Chapter 9 I Don't Want You to Suffer
The haze of anesthesia finally lifted, and Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open.
She turned her head toward the window and saw Timothy standing there, his tall frame outlined against the pale daylight.
He noticed her stirring and said simply, "Awake."
Even with the drugs wearing off, her limbs still felt weak, as if the strength had been drained from her bones.
She assumed the procedure was over.
But Timothy's voice cut through her fog. "The abortion hasn't happened. The baby is still here."
Elizabeth's brows knit together. "What do you mean?"
Her voice was hoarse, her throat dry.
Timothy walked over, poured a glass of water, and helped her sit up. His hand steadied her as he held the cup to her lips. When she had finished drinking, he said one word—"Armando."
Her expression darkened.
So he really did know Armando.
She kept her face neutral. "Are you going to tell him? It won't matter if you do. He wouldn't want the baby anyway."
"No," Timothy replied, dragging a chair closer and lowering himself into it. His tone was lazy, almost casual. "I'm not close to him. I won't tell him."
Elizabeth studied him, wary.
"I mean what I say," Timothy added, his posture loose but his gaze steady.
She didn't answer, only watched him with silent suspicion.
A faint laugh escaped him. "Relax. I really won't tell him. I've arranged for another top surgeon to perform the procedure. He can be here tomorrow."
It was a promise.
"This child... is connected to me," Timothy said.
Elizabeth assumed he meant family ties. In truth, he meant he was the father.
She nodded, choosing—for now—to believe him.
"You love him, don't you?" Timothy asked suddenly.
The question caught her off guard. "What?"
"Armando. Do you love him?"
Her lips curved into a faint, self-mocking smile. "I loved him for four years."
Now, she no longer dared.
Timothy lowered his gaze, thumbs tapping rapidly across the screen. He typed out a question and posted it online: [If a woman woke to the fact she'd slept with a man she didn't love, how would she feel?]
The replies poured in like a storm — "devastated", "a nightmare she'd carry forever".
He rubbed his temple. This was something best kept secret.
His long fingers turned the phone over, then he looked at her seriously. "I can help you get rid of Sherry. Do you want that?"
Elizabeth blinked, startled.
He knew about Sherry and Armando.
She searched his face. He wasn't joking.
"No... that's not necessary." Her voice was flat, almost brittle. "His heart isn't mine. Forcing it won't change that. But why would you want to help me?"
Timothy's smile was slow, almost lazy. "Call it a good deed."
She didn't believe him.
Her marriage to Armando had been nothing more than a contract—a transaction she'd been foolish enough to romanticize.
Timothy pulled a pen from his lab coat pocket, took her hand, and scrawled a phone number across her palm. "If you change your mind, call me."
Elizabeth watched him walk out of the room, then looked down at the ink on her skin.
'Sherry is the apple of his eye. If she were gone, he'd only miss her more. I'm not desperate enough for that. Give me time, and I'll cut him out of me,' she thought bitterly.
A faint smile touched her lips. She picked up the remote and switched on the television.
Her body went rigid.
The business news channel was broadcasting live from The Johnson Group's conference hall.
On stage, in a wheelchair, sat Bronte—the company's former head.
She was smiling as she announced, "I hereby declare that ten percent of my shares will be given to Elizabeth."
The crowd erupted.
Elizabeth? Who was she? Which aristocratic family did she belong to? When had Armando gotten married? Just yesterday, the famous singer Sherry had been photographed dining with Armando.
And now Bronte had dropped this bombshell.
Elizabeth was lying in the hospital bed, stunned. She had only been unconscious for two hours, and now the whole world knew she was married to Armando.
Why had Bronte made it public? And why give her shares?
Things were spiraling out of control.
She reached for her phone and powered it on.
Messages flooded in.
Ignoring them, she waited for the press conference to end, then called Bronte.
"Grandmother, why did you announce it?" she asked, caught off guard.
She had been planning to divorce Armando.
Bronte's voice was warm, as always. "Elizabeth, you've suffered these past few days. Why didn't you tell me she was back? If I hadn't seen the news of Armando dining with Sherry yesterday, you'd have kept me in the dark."
Elizabeth's hand drifted to her stomach, her eyes pricking with heat.
For the sake of a child she could never have, and for the love she had once given.
"Grandmother, I can't accept the Johnson Group's shares."
"Elizabeth, with those shares, you'll have money. Consider them a gift to your future child."
Bronte's decisions were rarely reversible.
Elizabeth rubbed her brow, already planning to return the shares to the Johnson family later.
They spoke for a while longer, until Bronte grew tired. Elizabeth ended the call.
Almost immediately, Armando's name flashed on the screen.
"Elizabeth! You've outdone yourself," his voice was cold, with a dangerous edge. "Congratulations. Now the whole world knows you're Mrs. Johnson, a major shareholder in Johnson Group."
He hadn't expected her to play such a card.
Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her temples. "Grandmother's decision was a surprise to me. I'll return the shares to the family."
Armando's laugh was sharp. "Too late. Get back here. We're getting divorced. The only wife I'll ever acknowledge is Sherry."
She didn't bother arguing. At least if he initiated the divorce, she wouldn't owe damages. "I'll come back tomorrow."
She hung up.
Armando stared at the dead line, yanking at his tie in frustration.
Tom kept his gaze down.
"Find a way to suppress the online news. I don't want this affecting Sherry."
Sherry was a star, and the internet was already tearing into her as a homewrecker.
Tom nodded and left.
Sherry's face was pale as she stood and wrapped her arms around Armando's waist.
Her cheek rested against his chest, her voice soft and tinged with fragility. "Why doesn't Bronte like me? What have I done wrong?"
Armando's anger eased. He held her shoulders, his handsome face gentle. "Sherry, don't be upset. You're perfect. It's me. If it weren't to keep Grandmother calm, I'd never have agreed to marry Elizabeth."
Sherry rose on her toes, brushing a kiss against his jaw. "No. It's my fault. I must not be good enough. But this time, I don't want to let go."
Just as her lips were about to meet his, Armando's mind flashed with the vivid image of Elizabeth's bold, beautiful face.
He turned his head slightly.
Sherry's eyes shimmered with tears.
Because of her tears, Armando pulled her closer. "Don't cry," he murmured, tilting her chin.
There was a private room attached to the office.
He scooped her up and carried her inside.
Sherry's cheeks flushed, her eyes luminous as she looped her arms around his neck. "If I got pregnant, would Bronte accept me?"
"I don't want you to suffer," he said, laying her on the bed. "I want you in a wedding dress first. Sleep for now. When you wake, the online mess will be gone."
She bit her lip. She didn't feel it was suffering. If she carried his child, Bronte would have to yield.
When he started to rise, she caught his hand.
Back in college, they had been each other's firsts.
Since her return, he had restrained himself from going further, and that unsettled her.
Thinking of Elizabeth, she closed her eyes, lashes trembling.
She kissed his brow. "Armando, I've missed you... all these years."
He saw the tremor in her lashes and, in the end, didn't push her hand away from his skin.