Chapter 78 Falling for You
Calista had barely settled into the backseat when her phone buzzed again. This time, the message wasn't from the stranger she had just sold a photograph to—it was from someone else entirely.
David: [Calista, I'll pay one hundred million dollars for the orphanage records on Elizabeth.]
The figure made her blink. A hundred million. Surprise flickered across her face, followed quickly by a rush of excitement. Just how many enemies had Elizabeth managed to make out there?
Calista: [Two hundred million, and I'll sell you a single photograph.]
David: [One photo isn't worth two hundred million. Do you have the negatives?]
Calista hesitated, her mind weighing greed against caution. Then she typed: [Three hundred million for the negatives.]
David: [Deal.]
David Jones handed his phone to Elizabeth. "Miss Penrose," he said evenly.
David was one of her bodyguards—assigned by Timothy after her accident, replacing the previous man. Elizabeth glanced at the message and returned the phone to him.
"Thank you. Transfer her the three hundred million and go retrieve the negatives for me."
This was the long way around, but it was deliberate. If she had agreed from the start to hand over seventy billion in exchange for the photograph, Calista would never have given up the negatives.
Now Elizabeth's only worry was how many copies Calista might have already printed.
David gave a curt nod and left.
Elizabeth drove alone to the cemetery. She folded herself onto the cold ground, legs crossed, a paper bag of snacks beside her. One by one, she arranged them in front of a weathered headstone.
David had made sure Armando's men weren't following her—this visit was hers alone.
"Quinton… I'm sorry." She tore open a bag of chips, took one for herself, then placed another carefully at the base of the stone. "Do you think I should just… end it? Take Sherry with me and be done?"
Her voice was quiet, almost conversational. "I know. If you were still here, you'd call me an idiot. You'd tell me to live if I can."
She stared at the stone. "This life… you saved it."
A sigh escaped her. The orphanage photographs—if they ever leaked—could unleash chaos she couldn't predict. From her bag, she pulled the negatives she'd taken back from Calista, and a lighter.
With a flick, flame bloomed. The plastic curled and blackened, the image dissolving into smoke. No one came to the cemetery at this hour. It was still, empty, the silence pressing in.
Elizabeth sat there for a long time, eating chips in silence, eyes lowered. As dusk bled into night, she finally rose. Her voice was hoarse but gentle. "I'm leaving now. I'll come see you again."
One last look at the stone, and she turned away.
From the cemetery she drove straight to the police station. Her steps were steady, purposeful.
"I want to file a report," she told the officer at the desk.
She placed a voice recorder and a photograph—of herself at age ten—on the table for the officer taking her statement. "My mother, Calista Penrose, used this photograph to threaten and extort me."
The officer flipped the picture over. On the back, scrawled in crude handwriting: [Elizabeth tastes even better than I imagined.]
Elizabeth's voice was flat. "When I was eight, my mother sent me to the orphanage. At ten, Elijah started looking at me in a way that wasn't right. At eleven, he tried to rape me, but didn't succeed."
The officer waited until she finished, then asked, "Where is Elijah now?"
Elizabeth had never wanted to involve the police—until now. She drew in a breath. "He's dead. The orphanage has a new director. And there's something else… if anyone finds out it came from me, I'll die badly."
She had come here ready to tell it all.
"That orphanage… they sell organs..."
Sometimes, a few of the children were taken in by foster parents. On the surface, the orphanage never stood in their way. But everyone knew that for some, it meant being handed over to people who would use them up, break them, and leave them on a cold operating table.
If Calista hadn't, on a whim, walked in that day and taken her away, she and Quinton would have been next in line for that fate.
Calista had shoved her into the flames once before, then pulled her back out… and now she was about to push her into another fire.
Elizabeth couldn't even put a name to what she was feeling. It was something tangled, heavy, and sharp all at once.
When the statement was done, Elizabeth stepped out into the night. She slid into her car, her skin damp with cold sweat, lips pale.
Those people would find out eventually that she had gone to the police.
Back then, she and Quinton had dreamed of reporting them—but one incident had made them abandon the idea. The cruelty of those men was beyond imagining. To them, a human life was nothing more than a price tag.
She started the engine, biting her lower lip. No point in dredging up the pain.
Calista, meanwhile, had sold the photograph and the negatives, walking away with three hundred and twenty million dollars. When she stepped into the house and saw Bruce, she hesitated. How could she explain?
"What did she say about the transfer?" Bruce's brow furrowed.
Calista's expression froze for a heartbeat before twisting into something strained. "Bruce… I'm sorry. She tricked me."
His chest rose and fell sharply, anger flashing in his eyes. "So Elizabeth won't give us seventy billion. The only option now is to have Natalia marry Mr. Smith and get a loan."
Natalia's marriage to Ian Smith was purely transactional—a way to secure financing. She was at school, cheerful and oblivious to the change in plans. Calista wanted to object, but she had no leverage.
Moments later, a servant hurried in, face pale. "Mr. Penrose, there are officers at the door asking for you."
Calista's jaw tightened, her voice dripping venom. "What has Elizabeth done now?"
The officers stepped into the living room.
"Mr. Penrose, please come with us to the station."
Calista rose, forcing a smile. "Officers, I've already severed ties with Elizabeth. Whatever trouble she's caused has nothing to do with me."
The two men exchanged a glance. One of them said, "Elizabeth has accused you of threatening and extorting her. Please come with us."
"What?" Calista's voice rose to a shriek. "She called the police? She dares?"
Bruce's face had gone stiff. "Officers, surely there's some misunderstanding."
"Whether it's a misunderstanding or not, Mr. Penrose, you'll need to give a statement."
Calista dialed Elizabeth's number. No answer.
At Faith Residence, Elizabeth was on the floor, stretching. A law book lay open beside her. She used a red pen to underline a sentence on the mat: [Extortion involving an especially large sum carries a sentence of ten years in prison.]
Mabel shuffled in wearing slippers and plopped down in front of her. "Elizabeth, why are you suddenly reading criminal law?"
Elizabeth closed the book and set down her pen. Her gaze was sharp, almost predatory. "Learning never ends, Mabel. Want to study together? Fill our heads with something useful?"
Mabel shot to her feet. "I just remembered—I've got something to do."
Elizabeth's smile was faint.
Her phone buzzed again. This time it wasn't Calista—it was Timothy.
"Elizabeth," his voice was low, intimate, almost like the way he'd murmur against her ear at night. "I've been your shadow all along."
David was Timothy's man. She hadn't bothered to hide anything from him.
Timothy's tone was calm. "I didn't ask about the details, and David didn't tell me."
Elizabeth smiled. She knew he wouldn't force his way into her business. "Mr. Robinson… I think I might be falling for you."
On the other end, Timothy shifted lazily, crossing one leg over the other.