Chapter 47 Draped Over Her Shoulders
Timothy lowered his gaze to Mabel, his voice barely above a murmur. "If you want it, ask Emma."
His eyes flicked briefly toward Elizabeth before he walked away.
Mabel was nearly fuming at his answer. She followed after him and caught up to Emma. "Miss Sutter, I'll pay double for the Blue Heart Diamond. Will you sell it to me?"
Opening with double the price was no small gesture. Emma wasn't naive—Mabel's family background was clearly strong, and she knew Mabel was acquainted with Timothy.
Emma hesitated, then looked up at Timothy. "Mr. Robinson, who is she?"
"My cousin."
So Mabel was his cousin.
Emma's lips curved, her eyes bright with amusement. "This is a birthday gift from Mr. Robinson. But I do have a pink diamond in my collection… I could give it to you instead."
Mabel wasn't the type to press shamelessly. Since it was a birthday gift, she wouldn't stoop to taking it.
"The pink diamond isn't necessary. Thank you."
Emma gave a polite smile. "It's my birthday tonight. Just a simple dinner at home. I'd like to invite you—and your friend here—if you're free."
Mabel glanced at Elizabeth but didn't accept. She wasn't foolish. Elizabeth might not remember Timothy, but they had once been together. Watching Timothy dote on Emma would be far too cruel.
Knox opened the car door.
Timothy let Emma step in first. She looked up at him with a soft "thank you" before settling into her seat. She gave Mabel and Elizabeth a cordial nod. "Goodbye, ladies."
The car pulled away.
Elizabeth blinked, her eyes feeling dry. She turned to Mabel. "Anywhere else you want to go?"
Mabel thought for a moment. "Shopping."
Elizabeth nodded.
By the time they returned home with their purchases, both collapsed onto the sofa.
Mabel leaned back lazily, turning her head. "Elizabeth, seeing Mr. Robinson… did it bring back any memories?"
Elizabeth reached for the water jug on the coffee table, pouring herself a glass. "No. I can't remember."
Her mind held only the thought of revenge.
The next morning, Elizabeth received a message from Sherry.
It read: [Elizabeth, 7 p.m. at West Wealth Restaurant. I want to talk.]
Elizabeth read the text, instantly alert. She touched her chin and slowly smiled.
She replied with a simple "Alright."
Mabel knew Elizabeth would be going out that evening. She planned to spend her own night at Dream House watching the Male Revue.
Around six, Elizabeth changed clothes and drove to West Wealth Restaurant.
The moment she stepped inside, she spotted Sherry, seated in a white-striped dress.
Armando stood beside her, playing the violin—a piece meant for a lover. His performance carried warmth, a stark contrast to his usual cool demeanor.
Sherry tilted her head back, gazing at him with a mix of emotion and tenderness. As the final note faded, she rose on tiptoe to kiss him.
Elizabeth understood now why Sherry had invited her.
It was to flaunt their affection.
And to gloat.
Sherry turned toward Elizabeth, her eyes laced with disdain. In her mind, Elizabeth wasn't worthy of competing for Armando.
Her lips curved in a faint smile.
Elizabeth watched without flinching, then turned and walked out of West Wealth Restaurant.
She wasn't hurt—only amused at how easily she could still unsettle Sherry.
Armando followed Sherry's gaze toward the door, catching sight of Elizabeth's retreating figure.
Elizabeth wandered the streets, stopping now and then. She reached a bridge and rested her hands on the railing, staring at the water below.
Half her body leaned past the rail, dangerously close to the edge.
A silver sedan passed, slowed, then backed up.
Timothy's eyes locked on her precarious stance. Flicking ash from his cigarette, he stepped out of the car. "Thinking of jumping?"
Elizabeth turned at the sound, startled to see him. "Mr. Robinson."
His deep eyes swept over her with the same distant tone. "Miss Penrose."
"Late at night, leaning over like that… not safe," he said lazily.
Elizabeth paused, then smiled. "You didn't really think I was going to jump, did you? Impossible."
Her elbow rested on the rail, her laughter unrestrained.
Timothy nodded. "Then I misunderstood. My apologies."
The car window slid down. Emma's voice called out from inside. "Mr. Robinson, we're running late."
Her bright eyes studied Elizabeth with open curiosity.
Elizabeth glanced at her, noting the woman's fresh beauty. She smiled at Timothy. "Mr. Robinson, goodbye."
Timothy's gaze lingered on her smile before he nodded and returned to the car. He bent inside, retrieved a coat, and walked back.
He draped it over her shoulders.
The fabric carried a faint, expensive scent she couldn't quite place.
She opened her mouth to refuse, but he waved it off with the hand holding his cigarette, turned, and got back into the car.
The door shut, and the sedan pulled away.
Elizabeth tugged the coat tighter, staring at the glittering ripples under the bridge lights, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
In the car, Emma couldn't resist. "Mr. Robinson, are you close with Miss Penrose?"
"Close enough."
Emma saw he wasn't willing to elaborate and let it go, deciding to ask Matthew later.
When Elizabeth returned to her building, the management office handed her a package. She didn't know who had sent it.
Inside her apartment, with Mabel still out, she set the package down and showered.
Afterward, she tossed her clothes into the washing machine.
On the balcony, Timothy's coat hung beside her own garments.
Elizabeth glanced at it before turning back inside. She opened the package.
It was a black box.
Inside lay a photograph.
Her hand flew to her mouth, her lips pale as tears spilled.
It was from the crash scene—Quinton shielding her. Blood everywhere.
Elizabeth's sobs tore free.
She ran to her room, switched on her computer, and submitted her resume.
TechStrong was hiring a secretary. Armando, wary of appearances, likely wouldn't hire her again.
So she chose TechStrong—a company once at odds with the Johnson Group. Now, the two were collaborating.
Collaboration meant more opportunities to cross paths.
Elizabeth was relentless.
If one attempt failed, she would find another way.
The driver in that crash had died instantly, drunk behind the wheel. The incident was ruled an accident, not murder.
If she hadn't seen Sherry's triumphant smile before blacking out, she might have believed it.
Elizabeth locked the photo away in a drawer.
Her chest ached with a dull, unyielding pain.