Chapter 130
He casually entered Elizabeth's birthday, 0921.
"I'm used to it. I always mess it up if I change it," he said, shrugging.
Elizabeth watched Alexander walk in and cursed herself for being so weak. Just changing the password back had her all flustered.
"You'll get used to it," she said softly.
Alexander turned to Elizabeth, and she added, "Alexander, you have to adapt to other things."
"Like what?" he scoffed.
Elizabeth fell silent.
Like she had to get used to not caring about Alexander, to accept she wasn't Mrs. Tudor, and that Alexander would never love her.
Alexander met her gaze. She looked exhausted, her eyes bloodshot, her fair skin marked by his kisses.
Elizabeth sat on the sofa and texted Felix.
Elizabeth: [Come pick me up at the villa.]
Felix: [What are you doing there?]
Elizabeth: [Got dragged here by a jerk.]
She put her phone away, feeling a sharp pain in her wrist from Alexander's rough handling earlier.
The villa felt empty and desolate. Elizabeth, who had once insisted on marrying Alexander, never imagined they'd end up like this.
She thought of a saying: A person found a real gun at thirteen or fourteen, pulled the trigger out of youthful ignorance, and thought it was a blank. Years later, they heard a faint sound and the bullet hit them right between the eyes.
The reckless words she had said in her youth were like bullets. Now, they were hitting her hard.
Lost in sorrow, she heard Alexander groan in pain.
"Is it your stomach?" she asked instinctively.
He looked at her, less hostile, more somber. "Because of you, I haven't had dinner yet," he said flatly.
"You dragged me out. I didn't stop you from eating," she scoffed.
"If I had stayed longer, that land would have been approved for Joseph because of you!" he snapped.
She was about to retort but saw him wince in pain.
Elizabeth sighed. Felix would take a while to arrive, so she stood up.
Alexander looked up, thinking she might leave. But she headed to the kitchen. "Is pasta okay?" she asked.
He raised his eyebrows. She put on an apron and looked at him again. He nodded.
Elizabeth could cook, but he had never appreciated her cooking. In the early years of their marriage, she brought food to his office, but he gave it to his secretary. She had even cooked for the whole Tudor family.
Feeling a pang of guilt, Alexander walked to the kitchen.
Elizabeth glanced at him. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking calm.
"Have you been staying here recently?" she asked, opening the well-stocked fridge.
"Yes."
