Chapter 36 Help Me
Mindy sat cross-legged on her bed, grinning as she scrolled through her phone. She had just sent Sherry a string of screenshots—comments from strangers tearing Elizabeth apart online. Her own insults were in there too.
"Sherry, do you think Elizabeth is hiding somewhere, crying her eyes out? What if people start throwing eggs at her in the street?"
She was under house arrest for now, unable to go anywhere. Once she got in touch with Mabel, there'd be apologies to make. But seeing Elizabeth suffer was delicious.
Some people really did thrive on other people's misery.
Sherry's smile was soft, almost sweet. "She called Armando not long ago. I'm guessing she wanted him to help clear her name."
"Will he?" Mindy's pout was pure dissatisfaction.
"I answered the phone. She won't be calling him again anytime soon," Sherry said in that calm, velvety tone.
"Sherry, you're the best. By the way… Natalia won't rat you out, will she?"
"Relax. She wouldn't dare," Mindy promised.
On the other side of the city, Elizabeth ended the call the moment Sherry told her Armando was busy. Fine. If he was too busy, she had other options. She would wait. Let the circus get louder before she stepped in.
"Elizabeth, I'm heading to the law firm," Quinton said.
"Go."
They never bothered with thank-yous. But someone had leaked her new address online.
Quinton had barely left when a knock came at the door. She waited for her security detail to check before stepping outside.
A wiry man in black was pinned to the ground by one of her bodyguards. A bucket of red paint lay spilled across the tiles, bleeding into the grout.
He'd come to splash it on her door.
"Filthy woman!" he spat, before the guard shoved a sock into his mouth.
Elizabeth's brows drew together. "Take him to the police. Thanks."
She glanced at the mess, then turned toward the balcony to fetch a rag.
Whoever was behind this had a taste for cruelty.
Timothy stepped out of the elevator and found her crouched on the floor, rag in hand, scrubbing at the paint. Her hair hung loose down her back, her head bent.
"Need a hand?" His voice was lazy, low.
Elizabeth looked up, saw the long legs first, then the man leaning toward her. "You're back," she said evenly, returning to her work. "No need."
He could tell something was off, though he didn't yet know what. He'd come straight from the airport.
From his pocket, Timothy pulled out a butterfly-shaped hair tie. He stepped behind her, tugged at his pant leg, and crouched down.
Long fingers slid through her silky hair, gathering it clumsily before securing it with the tie.
It should have been a tender moment.
"Ow. Too tight," she hissed.
"Sorry. Let me loosen it." He studied the crooked knot. "Looks good."
Her glance said she didn't believe him. She stood, carried the rag to the kitchen sink, and washed her hands.
Timothy leaned against the doorway. "That hair tie's your gift. Thought it looked nice."
Their eyes met.
He crossed the room, gaze fixed on her face. "Not happy? Who pissed you off?"
"No idea."
She truly didn't know yet who was behind this.
Timothy chuckled, tilting her chin up between his fingers. "No idea?"
"Someone's decided to make me their target."
His thumb brushed her jaw before he turned her toward the door. "Go wait in the living room. I'll finish cleaning."
He rolled up his sleeves, rinsed the rag. Once she was gone, he checked his phone—several links from Mabel. He opened one, read, and his expression chilled. A text to Joe followed: [Find out who's pulling the strings behind Elizabeth's mess.]
When he returned to the living room, she wasn't there. Bedroom, maybe. Crying?
He stepped in, ready to comfort her—only to hear her voice, sharp and alive, on the phone.
"Natalia, you'd better be ready. When my hands heal, I'm coming for you."
"You know what you did. Don't play innocent."
She'd paid to have the details of the Howard family's party dug up. Now she knew exactly what had happened.
No tears. Just fire.
Timothy's lips curled faintly. He left her to it and went back to scrubbing the floor.
Later, he commandeered her bathroom for a shower. "Got a bathrobe for me?" he called.
"No. Put your clothes back on!"
The door swung open. He stood there in black boxer briefs, bare skin still damp, holding a shirt stained with red paint. "Sure you don't have one? I don't mind walking out like this."
Elizabeth's mouth tightened. He would, too.
She fetched him a large towel.
When he emerged, he found her scrolling through news feeds. He scooped her up and dropped her onto the bed.
"Forget the news. Sleep with me."
His body was warm, almost hot against hers.
"It's daytime," she protested, trying to wriggle free. His arm locked around her waist.
"Just sleep," he murmured, lips brushing her ear. The scrape of his stubble made her skin prickle.
She stayed still, wary of provoking him. Within minutes, his breathing evened.
Two hours later, he woke. She was asleep in his arms, looking deceptively gentle. Awake, she was sharp and cold.
Propping himself up, he studied her face, his gaze lingering on her lips. He slipped out, checked his phone, and made a call.
"Leak Sherry's pregnancy online. Tell Armando it was me."
The Johnson family had been trying to keep it quiet, a pathetic fig leaf.
Timothy's laugh was low. Sherry was pregnant. The child was Armando's.
The tide online shifted.
[Maybe Ms. Penrose and Mr. Johnson divorced for another reason?]
[Looks like we blamed the wrong woman.]
[Enter the other woman.]
Timothy gave Joe his instructions, then returned to the bedroom.
He claimed her bed as his own, watching her sleep until she stirred. She frowned at his grip. "Loosen up. You're holding too tight."
He let go. She moved to get up, and he caught her ankle.
"I missed you. Did you miss me?" His voice was soft.
"No."
He smiled. Of course.
He took her right hand, squeezing gently. "Then I'll miss you enough for both of us. Help me."
"Help you with what?"
An hour later, her hands and legs ached. She was crying.
She'd never seen him like this after a trip away.
He checked her legs—red, but no broken skin. She shot him a glare.
Timothy's laugh was low, voice rough. "Want me to put ointment on?"
Around her ankle, the ridiculous red butterfly hair tie was still in place.