On the second floor, the guest room had been transformed into a meticulously designed study. A spacious desk was strategically positioned in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a breathtaking view of the surrounding landscape. Beside the desk, a plush lounge chair and a compact coffee table nestled next to the bookshelf—carefully arranged to accommodate her creative process. The setup allowed her to effortlessly capture fleeting moments of inspiration while immersed in reading.
Her previous anger had gradually dissolved, leaving behind a profound sense of melancholy. Returning to the desk, she settled into her chair, facing a monitor as expansive as a television screen, providing an extraordinarily comfortable viewing experience.
The moment she logged into WhatsApp on her computer, Daxton’s profile picture began to pulse with a gentle rhythm. The image was a self-captured photograph—a delicate teacup set against a backdrop of misty mountains and lush forests. The composition embodied the essence of a reclusive poet, perfectly aligning with Daxton’s reputation as a gentle and refined individual.
Daxton’s message cut directly to the point. “I visited a friend’s company today and learned that your best friend is investigating the trending topic for you. My friend mentioned your suspicion about Sandra’s involvement. While I’m aware of the conflicts between you two, since your drama hasn’t aired, she doesn’t currently pose a significant threat.”
Elizabeth recognized the “best friend” as Camille. Her initial encounter with Daxton had occurred at the pier, where proper introductions were never made.
She responded candidly, “I married two years ago. My husband is Elijah Norris. Sandra is Elijah’s ex-partner, and numerous online rumors circulate about them, though tabloid photographers carefully avoid explicitly revealing Elijah’s identity.”
Unsure of Daxton’s prior knowledge about her marriage, she decided to provide a clear, upfront explanation.
Daxton didn’t dwell on the revelation. His response was swift and to the point: “I’ll help you look into it.”
Elizabeth stared at the words on the screen, and for a fleeting moment, she caught a faint echo of Elijah’s commanding tone in Daxton’s decisive message.
Shaking her head, she dismissed the thought. Daxton was the picture of gentleness, nothing like Elijah’s stormy intensity. Her imagination must be running wild—a professional hazard of being a screenwriter.
Politely, she typed back: “Thank you, Daxton, but I don’t want to burden you. You’ve just returned to the city, and I’m sure you’re busy. I can manage this on my own.”
But Daxton was persistent: “We’re friends, aren’t we? It’s no trouble at all. Besides, I know people in the entertainment world who could help.”
He had left her no graceful way to refuse without seeming aloof.
With a sigh, Elizabeth sent a bunny emoji, its paws folded in gratitude.
At that moment, another message popped up—this one from Camille: “Guess who I bumped into today?”
Elizabeth wasn’t in the mood for guessing games and cut straight to the chase: “Daxton.”
Camille’s reaction was almost audible through the screen: “Wait, what? How’d you know?”
“He told me. Said he’d help investigate,” Elizabeth replied.
Camille’s reply came in a flurry of rapid-fire messages, her excitement palpable.
“Don’t you think he’s way too invested in your life? Especially that moment at the pier when he and Elijah locked eyes—it was straight out of a rivalry scene!”
“Look, after you divorce Elijah, you should really give Daxton a chance. He’s as good-looking as Elijah, but he’s kind and respectful. Elijah’s too domineering. Gentlemen are the way to go!”
“And remember, you once said Daxton wasn’t into women?”
“Maybe it’s because he’s been into you this whole time! What if he’s back now because he’s ready to confess? Fate works in mysterious ways. You’ve always played second fiddle to Sandra, but to him, you’re center stage.”
Elizabeth stared at the cascade of messages, utterly speechless. Finally, she sighed and typed: “You know, I should hand you the keyboard and let you write scripts. Stop spinning wild tales. I told him I’m married.”
Camille was undeterred: “So what? Marriage isn’t a life sentence. Can’t you get divorced? You’re practically on the brink anyway. It’s perfect timing!”
Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to ward off the budding headache. To change the subject, she asked: “Want to come over for dinner?”
After a pause, Camille replied: “Can’t. I’m with Albin. He’s booked a table at this insanely exclusive restaurant. No way I’m missing this!”
The mention of Albin made Elizabeth’s mind drift to the pier incident when Albin had seemed glued to Camille’s side. What she had dismissed as coincidence now seemed like something more.
“When did you and Albin get so… close?” Elizabeth asked, her curiosity piqued.
Camille’s reply came quickly, as if in defense: “I swear, it’s not what you think! I didn’t betray you! I met him by chance, and I had no idea he was Elijah’s friend at the time!”
She went on to explain how their paths had crossed.
As the conversation meandered, it inevitably returned to Elizabeth’s tangled relationship with Elijah. “Honestly,” Camille typed, “I feel like Elijah’s been acting differently. Now that you’re back at Bayview Villa and seeing each other daily, tell me the truth—do you really still want a divorce?”
