Watching him leave without hesitation, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to the one man on the track who always outranked Sebastian.
[Still got room on your team? Want to win a championship together?]
He replied instantly. [Welcome back. Get your paperwork in order. I’ll pick you up in three days.]
Polly's POV
The next morning, I began packing my things.
Everything I couldn’t take with me, I tossed straight into storage boxes or the trash with no hesitation.
I also took down the only family photo hanging in the living room, where I was the only one smiling.
Funny, isn’t it? Five years together, and this was the only photo we ever took as a family, one Sebastian only agreed to because my parents pressured him into it.
My mind drifted back to when it all began.
Back then, I had just been forced to give up on my dream. I figured if that was how life was going to be, I’d at least commit to the family. I had hope for the future.
“Polly, you're such a kind girl. I’m relieved knowing Christian has you to care for him.”
“Once I finish this race, I’ll give you the wedding of your dreams.”
I believed we could be happy, that I could be a good wife, a good mother. But looking at it now, I was just fooling myself.
“Where’s my warm milk?! Are you just going to stand there staring at that again? I told you I need hot milk every morning!”
Christian’s angry voice rang out behind me.
The maid tried to calm him gently, “Christian, please don’t be upset. Here’s your milk.”
But he shoved her aside and stormed over, snatching the family photo from my hands and smashing it onto the floor.
Glass shattered everywhere. The only family photo we had was now gone, just like this so-called family.
Even so, Christian didn’t care in the slightest. Instead, he glared at me and pointed his finger.
“I want you to make it! Why are you still mooching off my dad in this house, eating and sleeping here while doing absolutely nothing? That’s your job!”
I stared at him silently for a few seconds, then turned and walked into the kitchen.
I warmed the milk and handed it to him. He barely took a sip before he threw it on the floor.
Warm milk splashed all over my shoes, and shards of glass nicked my leg.
“It’s too hot!Do you want to burn me to death? You vicious woman” he snapped.
I knew he did it on purpose. He always did. For years, he never once accepted me. He never saw me as anything more than the help.