The Art Of Revenge (Thalia Nash and Brandon) novel Chapter 62

Thalia’s Pov

I walked out of the room with my fists clenched, angry for blood. Brandon was going to get it, and I was going to ignore his illness and punish him. He had no right to throw me into shark-infested waters.

What if Jessica and Josh were too much for me? I never dreamed or wished to be in the same room with those two, no matter how low they plummeted off the Radar, even though I handed it to them.

That dream vanished the day I confirmed that I was pregnant, my priorities changed that day. The only two things that mattered were my baby and the Jerk.

Josh was never supposed to see the child, Brandon assured me of that, which meant he wasn’t supposed to see me pregnant.

What if he started an investigation? What if he got suspicious and found out about the sperms? Brandon was a complete m*ron, did he ever get to stop and think of the consequences?

I ignored Nestor’s appeals and proceeded straight to the back door. He was just as much of a liar as his obnoxious employer, the jerks deserved each other.

I would have driven away and left his lying a*s at the ridiculous party if I could fly a helicopter but I needed his a*s to get to the other jerk.

Everything was beginning to make sense; Brandon wanted me to go to the ridiculous Gala in the hopes of me running into Josh and the sk***k. But why was that? Why would he do such a thing to me?

My tears were pouring down my cheeks as Nestor caught up with me and blocked me. “Why are you so upset, Thalia? You did well in there.” He remarked as if he hadn’t seen the filth that had just happened.

The sh*t was probably going to be all over the news and internet before tomorrow. I was going to be the center of attention in the country. People were going to start asking questions and eventually the truth was going to come to light.

And the fool that started all the sh*t would be long dead and I would be left alone in a cluster of humiliation. I wanted to punch him across the face, but he handed me his phone and said, “It’s Brandon.”

In a fit of rage, I sna***hed the phone and threw it away. “If you know what’s best for you, stay out of my way,” I yelled at him.

“Thalia, calm down; you’re simply stressing the baby,” he replied.

“That should have been obvious to you and your obnoxious boss,” I said and began heading toward the car. I was so enraged, if only I had inadvertently bumped into them, I would have been ecstatic, but that was not the case. I’d been set up by the man I loved, and I needed to know what was going on.

When Nestor got in, I told him not to look behind and to focus on driving. He urged that we travel to the city house so that I could shower, chill down, and recover before dealing with Brandon, which was not on my plan.

I did not need rest, I wanted to yell and insult Brandon. Sleeping was not on my list of priorities. I yelled at him to hurry up and drive me to where he was packing the stup*d chopper. He drove quietly and we were in the air in minutes.

Brandon had attempted to contact me using my phone but I ignored all of the calls. He wasn’t going to simply talk his way out of the mess he’d gotten himself into, and I wasn’t going to buy it if he pretended to be ill.

He always managed to get out of sh*t by hiding behind his illness. It was always tempting not to scold him, how could anyone with a heart do that.

I marched directly into the house with my shoes in my hand, ready to smash them with his pale face whether or not he had a fever or not.

When I entered the room, he was sitting on the bed, his face solemn. I matched up to him and attempted to strike him, but he did not flinch or attempt to shield his face with his hands; he wanted me to strike him for unknown reasons.

“Get away from him!” Nestor screamed as he surged in and pulled the shoe from my grip. “Let go of me!” I became enraged and screamed at him.

“Calm down, you’re just going to put him in a coma,” he shouted back.

“Get out, Nestor!” Brandon took the initiative and spoke up.

We both turned to face him, his dejected expression and eyes locked on his useless iPad. If only I could hit his face with that useless thing he always stared at.

“Brandon, she’s serious and hormonal, and she’ll hurt you,” Nestor warned him.