Timothy’s handsome face was set in a cool, unreadable expression, a faint trace of confusion between his brows. “Did you need something here?” he asked.
Jessica replied in sign language, her gestures sharp and direct. “Yes. Move aside.”
Timothy took his hand off the elevator’s button panel and stepped back.
Jessica pressed the button for the 18th floor.
When the elevator doors slid open, she stepped inside without looking at him. Timothy followed her in.
She stood ramrod straight, as if he didn’t exist.
The elevator reached the 18th floor. Jessica strode out, making her way quickly to suite 1808. The room was empty save for a server clearing away dishes.
Her brows knitted, and the light in her eyes dulled.
Timothy raised an eyebrow.
“This was where we just had dinner,” he said. “Ines was here too. Are you looking for her?”
His words confirmed what Jessica had already suspected—he’d come here tonight with Sheila to meet Mr. Smith.
She’d worked up so much courage to fight for herself, only to learn her son had lied for Sheila and her husband had run himself ragged for the same woman.
A sharp ache tightened in her chest.
She turned away, her steps unsteady. Her eyes were vacant and unfocused as she drifted back toward the elevator.
Timothy watched her, puzzled. If she wanted to see Ines, there would be plenty of chances. Why did she suddenly look so hollow, as if all the life had been drained out of her?
She looked like a shell, a shadow moving through the hallway.
Jessica stepped into the elevator.
Timothy followed, his lips pressed into a thin, tense line, his eyes dark and unreadable.
A heavy, suffocating silence swallowed the small space. The air between them was brittle and cold.
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