Chapter 730 Only If It Matters
Molly woke early.
Elliot was gone, but the pillow beside her was still faintly warm. He could not have left long ago. Her fingers brushed over that lingering warmth, and a quiet look of longing softened her face.
She treasured every moment with him—every second, even if he hated her, even if she was nothing more than a game to him, even if in three months they would part. The memories alone would be enough to keep.
Morning light seeped through the white sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room.
At the foot of the bed lay a man's light cashmere coat—his, forgotten. She picked it up when she left, hesitated, then decided she would bring it to his office after nine.
She stopped at home first, moving quietly. Madeline barely looked up; she was used to it by now.
"Just don't let your grandmother know you stayed out all night," she said.
Molly's cheeks burned.
After washing and changing, she spent some time with Magnolia before taking a car to M&E Technology. By coincidence, as soon as she stepped into the lobby, she saw him.
He was standing at the elevator, speaking to a young woman in a fitted business suit.
The woman was tall, elegant, with the kind of polished beauty that made her look perfectly matched with him.
Molly froze, staring.
For so long, she had believed it was only her and Elliot, locked inside their own private universe of love and hate. But in that moment she saw the truth—he had always had other choices. He would always have them. If he wanted, he could marry any beautiful, accomplished woman he pleased.
'Molly, what made you think he could never forget you?' she thought bitterly.
The wave of self-doubt nearly drowned her.
Elliot noticed her. His brows drew together briefly before he said something to the woman, who left with a polite smile. Only then did he walk toward Molly.
"Your coat," she said quietly. "You left it at the hotel."
He took it without comment, passing it to his approaching secretary without even glancing at it.
His eyes were cool, his voice cooler still. "Unless it's important, don't come to my office. What we have isn't something that should be public."
They were nothing more than lovers in the shadows, and he would never acknowledge her in the light. Without his permission, she had no place here.
She blinked once, understanding, her face pale. The humiliation was sharp. Everything from last night—the heat, the closeness—was gone, replaced by his indifference.
It took a kind of courage to pretend it didn't hurt. It took even more to swallow the bitterness and stay.
"I'll be careful next time," she said. People were passing, glancing at them. She bit her lip. "I should get to work."
"Wait," he said.
She stopped. He asked her about the fifty million dollars—why she hadn't invested it in film, why she had simply kept it.
"Because I need it," she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You know what I am, Elliot. I lied to you for money. I entered the industry for money. I drank with men for money. I sleep with you for money. Why would I invest it? I'd rather keep it in my own pocket."
His gaze lingered on her, the faintest trace of contempt in his eyes.
After a pause, he said, "It's yours. Do what you want with it."
Then he stepped into the elevator. The same woman from before was inside, waiting. She smiled at him, and his expression softened instantly—so different from the cold mask he wore with Molly.
The lobby was busy, people moving in and out. Molly stood still, the weight of their glances like invisible blades cutting into her. After a long moment, she let out a bitter smile.
'Molly, isn't this exactly what he told you from the start? You were just an arrangement, nothing more. You crossed the line. You let yourself hope. And now you're standing here, humiliated,' she thought.
Still, it hurt.
She slipped into her car. Celine was already inside, about to speak, when Molly pulled a slim pack of cigarettes from her bag. She needed one—desperately.
After that final fight with Elliot years ago, she had picked up the habit. He had seen her smoke then, seen her at her worst. Since that day, whenever the pressure built too high, she reached for a cigarette, or else her hands would shake and her body would tremble—just like now.
Celine caught her wrist sharply. "Are you out of your mind? He's just a man. Not worth this."
But she took the cigarette from Molly's fingers and lit it for her anyway.
Molly drew in a deep breath of smoke and felt the edge of her panic ease.
She leaned back, her voice low, "Elliot isn't just a man. He's the only beautiful thing I've ever had in my life. And I destroyed it with my own doing."
She continued, "For the six months I was with him, I dreamed about him constantly. Sometimes I woke up smiling. Sometimes I woke up crying. I was terrified of losing him. But he was never mine. You can't keep what you stole."
She gave a small, bitter laugh.
Her eyes drifted to the tall building outside, the M&E Technology logo gleaming in the sunlight.
It made her think of where she had come from—rats in the drains, damp bedding that never dried, a father lost to gambling, a mother who could never afford clothes, and Magnolia searching for her half-blind, cane in hand, finding her at last in the middle of the night, beaten nearly to pieces by a gang of girls.
How could someone like her ever be worthy?
After that day, Elliot didn't see her for a while.
It was two weeks later when they met again. Celine had taken a call from M&E Technology asking Molly to come in and sign a contract.
She assured Molly it was just with the advertising department—no meeting with Elliot—and that they had even arranged for a popular male star to co-star in the campaign. It was a good deal. Eight million a year. A credential she could leverage for better roles.
Friday, two p.m.
Celine brought Molly to M&E Technology. Molly wore dark sunglasses, her face pale and small as a doll's. She looked exhausted.
They waited by the elevator. When the doors slid open, Elliot was inside, speaking to his secretary. He saw her immediately.
It was the middle of winter, and she was wearing a thin wool dress, bare legs showing pale and slender beneath the hem.
His gaze dropped to those legs, lingering for a moment. It had been half a month since he'd last seen her.