the house?"
The girl seemed spooked and edged closer to Duncan on instinct.
Duncan shot me a frown, as if he resented me being there.
A beat later, he broke into a smile and raised their laced fingers.
"Mom, Dad—she's no stranger."
"Her name's Juliana Bonilla, and we're together."
Those words dropped like a bomb.
I just sat there, frozen in awkward silence amid the chaos.
Samuel banged his coffee cup down on the table.
"You little brat! Your wife's sitting right here—do you have any idea what kind of crap you're spouting?"
Duncan dropped his gaze, pausing for a split second.
"Who hasn't been reckless in their youth? And who decided you can only love one person your whole life?"
He looked at the girl with raw affection, his tone unwavering.
"Juliana and I are the real deal. This is serious—no games."
That sounded way too familiar back when Duncan's parents were okay with us dating but dead set against marriage.
They'd said tying the knot wasn't just about us—it involved two whole families.
The Foster family was big money in Antaford, old-money elite.
They'd hoped he'd marry an heiress from a similar world, someone who could propel his career even further.
My family background was a disaster; my parents had ditched me, and I had zero support system.
It was just me against the world.
"Mom, Dad—I really care about Irene.
"Irene, don't you dare bail on me. You don't have to lift a finger—just let me handle it. Promise you won't pull away, okay?"
In those days, his eyes were locked on me alone.
He was so passionate, so genuine, such a stand-up guy.
I couldn't stand the thought of him facing it solo.
I refused to be his Achilles' heel or drag him down.
So I busted my butt during that stretch, proving myself to his parents.