Chapter 64 Playing with Fire
Elizabeth stepped out of the bathroom, the soft cotton robe cinched around her waist, and crossed into the living room.
Timothy sat slouched on the couch, a shirt draped over his shoulders but left unbuttoned, eyes fixed on his phone. When she appeared, he lifted his gaze to meet hers.
"We're trending," he said, voice casual but edged with amusement. "The whole internet now knows you have a boyfriend."
Elizabeth walked over, glanced at the glowing screen in his hand. "It's late. You should go."
Timothy was wearing the new men's slippers she'd bought him. His mood was light; he answered simply, "Alright."
He set his phone aside, slipped his arms into the shirt, fingers moving with deliberate ease as he fastened each button.
"I could stay here," he said, eyes lowered as he buckled his belt. Then he looked up at her, a question in his gaze. "Would that be alright?"
"Of course not." Her reply was crisp, without hesitation.
She had things to take care of, and Timothy lingering around would only complicate matters.
Her decisiveness hit him like a slap. It was maddening.
Her heart, he thought, was nothing like her body in bed—soft, pliant, yielding. Instead, it was all steel.
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the sofa, caging her between his arms. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
Timothy nodded, not pressing further. His eyes lingered on her—robe loosely tied, eyes half-lidded with fatigue.
"Want me to get you some ointment?"
"What?" Her brows drew together as she looked up into his deep-set eyes, lashes trembling.
"You know what I mean," he said, and she knew he was referring to her body. She shook her head. "No."
Timothy's mouth curved in a faint smile. "I'll go. Get some sleep."
She nodded, tilting her head slightly as his lips brushed her forehead. Then he picked up his phone, changed his shoes, and left.
Armando had become a joke. To them, he was nothing but garbage. And Sherry... she was the dumpster that welcomed the trash no one else would touch.
In the upper circles, the women of the old families met for tea whenever they had time. Beatrix was busy fending off those who came fishing for gossip, her temper barely contained.
Once, Armando had been untouchable—polished, dignified, immune to scandal. But now? Elizabeth had divorced him, taking a sizable share of the Johnson family fortune, and somehow she had found her way back into his life.
And Sherry—had she not been so determined to seek the spotlight in show business, Armando would never have been under such relentless scrutiny.
They were both from families too small to be taken seriously.
Beatrix had no patience left for polite tea chatter. She was furious.
"I have matters at home. I'll be going."
"Mrs. Johnson, take care. Let's meet again soon."
Beatrix slid on a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, nodded, and left. A server opened the door for her.
She sank into the back seat of her car and thought of Mindy, far away overseas. Without hesitation, she dialed her number. The moment Mindy picked up, Beatrix launched into a tirade about Sherry.
Armando had shipped Mindy abroad the very night of Elizabeth's car accident—a thought that made Beatrix's blood boil. Elizabeth's accident had nothing to do with Mindy; whether Elizabeth lived or died changed nothing for her. So why should Mindy be sent away?
Since Beatrix didn't have Elizabeth's number, she called Sherry instead.
Sherry, still blissfully unaware of the online storm, was waiting for Armando to show up and comfort her. Instead, she got Beatrix.
"If you want to marry into the Johnson family, then drop that circus you call a career in show business," Beatrix snapped. "You're worse than Elizabeth—at least she kept her head down as a secretary. You're out there singing, turning yourself into a spectacle."
Sherry listened, baffled, dragged into an unwanted comparison with Elizabeth. Her mood soured.
When Beatrix finally hung up, Della walked in. "Check Instagram."
She had meant to confront Sherry with the scandal, but chose instead to let her discover it on her own.
Sherry frowned, opened the app, and saw Elizabeth's post. Her face drained of color.
She recognized Timothy instantly—holding Elizabeth as they got into a car.
How was that possible? Hadn't Elizabeth forgotten him?
Della's brows drew together. "I should warn you—this time, Elizabeth's reputation hasn't suffered at all. In fact, she's gained fans. You and Mr. Johnson are the ones being mocked."
Some divorced women had even copied Elizabeth's post, the implication clear: Armando could chew on that for a while.
In Armando's office, the air was heavy. Everyone knew he was in a foul mood.
He had planned to go to Harmony City to see Sherry, but the trip was called off. Tom felt the mess was almost beyond repair. They had tried to bury the hashtag, but it still clung to the top of the trending list—perhaps with a little help from Timothy.
Armando could only grit his teeth and endure it. He was furious, but powerless.
Elizabeth was at work early, buried in paperwork. Yosef approached, tapped her desk, and set his phone in front of her. Two fingers zoomed in on a photo.
"Is this Mr. Robinson?"
His usual easy smile was gone; his tone was cool.
Elizabeth set down her pen, leaned back in her chair, eyes lifting lazily. "What do you think?"
Silence stretched between them.
Yosef slipped his phone back into his pocket, expression hardening. "Emma's living at Timothy's villa—the one you visited when you delivered that painting. Greenview Mansion."
Elizabeth's eyes glinted with amusement. She was starting to feel a spark of irritation.
"I see what you're getting at."
She stood, suddenly catching hold of Yosef's shirt, leaning in close. Her lips hovered inches from his.
Yosef froze, eyes locking on her face at such proximity.
Elizabeth snapped a photo of the moment, then sent it to Timothy before Yosef could react.
Elizabeth: [Does this picture make you angry?]
Timothy was in the middle of a patient consultation when his phone buzzed. He glanced down, saw Elizabeth's red lips near Yosef's, and smiled faintly.
"Give me a moment," he told the patient. "My baby's misbehaving at home."
The patient chuckled. "Mine too."
Timothy's smile faded as he typed back: [You're treading on dangerous ground, sweetheart.]
It was pure possessiveness.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at his reply, showing the chat to Yosef. "I suggest you ask Timothy if he's planning to be with two people at once."
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I won't ask. His stamina's impressive, and I'm satisfied."
Yosef nearly choked. He wouldn't dare ask Timothy outright. But he could call Emma.
Emma spent her mornings painting and rarely checked Instagram. She answered Yosef's sudden call with a cheerful tone. "We're doing great, Yosef. Why do you ask?"