Chapter 44 The Gaze That Felt Nothing
Elizabeth waited several seconds before Armando finally answered. "Where are we eating?"
His gaze lingered on her in a way that felt… restrained, as if he were holding something back. She didn't press. It didn't matter.
When he responded, she smiled—soft, sweet. The vivid red lipstick made her lips look even fuller, and a faint flush warmed her cheeks.
Armando's expression stayed neutral as he looked away, but only he knew there had been a flicker of something—a brief, almost imperceptible spark. Just for a moment.
When Elizabeth had been in the hospital after the crash, he'd felt… unsettled. But he told himself it was only because they'd spent four years together. Habit. Nothing more.
He walked ahead, his stride long and unhurried. Elizabeth, in heels, found it hard to keep up. She was slightly breathless by the time he slowed his pace.
Catching up, she grinned. "I booked Youth Restaurant for tonight. They do medicinal dishes that are good for the stomach. Yours isn't great, so I thought it would be perfect."
She paused, frowning slightly. "Strange… how did I even know that about you?"
He heard her mutter to herself. She seemed entirely focused on him.
His eyes flicked over her outfit—bare skin glowing under the light. Without a word, he shrugged off his suit jacket and held it out. "Wear this."
Her face lit up as she draped it over her shoulders. The warmth in her smile was almost blinding.
Tom drove them to Youth Restaurant. Elizabeth chatted with him on the way, and he spoke of her days as Armando's secretary, gently trying to stir her memories. He didn't want her to fall for the same man twice—especially when the first time had ended in a divorce she'd chosen with clear eyes. What would happen the second time, he didn't know. And that worried him.
Traffic was light, and they arrived in under half an hour. The restaurant was a favorite among business elites for its health-focused cuisine.
Elizabeth gave the reservation name, and a server led them to a private room. Tom stayed outside to eat alone.
She slipped off Armando's jacket and hung it on the coat rack. He watched her for a moment before asking, "You asked me to dinner. What's this about?"
She cleared her throat, her eyes sparkling. "It's important. But I've already ordered. Let's eat first."
He nodded, and they sat. Elizabeth rested her chin on her hands, watching him across the table. He sat back, unreadable.
Unlocking her phone, she switched to camera mode, pouted slightly, and flashed a peace sign. The shot caught both her and Armando in the frame. She posted it to her feed.
It read: [Dinner with Armando tonight. The atmosphere's great.]
When the dishes arrived and the server left, they ate in relative silence. Near the end of the meal, Elizabeth set down her fork.
"Armando," she said, her gaze steady. "Did I used to love you?"
He paused, unsure how to answer.
"Sherry had a daughter for me," he said finally. They weren't married yet, but the child was his.
Elizabeth's lips parted, her fingers trembling slightly. She already knew Sherry had given birth. But knowing didn't make the bitterness fade. Sherry had taken everything… and still tried to destroy her.
She smiled, too brightly. "Congratulations."
Pouring herself a drink, she downed several glasses in quick succession.
Armando's brow furrowed. "You're still recovering. Don't drink so much."
Her lashes trembled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. "Just a few glasses," she said with a dazzling smile. But in her mind, another image intruded—Quinton's blood spilling across her skin.
A sharp pain stabbed behind her eyes.
"I'm full. Let's go."
She retrieved the jacket from the rack. "This was my birthday gift to you, wasn't it? I thought you'd have thrown it away."
"No reason to," he replied.
"True." She slipped it back over her shoulders. His gaze flickered.
Outside, she said, "You go ahead. I've got something else to do. I left my car at the Johnson Group—I'll pick it up tomorrow."
"Be careful," Tom said. "Call if you need anything."
She nodded. Armando slid into the car, his eyes lingering on her for a long moment before he looked away.
"Imperial Garden," he told the driver.
As soon as he left, Elizabeth snapped another photo—this time of herself wrapped in his jacket—and posted it.
It read: [Dressed too light today. A bit chilly.
After posting to her feed, her eyes gleamed with malice as she thought, 'Sherry, you'd better enjoy the gift I've prepared for you.'
At Imperial Garden, Sherry was in the middle of her postnatal recovery. She took baby Sloane from the nanny, Eloise, and tried feeding her with a bottle.
"Has Armando come back yet?" she asked softly.
"Ms. Scott, not yet," Eloise replied.
The warmth in Sherry's face cooled. She handed the baby back. She'd planned to ask about the wedding tonight. But Bronte's death had forced them to cancel. And Elizabeth—damn her—was still alive.
Her phone chimed. It was a message from Mindy, forwarding Elizabeth's latest post.
Sherry's jaw tightened, eyes flashing with venom. Dinner with Armando. Wearing his jacket. She knew that trick—she'd used it herself once.
She told herself it was just a ploy, but the surge of anger came anyway. The phone struck the floor with a sharp crack.
If Elizabeth truly had amnesia, Sherry would find out. And if she was faking…
Her expression smoothed over in an instant, returning to something sweet and serene.
Elizabeth sat on a bench by the roadside, scrolling idly on her phone while she waited for her ride.
"Ms. Penrose? What a coincidence."
She looked up to find several men standing nearby. Matthew slid onto the bench beside her. "Why are you alone?"
She arched a brow. "You're not a person?"
He chuckled. "Not much of one."
Her smile curved. "I can see that."
"Ms. Penrose, you're very amusing," he said.
A short distance away, Armando stood, tall and lean, a cigarette between his fingers. His profile was all cool detachment. A well-dressed man leaned in to speak to him quietly.
"Mr. Manuel Robinson wants to send Ms. Collins to Silverlight City to take care of you."
Armando's gaze chilled. He exhaled smoke. "No."
Matthew gestured toward him. "That's Timothy. You two used to be close."
"Really? I don't remember. Sorry," Elizabeth said lightly.
She rose, the jacket on her shoulders unmistakably Armando's. The figure inside it was all curves and poise.
"Mr. Sutter, I'll be going."
She walked past Timothy without looking at him—until a hand slid into her path. Long fingers, the kind made for holding a scalpel.
"I'm Timothy Robinson," he said casually.
Elizabeth blinked, then smiled, bright and unapologetic. "Elizabeth Penrose."
They shook hands briefly before she stepped into the car that had come for her. As the door closed, she glanced out the window—straight into a pair of cool, unreadable eyes.
She smiled politely, then turned to the driver. "To the bar."