One Hour Later
The group packed up their belongings and departed from Fayedge Hot Spring.
Typically carefree, Camille exhibited unusual behavior. Just as everyone prepared to enter their vehicles, she abruptly approached Elijah’s car. “I’ll ride with you guys,” she announced.
Albin cast a brief glance her way but remained silent, walking to his own car and driving off. “Elijah, I’m heading to the hotel to pack. I’ll return to Orkset separately.”
Camille appeared oblivious, only turning to watch Albin’s car disappear.
Elizabeth sensed the underlying tension but chose not to delve into their personal dynamics. The three of them stood in an awkward tableau beside the car.
The additional passenger wasn’t the issue—determining seating arrangements proved more complicated.
Elijah’s cold gaze settled on Camille. “Sit in the front.”
Camille bristled at the directive. “Why don’t you sit up front? I want to talk with Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to intervene, but before she could get a word out, Elijah ignored them both and slid into the car without another word.
With a defeated sigh, Camille opened the passenger door and climbed in.
As the car began to move, Elijah busied himself with his phone, scrolling through news articles. He came across headlines about the Fed cutting interest rates and loosening real estate restrictions in several cities. His thoughts wandered momentarily to Elizabeth. Perhaps it was time to buy a few properties in her name.
In the front seat, Camille fidgeted restlessly, turning her head every so often as if itching to spill her thoughts about Albin. Each time she caught sight of Elijah’s brooding face in the rearview mirror, though, she swallowed her words and sank back into her seat.
Eventually, she gave up and pulled out her phone.
Without headphones, the loud thrum of DJ music filled the car. Elizabeth leaned over, curious. “What’s so loud? What are you watching?”
Camille tilted her phone to show the screen. “Male dancers.”
The video displayed a shirtless streamer twisting and gyrating under flashing lights, his exaggerated chest and abs catching the camera’s focus. The shadows on his physique made the whole performance seem more dramatic than it was.
Elizabeth involuntarily compared the dancer to Elijah’s physique, feeling slightly disappointed.
As she prepared to look away, Elijah’s cold gaze intercepted her.
He snorted, his tone laced with derision. “You don’t seem very discerning.”
The condescension in his voice stung.
Elizabeth sat up straighter, her chin tilting defiantly. “You old-timers wouldn’t understand the appeal of younger guys. They’re sweet, obedient, and full of energy—something you might not be familiar with.”
Camille jumped in enthusiastically. “Exactly! And the key is their stamina. Unlike some older men, who probably can’t even last—”
“Enough,” Elijah interrupted, his lips curling into a wry smile as his eyes settled on Elizabeth. There was a dangerous glint in his gaze, a challenge thinly veiled by amusement. “Are you sure you’re talking about the right person?”
Caught off guard, Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed.
She fidgeted with her phone, awkwardly deflecting. “The internet really is something these days, isn’t it? You can access all kinds of things with just a tap.”
Oblivious to the tension she’d caused, Camille kept scrolling.
“Yeah, it’s so convenient! Clubs aren’t always an option, but live-streamed male dancers? Anytime, anywhere. And they’ll even take requests. Tip a few hundred bucks, and they’ll dance their hearts out for you.”
Elizabeth froze at the mention of spending money. Her inner alarm bells rang loud and clear. Wasting money was unacceptable.
“Spending money on that?” She leaned back in her seat, waving her hand dismissively. “A few hundred bucks could get me a box of black durian. Throwing cash at men? That’s just asking for bad karma.”
Elijah’s lips twitched, a faint shadow of approval crossing his face. He returned his attention to his phone, scrolling through the news with a renewed sense of calm.
Of course, he didn’t count himself among the “men” she had so casually dismissed. A man like him didn’t need anyone’s money—or approval.
Elizabeth, eager to escape the awkward air, opened her phone to check her notifications. A message from Daxton popped up: “There’s been progress on the earlier issue. The account that paid the online trolls is under the name Emilio Reed.”
She frowned, her mind racing. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t immediately place it.
She searched her mental rolodex, unable to place Emilio’s identity.
