Chapter 61 The Night That Burned
Mabel had spent the entire night at a live show, riding a high that kept her wide awake. At dawn, she stumbled home, yawning as she unlocked the door.
Her eyes were half-closed—until they landed on Timothy.
He was walking out of the kitchen with a bowl in his hands, a towel slung low around his hips, water still clinging to his skin. He glanced at her lazily, said nothing, and headed straight for Elizabeth's bedroom.
The porridge was something he'd had Joe pick up earlier; he'd just reheated it.
Mabel started to follow, but Timothy shut the bedroom door. And locked it.
"Don't come in."
His voice was rough, almost hoarse. Mabel froze in the hallway, baffled. What the hell was going on?
Timothy set the bowl on the coffee table, then moved to the bed. He tugged at the blanket with an easy, unhurried motion. "Elizabeth… get up, eat something, then go back to sleep."
Elizabeth didn't stir. She was still deep in dreams.
He lifted a corner of the blanket and slid his fingers inside. They were cool from the water he'd just touched. His hand traced up from her thigh.
Elizabeth shuddered, curling away under the covers, rolling to the far side of the bed. Her eyes cracked open.
"Eat."
"No." Her voice was muffled, eyes still shut.
The mattress dipped as Timothy leaned over her, bracing himself with one arm. His lips brushed her ear, then her cheek, then the curve of her neck—slow, deliberate.
There was no way she could stay in bed now.
"Fine. I'm up." Her tone was resigned.
Satisfied, he slid an arm under her and lifted her off the bed in one smooth motion, carrying her toward the bathroom.
"Shoes… I can put them on myself, thanks." The sudden weightlessness jolted her fully awake.
She rubbed her temples, still heavy with sleep. Timothy's gaze was lazy, but sharp. "You drank last night. Do you remember what I told you?"
A chill ran through her spine. "I remember. I didn't forget."
He chuckled softly and set her down on the sofa, going to fetch a pair of slippers. Kneeling, he placed them at her feet, then looked up with a sudden, almost casual remark. "You used to love wrapping your legs around my waist."
Elizabeth swore to herself—he was making things up.
His eyes dimmed briefly. "Shame you've forgotten all of it."
She forced a polite smile. "Sorry."
Without another word, she padded into the bathroom. The door clicked shut, and inside she bared her teeth in silent frustration.
When she emerged, washed and clear-headed, the bedroom was quiet. She picked up the bowl of porridge. "I'll eat in the living room."
Timothy followed.
She was still in last night's sleepwear, bare legs brushing against the chair as she sat at the dining table. He took the seat beside her, close enough to press into her space.
He watched her eat. When she finished the last spoonful, his hand came up, tilting her chin toward him before he kissed her.
"I used to do that all the time."
Her lips tingled, but her expression didn't change. He brushed his thumb over her mouth, smirking, until the doorbell rang. Rising, he went to answer it.
Joe stood outside with a neatly folded set of clothes. Timothy took them and disappeared into the bedroom. Minutes later, he emerged, adjusting his cufflinks.
"I'm heading out," he said.
Elizabeth nodded. "Okay."
But he didn't move. His gaze lingered, deep and unreadable. "You used to give me a goodbye kiss every time I left."
"Not possible."
He gave her a sidelong look, amused. "You're getting smarter." The door clicked shut behind him.
Mabel, who had been peeking through a crack in her door, stepped into the hallway as soon as he was gone. She feigned a casual stroll into Elizabeth's room. "Elizabeth… are you and Timothy a thing now?"
Elizabeth rubbed at her sore hand and lower back. "No."
Mabel's grin was wicked. "You two were pretty intense last night."
Elizabeth shot her a look. "Don't overthink."
She carried the empty bowl to the kitchen, rinsed it, and headed back toward her bedroom. "I'm going to nap. I've got plans with Jessa later."
"Fine," Mabel yawned. "I'm crashing too. That show last night was insane."
Both bedroom doors closed.
Elizabeth checked her phone. Several messages from Yosef, annoyed at her string of absences. She left them unread and collapsed onto the bed.
Downstairs, Timothy slid into the back seat of a waiting car. Knox shut the door behind him. Joe climbed into the passenger seat, turning to say, "Someone was taking photos just now."
Timothy's expression didn't change. "Find out who."
The car pulled away. He thought of Elizabeth's blank stare as he told her about their past, his lips curving faintly. He pulled out his phone and sent her a message.
Timothy: [You're buying me slippers today.]
Elizabeth didn't see it until four in the afternoon, when she finally woke. His obsession with slippers was starting to feel pathological.
In the living room, Mabel was up too, eating takeout while scrolling through her phone. Elizabeth walked over, catching sight of Emma's latest post before Mabel could hide the screen.
Emma had written: [At the hospital today… feeling a little nervous. Thanks, Timothy.] Attached was a photo of him in a white coat, bent over a computer. The angle was clearly a candid. His face was blurred, but anyone who knew him would recognize him instantly.
Elizabeth straightened, tapping Mabel's bowed head. "What are you hiding for? Silly girl. I'm heading out—let's do dinner tonight."
Mabel smiled. "Sure. Call me."
Elizabeth met Jessa at a discreet private dining room. Halfway there, her phone rang—Timothy.
"Elizabeth… Armando's having you followed."
She paused, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Impressive. Let them."
Timothy's voice was low, lazy. "You've realized he's not worth it, haven't you?"
"You're right."
She hung up.
Timothy's mouth curved.
"Mr. Robinson, what's so funny?" Emma climbed into the car with a small bag. "Can you check if these are okay for pregnant women? They're supplements."
He glanced inside. "They're fine. Don't overdo it."
"When will you tell your family?" His tone was casual, but the question cut deep.
Emma's smile faded. She stared at the bag, voice barely above a whisper. "Three months. Once the baby's stable, I'll tell them. They won't ask me to get rid of it then."
"If you need anything, call Joe."
The words were ordinary, but the meaning was clear—don't call him directly.
Emma blinked. "Why?"
"My girlfriend's a little possessive."
Her brows knit in confusion.