Chapter 50 Lingering Touch
The parking lot was unnervingly still. Every sound carried — Timothy's breathing, Elizabeth's shallow gasps — sharp in the quiet.
He stepped back slightly, the collar of his shirt tugged open, his expression edged with coldness and a trace of something darker. His eyes locked on hers, deep and unreadable. She had just called him Armando.
Without a word, Timothy scooped her up, his voice low and rough. "Open the door."
A guard hurried over, eyes carefully averted, and unlocked the car. Timothy slid inside with her in his arms. "Faith Residence," he ordered.
The car pulled away from the lot, streetlights spilling fractured ribbons of light across the leather seats. Timothy's gaze fell to Elizabeth in his lap, his long fingers brushing over the vivid curve of her lips.
They arrived at Faith Residence. Mabel, just returning from a night out, spotted the familiar license plate and walked closer. She tapped on the window.
The door opened. She bent down and saw Timothy's fingers resting, almost possessively, against Elizabeth's mouth.
"Timothy," she greeted softly.
Timothy stepped out with Elizabeth in his arms. The slit in her dress swayed, revealing the length of her legs in the night air. A guard quickly draped a coat over her waist.
"She's drunk?" Mabel asked under her breath.
"Yes," Timothy replied, his tone flat.
Mabel glanced at his profile, noting the tension in his jaw. They entered the building, took the elevator to the eighth floor. Mabel unlocked the door, and Timothy carried Elizabeth into her bedroom, laying her gently on the bed.
Her eyes were rimmed faintly red. He studied her for a moment, then bent to remove her heels. Carrying them out, he placed them neatly in the shoe cabinet before leaving without another word.
Mabel watched the whole thing, puzzled. How had Elizabeth ended up with Timothy?
At the gala, Yosef, Matthew, and Emma were preparing to leave. Emma dialed Timothy while asking Matthew, "Has Mr. Robinson left? I didn't see him."
Matthew shrugged, hands in his pockets. "Probably went ahead."
At the entrance, Yosef spotted Armando and approached with a hint of mocking amusement. "Mr. Johnson, Miss Scott... so when's the wedding? I'd like to raise a glass."
Armando's reply was cool. "Soon."
Sherry's lips curved into a polite smile.
Yosef's own smile sharpened. "I'll be waiting."
His driver, Uriah, pulled up. Yosef waved to Emma and Matthew. "I'm heading out."
Sliding into the car, Yosef frowned. "Where's Ms. Penrose?"
Uriah looked confused. "Ms. Penrose?"
Yosef's brows drew together. She couldn't still be at the gala. He called her.
It took a long time before she answered. "What is it?" Elizabeth's voice was muffled, her head pounding.
"Where are you?"
She blinked at the caller ID. "Home."
Relieved, Yosef leaned back. "Alright. That's fine."
Elizabeth set her phone down, catching the scent of wine on her skin. She pushed herself up, searching for clothes to shower.
Mabel, in the living room with a face mask on, heard movement. "Elizabeth? Headache?"
"A little."
Mabel fetched painkillers. After showering, Elizabeth joined her, swallowing the pill and rubbing her temples. Her stomach churned.
Mabel handed her water. "Feeling bad?"
"Yes. Give me a mask." Elizabeth pressed the sheet mask to her face and hugged a pillow.
Mabel's eyes caught the faint mark on Elizabeth's neck. "Do you know who brought you home tonight?"
"Yes."
"And you and Mr. Robinson...?"
"I drank too much. Thought he was someone else."
Mabel fell silent. "Get some rest." Elizabeth patted her head, mask still on, and went to her bedroom.
She closed the door, exhaled, and opened a drawer. Inside lay a photo of Quinton, bloodied beyond recognition.
She put the photo away and sent Armando a message.
Imperial Garden.
Sherry pulled a suit jacket from the closet — the one Armando had worn with that lingering perfume. She handed it to Eloise. "Throw this away."
Eloise hesitated. The jacket was flawless, worth thousands. But in the Johnson household, staff couldn't keep discarded clothes. Reluctantly, she carried it out.
Armando emerged from the bathroom, robe loose, his usual chill softened. Sherry set her phone aside and looped her arms around his neck. "Armando, when will we get married?"
"You're about to release your album," he reminded her. It was her first step into the industry, with the best resources lined up — promotions, events, a packed schedule.
Sherry wanted the wedding soon, to make it clear to everyone she was his wife. Elizabeth would have no chance.
But Della opposed delaying further.
"We could get the license first. The ceremony later," she suggested, brushing against him. "Would that be alright?"
At least the paperwork would be done.
Armando lowered her hands. "Fine. Pick a date and tell me."
Sherry beamed, flipping through a calendar. Armando went to his study, sitting before his laptop. Overseas business still needed attention, but his mind wandered.
His phone buzzed. A photo from Elizabeth appeared.
Elizabeth: [Sent a little gift for your daughter. Has she been named yet?]
Armando waited a moment before replying: [Thank you. Her name is Sloane.]
Elizabeth stared at the message.
Elizabeth: [Sloane... beautiful name.]
She exited the chat, setting her phone down. Hopefully Sherry would appreciate the gift for Sloane.
Elizabeth's fingers brushed her lips. In the car earlier, she had been more aware than she'd let on. Timothy's fingers had rested there...