Chapter 8

The man, terrified, stammered, “I was just joking. Did you take it seriously?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I always take things seriously,” Elizabeth said, sipping her wine. Thinking about Alexander protecting Esme, holding her, showing her such tenderness, ignited a surge of anger within her. Was she truly worse than Esme? Why did Alexander always perceive her as a problem?

“Elizabeth, why are you so narrow-minded? No wonder Alexander doesn’t like you!” the man shouted.

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Alexander. It struck a nerve. She hurled her glass at his feet, her gaze icy. “Don’t want to kneel? I’ll make you.” She produced a pen.

The crowd gasped. What was she planning? The man felt a chill run down his spine, remembering Elizabeth stabbing Landon in the neck with a pen earlier—quick, ruthless, and bloodless. The memory made him shiver. He swallowed hard and stepped back.

Elizabeth twirled the pen, eyeing him. “I can save lives with this, or end them.” His spine froze. “You’ve got three seconds. Kneel, or…”

Before she finished, he dropped to his knees. “I was wrong!” he cried, kowtowing. “Please, spare me!” He bowed repeatedly, his legs shaking.

Elizabeth tilted her head, her gaze sweeping the room. Who else wants to defy me? her eyes seemed to ask. The room was silent; everyone watched, too afraid to move.

Since marrying Alexander, Elizabeth had remained out of the spotlight. People considered her a spoiled Percy family princess. But now, commanding the room like a queen, “useless” seemed a wholly inadequate description.

Seeing no one else speak, Elizabeth stood. The crowd recoiled. She laughed. Were they truly that afraid of her? Indeed, one should never be too weak.

She approached the man, who looked up at her. She stepped on his head, pressing it to the ground. Her expression wild, she said, “Now this is how you kowtow sincerely.” Then she left without looking back.

John watched her go, shaking his head and smiling. Elizabeth had once again surprised him.

Exhausted, Elizabeth reached the hotel entrance, her feet aching terribly. Annoyed, she removed her high heels and walked barefoot, ignoring the stares. Outside, a drizzle had begun. She tilted her face up, letting the raindrops fall on her cheeks. The mask of dominance fell away, revealing an indescribable fragility.

She paused, noticing Alexander leaning against a car in a black shirt. He turned to light a cigarette, the flame illuminating his face. Raindrops fell on his shoulders, but he remained without an umbrella, his suit jacket draped over his arm, a cigarette between his fingers. A heavy chill emanated from him; his gaze was distant and indifferent.

“Elizabeth, we need to talk,” he said slowly, deliberately, as if he’d been waiting forever.

Elizabeth clutched her shoes. Why here? Why now? Was this about the divorce? Was he so eager to leave her for his new love? The thought stung. She swallowed the pain, managing a smile to maintain her composure. “I know you’re busy. We don’t need to talk.”

“I don’t want anything. I’ll go with whatever you decide.”

Alexander frowned. She was always like this. At family dinners, she’d say, “I know you’re busy. I’ll handle things at home.” On her birthday, “I know you’re busy. Just half an hour with me is enough.” Even sick in the hospital, she’d say, “Go ahead and work. I’m fine. You don’t need to stay.” And now, with divorce looming, she was still the same. Whoever said Elizabeth was inconsiderate?

“I’m not busy,” Alexander said suddenly, locking eyes with her.

Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat; her eyes widened in surprise. In three years of marriage, this was the first time he’d responded like this. It felt unreal. Yet, considering his eagerness to discuss the divorce, she found it ironic.

“Elizabeth,” John’s voice came from behind.

She turned. He held a black umbrella over her head, smiling. “Why are you standing in the rain?”

“I didn’t know it was raining,” Elizabeth replied, looking into his eyes. He gently wiped the raindrops from her hair. “Elizabeth, want me to take you home?”

The sudden closeness startled her. She almost instinctively stepped back, then glanced at Alexander, quickly looking away. She’d always worried about Alexander’s perception of her, never daring to get close to other men, fearing he’d think her unfaithful. She’d been so cautious, forgetting Alexander didn’t care at all.

“You take me home? Seems more reliable if I take you home,” Elizabeth said to John with a gentle smile.

“You taking me home works too,” John nodded.

Alexander watched quietly, his eyes swirling with emotions. Since Elizabeth proposed the divorce, he felt increasingly insignificant. He pressed the car horn.

The loud noise gained everyone’s attention. John looked up, surprised to see Alexander. “Mr. Tudor, waiting for someone?”

Alexander took a drag from his cigarette, flicked the ash, and pointed at Elizabeth. “I’m waiting for her,” he said, cool and firm.

Elizabeth stared at Alexander. John was confused. “Mr. Tudor, you know Elizabeth well?”

Alexander’s eyes burned with a quiet anger. “I’m her husband!”