Chapter 82 Bearing Hatred
Natalia stormed out of the Howard family estate, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. The first and only destination in her mind was the police station. She needed to see Calista, to look her in the eye and demand an explanation.
Elizabeth had promised—promised—to put up the money to save the Howard Group. So how had everything spiraled into this mess?
The very thought of Elizabeth made Natalia's eyes burn with fury.
When Calista spotted her daughter through the bars, a flicker of relief lit her face. "Natalia, you have to help me. Go to Elizabeth. Tell her to drop the charges."
Natalia's voice trembled, her eyes rimmed red. "Mom… what happened? Why would Elizabeth accuse you of anything?"
Calista's lips curled into a bitter sneer. "I used those photos from the orphanage to pressure her. If I'd known she'd turn out to be such an ungrateful little bitch, I never would've brought her into the Howard family home. Should've left her to rot there."
Calista—always so vain, so obsessed with appearances—had never imagined she'd one day be locked up, accused by the girl she'd once paraded as a pawn.
Natalia blinked, stunned. "What photos?"
"She caught Elijah's eye back then," Calista said with a dismissive wave. "He sent me the pictures, thought he could extort money. I didn't pay."
Natalia's brows furrowed. "So… where are they now?"
"They were bought by someone else. The police only have one copy." Calista's tone carried a trace of regret. "I should never have sold the negatives. If I still had them, I could print them and plaster them online for the world to see."
Her voice dripped with venom. She'd never cared about Elizabeth as a person—only as a bargaining chip. Bringing her into the Howard family had always been about arranging a marriage, nothing more.
Natalia's stomach churned. "So what now? Without the money, I'll have to marry Mr. Smith."
The thought made her chest tighten. A part of her wanted to run, to leave Silverlight City behind. Her bank account still had enough to start over somewhere else. As for the Howard family's fate… well, bankruptcy was inevitable. It wasn't her problem.
Calista's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Go to TechStrong. Make a scene. Force her hand."
Natalia's eyes lit up. She pictured Elizabeth's composed face cracking under public humiliation. "Fine. Monday, I'll go."
If the Howard family had to suffer, why should Elizabeth get to live so comfortably?
Meanwhile, Elizabeth had just received the helmets Joe brought over. She hopped onto her scooter and headed for the supermarket. Tonight, she planned to cook.
Timothy returned home first. Ignoring Mabel's exaggerated grimace, he walked straight into Elizabeth's bedroom, opened his laptop, and started a meeting.
Half an hour later, she still hadn't returned. He paused the meeting. "Hold on," he said to the others, dialing her number.
Elizabeth was pushing a cart down the produce aisle when she answered. "I'm at Luxe Supermarket, near Faith Residence."
"Got it," he said, ending the call. "Joe, take the meeting notes," he added before grabbing his keys and heading out.
"Mr. Robinson, if you're going out, get me some ice cream?" Mabel called after him.
"Elizabeth can't have cold things right now," he replied without looking back. "So, no."
Mabel gaped. She could eat it just fine! But Timothy was already gone.
Outside the supermarket, Elizabeth spotted him approaching. "What are you doing here?"
"What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't help carry my girlfriend's groceries?" he said with a raised brow.
He wasn't like Armando—no, Timothy knew exactly how to win people over. He was dangerous that way; his enemies often didn't realize they'd lost until it was far too late.
Back home, Elizabeth changed into loungewear and headed for the kitchen. Timothy followed, watching her pick up an apron.
"I'll do it," he murmured from behind her.
She turned, surprised. "Alright."
He slipped the apron over her head, tying the straps at her back. His voice was low, almost intimate. "Too tight?"
She dipped her head slightly, the smooth skin of her neck catching the light. "It's fine."
His fingers brushed her skin before she shooed him out of the kitchen and shut the door.
Mabel glanced at him curiously before turning back to her TV show.
Elizabeth cooked quickly. Four dishes and a soup—colorful, fragrant, and mouthwatering.
Timothy took in the spread, thinking of how Armando used to enjoy meals like this. Not anymore, he thought. From now on, they're mine.
Elizabeth caught him staring. "What? You think you can fill up just by looking?"
He smiled faintly, stretching his long legs under the table until his calf brushed hers. She paused mid-bite, glaring at him in warning.
Mabel, oblivious, grinned. "Elizabeth, the ribs are amazing."
Elizabeth smiled back. "Glad you like them. I'll make more next time." Her eyes, however, shot Timothy another silent warning.
He chuckled quietly and withdrew his leg.
His phone rang. After a brief conversation with Joe, he set down his utensils. "Can I take this to go?"
She guessed it was urgent. Without a word, she packed a generous portion into a container and handed it to him.
Mabel watched them with a pang of envy as Timothy left.
"Mr. Robinson, this way," Joe said, opening the door to a private room.
Inside were two men. If Elizabeth had been there, she would've recognized Ron and his friend Frank Martin.
Timothy sat on the sofa, opening the bag to reveal the food Elizabeth had packed. He ate slowly, deliberately, as if there weren't two men kneeling on the floor, restrained by his bodyguards.
Joe recounted their conversation: Ron, stressed over his family's situation, had met Frank for drinks. He'd vented, and Frank—ever the opportunist—had suggested that if something happened to Elizabeth, her assets would revert to her only remaining relatives.
Timothy's expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened. He'd kept tabs on the Howard family, but this… this was crossing a line.
Murder for profit. Unforgivable.
He finished the last bite, set down the utensils, and wiped his lips with a napkin.
Ron's mouth was sealed with duct tape, his muffled protests useless. Frank shifted uncomfortably, the silence pressing in on him like a vice. Timothy hadn't said a word, and yet Frank felt as though a venomous snake was coiled in the shadows, watching.
A guard ripped the tape from Frank's mouth in one swift motion, taking a few hairs with it. Frank hissed in pain.
"I'll tell the truth," he blurted. "Just… let me go."
"Someone called me," he said quickly. "Offered me money to plant the idea in Ron's head. I don't know who it was—they used a voice changer."
Ron's eyes widened in shock, fury burning in them as he glared at Frank.