Chapter 80 The Night Timothy Was Relentless
Elizabeth had barely finished slapping Armando when her phone began to ring. The sharp vibration in her palm cut through the charged silence of the stairwell. She glanced at the screen—Yosef.
She pushed open the heavy door to the emergency stairs, letting the cooler air from the corridor wash over her as she answered.
"I'll meet you at the front entrance now," she said, her voice clipped but steady.
Without waiting for a reply, she ended the call and immediately dialed Uriah, instructing him to bring the car around.
By the time Yosef stepped out of the hotel, Uriah was already holding the rear door open. Yosef slid into the seat with a long, satisfied sigh, as though shedding the weight of the day in one breath.
"Workday's officially over," he murmured, tugging at his tie until it came loose.
He tossed it carelessly onto the seat beside him—then froze, his gaze catching on the faint red mark encircling Elizabeth's arm.
"What happened to your arm?" His tone was casual, but his eyes sharpened.
Elizabeth glanced down at the mark, then back at him. "It's nothing," she said lightly.
He arched a brow, unconvinced, but let it drop. "Uriah, head to Mina's place."
"Got it," Uriah replied from the driver's seat.
Yosef leaned back, his voice taking on a lazy drawl. "Mina mentioned that last time you went shopping with her, you used your boyfriend's card to buy yourself a few million dollars' worth of clothes."
Elizabeth was tapping out a message to Timothy, inviting him to dinner that evening.
She looked up at Yosef, puzzled. "Yes. Why?"
That single glance—unintended, uncalculated—was enough to make something in him tighten. He cursed himself silently. He should have known better than to hire her as his secretary.
"Mina hinted I'm not generous enough," he continued, shifting the conversation again. "Next time, I'm not letting you accompany my mistress to the mall."
Elizabeth's lips curved faintly, but she said nothing. Yosef rapped lightly on the glass. "Uriah, pull over at that convenience store."
When the car stopped, he turned to her. "Miss Penrose, go buy something for me." He angled his phone toward her, showing her the image.
Her brows shot up. "Buy it yourself."
He didn't flinch. "I'm the boss here… or are you?"
Her smile was all teeth. "Fine. Wait here."
"And make it two boxes. No—two won't be enough, make it—" The door shut in his face before he could finish.
He muttered under his breath, "Such a temper. Good thing I'm the forgiving type."
Uriah's mouth twitched. "You have a big heart."
Inside the store, Elizabeth didn't waste time. She went straight for the shelf, plucked down ten boxes of condoms, and set them on the counter.
"Separate them into two bags, five in each," she told the young male cashier.
He blinked at her, cheeks reddening as he took in her beauty. "Sure."
Back in the car, she handed one bag to Yosef and buckled her seatbelt. He eyed the second bag in her lap. "What's in that one?"
Her smile was slow, deliberate. "The same as yours."
He went silent.
She looked out the window, still smiling. Timothy, she thought, could go through a box in no time.
The brightness of her expression made Yosef's teeth ache.
In another car, Tom sat in the front passenger seat, glancing toward Armando. "Kade, head to the hospital."
"No need," Armando said, his voice cool, his eyes colder. The fresh scratch on his face didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.
Tom's curiosity sharpened. Who would dare put a mark on Armando's face?
"Go to Emerald Park," Armando ordered.
Tom's unease grew. Emerald Park had been the marital home of Elizabeth and Armando.
Since Bronte's death and Elizabeth's departure, it had stood empty. The thought flickered through his mind—could Elizabeth have been the one to hit him?
When they arrived, Kade stepped out to open the door, but Armando didn't move. He stared at the gates, at the leaves scattered across the driveway, the silence pressing in.
"Close the door. Take us back to Imperial Garden."
Kade obeyed. Tom said nothing, but the tension in the car was palpable.
Sherry was in a good mood that evening and came home early. She was in the living room, playing with Sloane, when Armando walked in. She rose to greet him—then stopped short at the sight of the scratch on his face.
"What happened?" she asked sharply. "Axel, get the first-aid kit."
"No need. It'll heal in a couple of days," Armando said, brushing past her and heading upstairs.
Sherry followed him into the bedroom. As he disappeared into the bathroom with a change of clothes, she pulled out her phone and stepped into the hall.
When Tom answered, she didn't waste time. "Mr. Davis, who hit Armando?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Scott. I don't know."
Her eyes narrowed. "Where did you go today?"
There was a pause. Tom thought of Elizabeth—of the last time, at Dream House, when she'd also struck Armando.
"Silverlight City," he said finally.
"Thank you."
She hung up and immediately searched for news from Silverlight City. It didn't take long to find photos: Elizabeth in a white blouse and skirt, luminous and unapologetically beautiful, standing beside Yosef. Further down, shots of Armando and Tom.
Axel arrived with the first-aid kit, catching the icy look on her face. He lowered his gaze and handed it over.
Sherry entered the bedroom just as Armando emerged from the bathroom. She caught his arm, steering him to the sofa. "Sit. I'm treating that scratch."
"It's fine," he said, rubbing his brow. "It'll heal."
"Not a chance. Which stray cat clawed you?" She dabbed ointment onto a cotton swab, then eyed him. "Don't tell me this stray cat was a beautiful woman."
He didn't answer.
Her frown deepened. "Was it Elizabeth?"
He gripped her waist, lifting her slightly so she sat properly. "No. I'm going to check on Sloane."
She watched him leave, her jaw tightening. Of course it was Elizabeth.
Later, at Faith Residence, Timothy parked the car and glanced over to find Elizabeth asleep. A small shopping bag rested in her lap, its contents scattered across her skirt. He leaned over, picking up one familiar box.
A slow, silent smile curved his lips.
'Thoughtful,' he mused.
He drove to a darker, quieter stretch of road before waking her—not with words, but with a kiss. When she blinked awake, he already had a box open, tearing one foil packet with deliberate care.
When Timothy used them, he was, as she'd once said, relentless.
His voice was low, roughened. "What made you so thoughtful today… buying these?"