Chapter 77 I Am Fine
Yosef hadn't planned on visiting Greenview Mansion that day. The thought struck him suddenly, and before he realized it, he was already on his way.
When Emma heard that Yosef had come to see her, she instinctively glanced down at her stomach. Today's dress was loose, the kind that draped without drawing attention to her figure.
"Yosef, what a surprise to see you today. It's rare," she said, her eyes curving into a warm smile.
Seeing the healthy flush in her cheeks, Yosef felt a wave of relief. "I thought you might be upset… worn down. I wanted to check on you."
"What?" Her brows drew together in puzzlement.
"Mr. Robinson and Elizabeth," Yosef said plainly, never one to dance around a subject.
Emma pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze. "Yosef, I'm fine," she replied softly.
She offered no further explanation.
Yosef stood, his eyes lingering on her. "If you need anything, call me."
Emma walked him to the door, watching his car pull away before turning back inside. Her hand drifted to her stomach again, fingers resting there as her mind turned over a thought she'd been keeping to herself.
That evening, at the Howard family estate, the dinner table was unusually lavish.
"Bruce, tomorrow Elizabeth will transfer the money to the bank," Calista said gently, placing a portion of his favorite dish onto his plate.
"You've been working so hard lately," she added with a tender smile.
Bruce had always been drawn to Calista's soft, attentive nature. He smiled back. "You've worked hard too. Next time, invite Elizabeth home for dinner. No matter what's happened, we're still family."
Natalia, sitting beside Calista, reached over to add food to her mother's plate. "Mom, I was wrong before. I thought Elizabeth would take you away from me. This time, I'll apologize to her."
Ron, watching the two women, didn't share their optimism. He hadn't interacted with Elizabeth much, but he knew enough about her to understand—she wasn't the kind to easily return to the Howard family home for dinner.
Still, talk was just talk. Whether Elizabeth came back or not hardly mattered.
Meanwhile, at the Carlton Hotel, Elizabeth wandered through the suite while Timothy spoke on the phone. Her hands clasped behind her back, her steps slow and deliberate as she inspected the space.
She stepped into the kitchen. It looked untouched, as if no one had ever cooked there. There were three guest rooms; she opened each door briefly before closing it again.
From the living room sofa, Timothy's voice carried in a language she didn't recognize. Elizabeth couldn't understand the words, but his voice… it was pleasant to hear.
Finishing her quiet patrol of the suite, she returned to the sofa and sat beside him. Resting her chin in her palm, she studied his profile. Timothy's features were striking, almost unfairly handsome—no wonder he had a way of drawing people in.
She reached out, gently pinching his ear between her fingers.
Timothy glanced down at her once, but didn't stop her, continuing his conversation.
Her hand left his ear, fingers wandering idly across his chest in teasing patterns.
Timothy's arm slid around her, pulling her closer. Her nose caught the faint, clean scent of pine from his skin. She was bolder than usual tonight, her touch lingering.
"Elizabeth." Timothy's voice dipped low, a warning threaded through the syllables as he paused his call.
Elizabeth ignored the warning, her expression lazy, almost playful.
She'd received Calista's message earlier. After getting out of Yosef's car at an intersection, she had deliberately come to the Carlton Hotel to wait for Timothy to finish work. Tomorrow was uncertain—Calista hadn't seen her transfer the money, and would likely be furious.
Timothy's large hand closed over hers, halting her movements. She was provoking him, and he knew it. His tone on the phone cooled, the person on the other end stammering through their report.
Covering the receiver, Timothy leaned in, his lips brushing close to her ear. "Sit still."
Elizabeth's smile was all allure as she nodded.
She didn't know when he ended the call, only that his chin came to rest on her shoulder, his arms circling her waist.
"Tell me. What happened today?" he asked.
""Nothing. Just that you looked impossibly handsome while you were on the phone earlier," she said with narrowed eyes, offering him a half-truth. "I want to take a shower."
Timothy tilted her chin to face him, his gaze steady.
He searched her face but found nothing.
Later, they showered together. It wasn't late yet when they settled on the sofa, a movie playing on the screen. Elizabeth watched; Timothy simply kept her company.
"This horror movie is terrifying," she said without changing her expression, pretending to be scared. Her slender fingers clutched at his robe.
"The ghost is coming out… so scary," she added, still feigning fright.
Timothy's mouth twitched. He knew she was pretending. Who watches horror movies in the middle of the night on the sofa? What kind of game was this?
His lips curved faintly, a touch of warmth in his eyes. He tightened his hold on her, murmuring lazily, "Don't be scared. It's not real."
The next day dawned bright and clear, just as the forecast promised.
Bruce stayed home all day, waiting for news. By five in the afternoon, the bank had closed, and there was still no deposit notification. He called Calista.
"No money today. Call Elizabeth and ask her what's going on," he said.
Calista was in the middle of a spa treatment. At Bruce's words, she waved for the masseuse to leave. "She hasn't sent it yet? I'll call her."
Elizabeth glanced at her phone when it buzzed, saw Calista's name, and dismissed the call without hesitation.
Calista frowned, tried again. Three calls in a row were cut off. She switched to text.
Calista: [Are you busy? Why haven't you transferred the money yet?]
Elizabeth: [I don't respond well to threats.]
Calista's face darkened. She typed back: [Just don't regret it.]
It wasn't much to ask—only seventy billion dollars, she told herself. But as she thought of the Howard family, Natalia, Ron, and the comfortable life she'd imagined slipping away, her resolve hardened.
She dug out the number of the stranger who'd contacted her before.
Calista intended to sell the photo to them.
The stranger replied quickly with an offer—two million dollars for a single photo.
The gap between two million and seventy billion was staggering.
The stranger texted: [Do you want to sell?]
Calista gritted her teeth.
Calista: [Fine. Two million per photo.]
The arrangement was simple: money for goods. The stranger sent an address… along with a set of instructions.
It read: [Go there. There's a small mailbox by the door. Put the photo inside. Inside the mailbox, there's a bank card. The password is six zeros.]
Calista changed clothes, left the spa, and checked her bag. She happened to have a photo of Elizabeth at age ten.
She instructed her driver to take her to the address. Once there, she hesitated briefly before stepping out, opening her bag, and slipping the photo into the small mailbox.
In exchange, she took the bank card from inside.