The word “wife” slipped from Elizabeth’s lips like the whisper of a spring breeze, delicate and fleeting. Yet to Elijah, it was like the first ray of sunlight breaking through a storm—warm and soothing. A rare contentment filled him, smoothing the sharp edges of his normally guarded demeanor.
He reached for a bag Oliver handed him, settling into the chair by the bed. His lips curled into a soft smile, one that could disarm even the coldest of hearts. “Let me help you change,” he said tenderly, his voice low and intimate, the very picture of a devoted husband.
Elizabeth twitched her lips in silent derision. If this man ever stepped onto a movie set, he’d sweep the Oscars with performances like these, she thought wryly.
Elijah reached to unbutton her clothes but paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Excuse me, my wife needs to change,” he said softly, the words directed at Nate.
Yet his gaze, filled with a tenderness Elizabeth found nearly unbearable, never left her face.
Nate’s lips curved into a practiced smile, but the glint in his eyes was sharp and unyielding. His tone, honeyed with venom, broke the quiet tension. “Mr. Norris, you truly live up to your reputation. Even when standing at the edge of divorce, you manage to play the doting husband.”
Elijah’s hand moved with deliberate gentleness as he tucked a stray strand of Elizabeth’s hair behind her ear. “Honey,” he murmured, “when did we decide to get divorced?”
Suppressing the storm brewing within, Elizabeth forced a faint smile and turned to Nate. “Mr. Crawford,” she said, her voice even, “don’t let baseless rumors mislead you.
Despite her composed words, Elizabeth’s pallor was undeniable. Her hair clung to her damp forehead, and her usually spirited eyes shimmered with a quiet melancholy.
