Chapter 91 A Ripple of Unease
Imperial Garden.
The two of them were still sprawled on the sofa, the heat of what had just happened clinging to the air.
"I'm going to shower in the other room."
Armando lit a cigarette, the smoke curling lazily as he adjusted the belt of his robe. His gaze flicked toward Sherry, cool and unreadable, the kind of look that shut doors rather than opened them.
Sherry didn't notice. She was still catching her breath.
Armando walked out of the bedroom without another word.
Sherry bit her lip, a sudden, inexplicable ache settling in her chest. He never carried her to the shower. Her body felt drained, too heavy to move.
Armando showered in the other room and stayed there, stretching out in the bed as if the night had already erased her from his thoughts. He tossed his ring onto the nightstand, leaned back against the headboard, and spoke into the phone, his voice low and deliberate. He was discussing how to deal with Timothy.
Timothy had a weakness now—Elizabeth.
Early that morning, Timothy's phone buzzed with a call from the hospital. He was out of bed in seconds.
Elizabeth stirred at the sound but pulled the blanket tighter and drifted back into sleep.
Timothy moved quietly, washing up and changing clothes with the speed of someone on a deadline, then left for the emergency room.
Elizabeth woke again at seven-thirty. She got up, rubbed her temples, and checked her phone. Timothy had sent a message: he was at the ER and reminded her to eat breakfast before going to work.
She brushed her teeth, shaking her head at the thought. She wasn't a child, yet Timothy still told her to eat.
By the time she finished breakfast, it was seven-forty. She headed out on her electric scooter toward TechStrong.
A car followed at a steady distance. Inside, Armando sat with his legs crossed, fingers interlaced, watching her without giving away a single thought.
Elizabeth had barely settled at her desk when a message from Lyle appeared.
Lyle: [A woman claiming to be the real Yvonne is accusing our company on Instagram of buying song rights from a plagiarist and threatening her to keep quiet. She's posted draft manuscripts and has friends backing her story.]
Given Jessa and Yvonne's current fame, the post would spread fast.
Elizabeth sent back a short reply telling him to stay calm.
Lyle looked up from her message and told Jessa and Daisy, "Don't post any clarifications yet. We'll handle it."
Jessa nodded.
Daisy said to her, "Then let's go record "My Voice". The company can deal with this."
"Right."
Both Jessa and Lyle knew Elizabeth was Yvonne, but she had never appeared publicly. That left room for opportunists.
When you're famous, trouble follows.
Fans were already flooding Quin Agency's website, and Jessa's Instagram was filling with accusations that she had helped cover up theft.
Sherry was also headed to record "My Voice" today. She would sing and dance.
But last night Armando had held her down. She had been on her knees too long.
Now her knees were stiff, her movements tight, and it showed in her performance.
From the audience, Della frowned at the awkwardness. Sherry had always been fluid before.
After the set, Sherry bowed and stepped off stage.
Della asked in a low voice, "What's wrong with your legs?"
Sherry flushed. "I'll be more careful next time."
Seeing she looked otherwise fine, Della let it go.
Jessa's jazz routine was flawless—hips rolling, waist twisting, every move sharp.
Sherry pressed her lips together.
"It's started," Della murmured.
Sherry knew exactly what she meant.
"Let's go before things get messy."
They left the set.
Jessa and Daisy finished their recording but were blocked at the exit by media and hostile fans.
"Miss Greer, do you know Quin Agency threatened the real Yvonne to keep quiet?"
"You only got famous singing her songs. Doesn't your conscience bother you?"
"Quin Agency protecting a thief—disgusting."
Daisy and two staff shielded Jessa, but no one had expected this many people. Someone even threw eggs.
Jessa flinched, grateful it wasn't anything worse.
Daisy was about to guide her back inside when several bodyguards appeared, cutting through the crowd with force. They ushered Jessa and Daisy into a waiting car.
As the car pulled away, Jessa exhaled. Daisy did too. "Company sent them? Perfect timing."
Jessa checked her phone, shook her head. "Ms. Penrose did."
Elizabeth had arranged the guards as a precaution, never expecting to need them.
She sent Jessa a quick message, then set her phone down just as Yosef stepped out of his office.
"Ms. Penrose, come with me."
Elizabeth grabbed her bag without hesitation. "Where?"
"Club. Meeting Stellar Industries Group's chairman, Mr. Harris."
TechStrong had recently secured a major contract with Stellar. Yosef had contacted Jerry privately to arrange dinner.
They arrived at the club early.
It wasn't long before the door opened and Jerry walked in, Armando following close behind.
"Ran into Mr. Johnson here," Jerry said.
There had been polite exchanges at past events, enough to keep things civil.
In business, you smile even when you'd rather not.
The club manager brought in several women to pour drinks.
Yosef nodded toward the one beside him. "Pour for Mr. Johnson. I've got Ms. Penrose here."
Jerry glanced between them. "You brought Ms. Penrose to avoid drinking?"
Yosef grinned. "You know me too well."
Armando's voice was cool. "I don't need company. I'm engaged."
He lifted his left hand. A ring gleamed on his finger.
"Congratulations, Mr. Johnson."
Glasses were raised. Elizabeth joined them. "Congratulations, Mr. Johnson."
The moment tightened. Armando's eyes held hers, unreadable.
"Thank you," he said, tipping back his glass in one swallow, the movement sharp, his throat working.
The women left, except for one at Jerry's side.
"Word is your overseas branch hit trouble," Yosef said, his tone edged.
They moved on to other topics, skirting the awkwardness. After all, Elizabeth was Armando's ex-wife.
By eight, Jerry was drunk. Yosef helped him to the door.
Elizabeth stayed behind to settle the bill.
"Sorry," she said, stepping back and accidentally treading on someone.
A hand caught her waist, then let go.
She turned to see Armando, her brow tightening. She walked out quickly.
Armando slid his hands into his pockets, strolling after her. He bent into his car, glancing toward the other vehicle as Elizabeth got in.
Tom followed his gaze, catching sight of her. His pulse kicked, a ripple of unease tightening in his chest.