The doorbell resounded throughout the flat, prompting Elizabeth to get up and attend to it. Standing there was Oliver, his arms burdened with two bags overflowing with necessities—body wash, sleepwear, and other items Elijah preferred.
With a warm grin cutting through the dreary evening rain, Oliver remarked, “The storm outside is relentless, and with the leak at Bayview Villa, staying there isn’t an option. Would you, Mrs. James, be kind enough to let Mr. James stay here for the night? I’ll drop by first thing in the morning to collect him.”
Oliver’s attempt at matchmaking was clear this time. Dismissing it as mere chance would have been overly naive.
Elizabeth realized that acquiescing might only bolster Elijah’s assertion that she was simply pretending to be unattainable.
With their divorce nearing, prolonging contact would only make matters messier.
Maintaining a composed stance, she responded, “I’m sorry, but that won’t work. I don’t have an extra room available.”
Elijah, who had briefly felt hopeful due to their recent fragile reconciliation, felt a chill as she voiced her denial.
“Additionally, my agent might stop by later to discuss some business. It could be inconvenient. However, I can arrange for a driver to take him back if you’re tied up,” she added, her tone calm and detached.
This left Elijah stunned, his demeanor turning frosty.
He had tried everything—offered peace, cooked meals, sought forgiveness—never had he displayed such humility.
Yet here he stood, met with nothing but her indifference.
The realization hit hard—perhaps he had been too quick to buy into Albin’s romantic idealism that relationships required effort.
Elijah slammed the cup onto the table with such vigor that the sound reverberated across the room, striding over with a stern look fixed on his face. He reprimanded Oliver sharply. “If you’re too overwhelmed to fulfill your duties, perhaps you should resign. I’m sure I can find another assistant who manages their time better.”
