Chapter 60 Timothy Never Lets Go
Timothy arrived a moment later and dropped into the seat beside Elizabeth.
They played three rounds before calling it quits.
The group moved to a dining table. A waiter brought out dishes and wine. Yosef poured the first round himself, but after that, Elizabeth—ever the efficient secretary—took over.
While they chatted, Elizabeth had nothing to contribute. She focused on refilling glasses until Timothy leaned back, his tone lazy. "No more wine, thanks."
Relieved, she set the bottle down and picked up her fork. She hadn't had dinner yet, so she began eating in measured bites. Every so often, she lifted her glass for a sip, catching Timothy watching her. She smiled faintly and lowered her gaze.
Timothy put down his fork and leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting over her colorful dress. It made her neck look even longer—like a poised, exotic bird. She had no idea what was running through his mind.
When she had eaten enough, she set her fork down.
Timothy's phone buzzed on the table. The caller ID read "Emma."
Elizabeth looked away as he answered, his voice casual, almost bored. She could only make out Emma's bright, lilting tone on the other end.
When he hung up, he turned to Matthew. "Emma wants prime rib from the Carlton Hotel. Order one and have it sent over."
Matthew checked the time. "At this hour? Prime rib?"
Still, he signaled for a waiter.
Timothy's gaze flicked to Elizabeth. He instructed the arriving waiter, "Make it two. One for Ms. Penrose to take home."
Elizabeth thanked him politely. Timothy's eyes darkened. She was distant—polite to a fault.
Dinner ended. Only then did Yosef bring up business. He'd invited Timothy tonight to pitch the Robinson Group's new technology. Elizabeth finally understood the real reason for the poker game.
When they wrapped up, Elizabeth called Indigo to pick her up. She'd had wine and couldn't drive. Yosef and the others all had drivers.
"Elizabeth, I'll take you home," Yosef offered. He was a decent boss.
She nodded and slid into the passenger seat, watching the car ahead. Joe opened the door for Timothy, who ducked inside. Elizabeth turned away.
In Timothy's car, he leaned back, eyes closed. Thinking of how she'd kept him at arm's length all night, he gave a low, cold laugh. "Faith Residence," he told Knox.
Back home, Mabel wasn't in. Elizabeth put the prime rib in the fridge, planning to reheat it tomorrow. She showered, then grabbed a few beers and settled on the sofa. She opened a drawer and pulled out a photo album.
Inside were pictures of her and Quinton. She sipped her beer and spoke softly to the smiling boy in the photos. "I went to Sherry's album launch tonight. Oh, she looked really happy to see me."
Elizabeth's lips curved faintly. Sherry had Armando's protection. Elizabeth was just an ordinary woman—hardly a match—but she was determined to become Sherry's shadow.
Her mind slipped back to that night when she was eleven.
The orphanage director, Elijah, had called her to his office. His withered hands stripped away her clothes, delighting in her young skin.
Ten-year-old Quinton burst in, a brick in his hand. Malnourished, he was small for his age—more like eight. Elijah was a grown man; even hit, he shoved Quinton aside with ease.
Elizabeth scrambled up, teeth sinking into Elijah's hand. Quinton lunged again, smashing the brick against him. They ran from the orphanage, terrified.
Elizabeth wiped away the tears that had spilled over. She slid the album back, picked up her beer, and stared into nothing.
Some people were born unlucky.
At Faith Residence, a car sat in silence under the building. Joe glanced at the rearview mirror. Timothy was still resting with his eyes closed.
An hour passed before Timothy spoke, voice low and rough. "Where's Mabel?"
Joe turned. "I'll call and check."
He rang Mabel's bodyguard. Before he could hang up, Timothy said, "Find something for her to do tonight. Keep her busy."
Joe hesitated. "Alright."
The window slid down. The car was hidden in shadow; the man inside barely visible. Timothy lit a cigarette, fingers steady, elbow resting on the sill.
By one a.m., he stepped out, crossed the lobby without a glance at the security desk, and took an elevator to Elizabeth's floor. He rang the bell.
Elizabeth, tipsy and ready to collapse into bed, frowned at the sound. "Mabel forgot her keys?" she murmured.
She padded to the door, peered through the peephole, and blinked.
Timothy.
She opened the door, surprise flickering in her eyes.
She was wrapped modestly in sleepwear, cheeks flushed, the scent of alcohol clinging to her.
Timothy's gaze was deep. "I'm here to pick something up for Mabel."
Her head was fuzzy, and she didn't think twice. "Come in."
She turned back toward the living room. Timothy followed, shutting the door and slipping into a pair of women's slippers without hesitation.
"Elizabeth," he said suddenly.
She looked back, puzzled. "What is it?"
"You promised to buy me a pair of slippers once."
She fell silent, unsure of what to say.
He stepped closer, catching the faint sweetness of her skin after a shower. She rubbed at her temple, trying to clear her head. "Why would I get you slippers?"
His arm slid around her waist, his face dropping into the curve of her neck, hiding the depth in his eyes. His lips curved faintly. "Because I used to keep you. You were my lover."
She said nothing. In truth, she'd been the one keeping him. Her head swam; she didn't want to argue.
"Mabel's room is that one. Go get what you need."
He didn't let go. Tilting her chin up, he smiled. "I hate letting you go… What should I do?"
He hadn't come here to leave.
Elizabeth's amnesia had erased him completely. How convenient.
By dawn, she lay exhausted in bed. The bathroom door opened, and the mattress dipped as Timothy slid in beside her.
"Sleep," he murmured.
Timothy was relentless. All night, he'd whispered stories of their past in her ear.
"The more I tell you, the more you'll remember," he said.
She was too tired to listen. Just as her eyes closed, he roused her again—playful, harmless torment: tickling, nudging, anything to keep her awake.
It was maddening. She almost broke, almost admitted she was faking her amnesia.
"Elizabeth, remember when we stood in front of the mirror and…" His voice was hoarse now, edged with temptation.
She yanked the pillow over her head. Enough.
He chuckled. "If I talk long enough, you'll forget everyone else before you forget me."