Chapter 10 Your Love Makes Me Sick
A fine drizzle hung over Emerald City, soft enough to blur the streets and wrap the skyline in a muted haze.
Elizabeth stood outside Glory Hospital, one hand gripping her suitcase, the other tilting a black umbrella against the rain. The damp air clung to her skin, and something in her stance—shoulders drawn, head slightly bowed—made it seem as if the world had narrowed to just her and the falling rain.
She'd promised Armando she would return to finish the divorce. The procedure she'd once planned was out of time.
A car eased to a stop in front of her.
An arm rested on the open window, sleeve pushed back to reveal a black mamba tattoo coiled along the forearm. Two fingers held a cigarette, smoke curling into the wet air.
Timothy sat inside—sharp-featured, his face a study in symmetry and shadow.
"Get in. Tell me where you're headed—I'll drive."
He stubbed out the cigarette and met her gaze through the rain.
Elizabeth hesitated, scanning the street for her ride. But Timothy was already out of the car, long strides closing the gap. Without asking, he took her suitcase and dropped it into the trunk.
She slid into the passenger seat. "The airport."
Timothy started the engine, one hand on the wheel, the other offering a paper bag. "The waffles here are worth it. Try one."
She hadn't eaten. Taking the bag, she murmured, "Thanks. You're... unexpectedly kind."
His mouth curved in a faint, unreadable smile. Kind wasn't a word anyone used for Timothy. In their world, everyone knew—there were plenty of people you could cross, but never Timothy of the Robinson family. His scalpel could save a life... or make someone wish it hadn't.
The plane touched down at Silverlight City.
Elizabeth called Armando the moment she landed. "Four o'clock at the marriage registry. We'll sign the divorce papers."
Once it was done, she'd schedule the termination.
Armando broke off his meeting, voice clipped. "I'll be there."
Two hours to spare. He hung up and turned to the associate director in design. "The future market is AI. Your report isn't good enough."
The man swallowed. "Mr. Johnson, I'll reconvene with my team."
Outside the registry, Elizabeth sat on her suitcase, tearing into a convenience store sandwich.
A sleek black sedan pulled up just before four. Armando stepped out—Sherry trailing behind.
Elizabeth swallowed her bite. "Both of you here—planning to get your marriage certificate right after the divorce?"
Sherry lowered her head, the pale curve of her neck marked with fresh bruises.
Elizabeth's gaze flicked over them, her face unreadable. "Let's go. They close soon."
Dragging her suitcase, she climbed the stairs.
"Sherry, wait in the car. I'll be quick," Armando said, following Elizabeth inside.
They were moments from signing when Axel called—Bronte was waiting at Emerald Park.
Armando's eyes hardened. He set the pen down. "Elizabeth... is this your game?"
Without another word, he pushed back his chair and walked out.
Elizabeth rubbed her temples. In his mind, she was already the kind of woman who plotted every move.
Sherry was waiting outside. She smiled as he approached, looping her arm through his. "All done?"
"I'll take you back to Imperial Garden. I've got something to handle." His voice softened for her. "Let's go."
Sherry glanced at Elizabeth emerging from the building, then slid into the car.
In Emerald Park's sitting room, Bronte removed her reading glasses. She watched Elizabeth and Armando enter, silent.
Axel took Armando's coat, passing it to a maid.
"Grandmother, what brings you here?" Armando asked, settling beside her.
"From today, I'll be living here." Her tone was cool, disapproval threaded beneath it.
Elizabeth's stomach tightened. This meant no divorce—at least not yet. And she'd have to move back in.
"As long as you're happy," Armando said, rising. He glanced at Elizabeth, signaling her to follow.
In the bedroom, Armando unbuttoned his shirt.
Elizabeth stayed by the door.
"If you want your childhood friend to stay alive, you'd better be smart."
Her face drained of color. "What do you mean?"
"Quinton," he said, voice like ice.
Fear shot through her. She called Quinton immediately.
He wasn't her blood brother. They'd been abandoned the same day, sent to the orphanage together. He was the reason she'd survived those years.
No answer.
She tried his caregiver. Nothing.
"He won't be answering," Armando said, cold.
Her grip tightened on the phone. "What have you done?"
"Tonight, you'll apologize to Michael. Tom will take you. Consider it a warning."
Anger flared through the fear. "Armando, I want the divorce as much as you want Sherry. Your grandmother's decision has nothing to do with me."
He stepped closer, eyes locked on hers. "Angry? Behave, and Quinton stays whole. Your attitude lately... disappoints me."
Her eyes burned. "I must have been blind to love someone like you."
Something flickered in his expression, but his voice cut sharp. "Your love makes me sick!"
She wiped at tears she hadn't noticed, turned, and walked out.
"If you try staying at a hotel, I'll have Quinton's leg broken," he called after her.
There was no doubt he meant it.
"I'll move my things back," she said, without turning.
By seven, Bronte had gone to bed.
Tom arrived to drive her. She wore long sleeves and pants, her face pale.
"Ms. Penrose, you don't look well. Sick?"
"I'm fine. Just tired."
"I'll go in with you."
Tonight's destination was Charm Club—a playground for the wealthy.
Michael wasn't a man anyone wanted to owe. Tom didn't know what Armando was thinking. Michael had nearly lost his manhood in an earlier incident, and now Armando was sending Elizabeth to make amends.
There was nothing Tom could do but stay close.
Inside the private room, some guests played mahjong, others drank with escorts draped over them.
Elizabeth spotted Armando and Sherry. He was teaching her how to play.