Chapter 96

She had, however, fatally underestimated the shrewdness of both men, which made her look like a fool.

Clifford started the car and pulled out of the underground garage.

Latisha stared out the window as a fine mist drifted in, dotting her face with cool droplets. The temperature in Etherea City had dropped to the low forties, and the damp, cold air was biting.

Without a word, Clifford closed the window, shutting out the chill.

When they arrived back at the villa, Mrs. Dashiell was dozing on the sofa. The sound of their footsteps woke her instantly, and she reached for her cane to greet them.

The old woman's cautious, almost fearful demeanor sent a pang of guilt through Latisha. She began to question if bringing Mrs. Dashiell here had been the right decision.

But it was too late for regrets. If she had left her in that small shack, she might have eventually grown numb to the hunger and cold. But now that she had tasted comfort, taking it away would be a crueler fate.

Mrs. Dashiell was just like her, clinging desperately to any glimmer of hope.

"Mr. Lambert, you're back. Have you eaten?" she asked, reaching for his coat.

Clifford sidestepped her, tossing the coat onto the rack himself.

“I've eaten. Just make something for her," he said before heading upstairs without another word.

*Don't trouble yourself. I'm not hungry,* Latisha signed.

Mrs. Dashiell seemed much more at ease with Latisha. "Nonsense. You're still recovering. I'll just whip up something simple for you. You need to eat."

*I can do it myself. You should go rest.*

Mrs. Dashiell took her hand, her wrinkled face etched with a pleading, almost pathetic look. “Latisha, please, just let me do something."

Latisha froze, silenced by the raw desperation in the old woman's eyes. This wasn't what she had intended. Nothing she did ever went according to plan.

After a moment, she nodded.

Mrs. Dashiell's expression brightened. "You just wait here. It won't take long."

Latisha sank onto the sofa and closed her eyes, overcome with exhaustion.

About half an hour later, Mrs. Dashiell returned with a tray.

"Latisha, I don't think Mr. Lambert has eaten either. Why don't you take this up to him?"

Latisha hesitated.

"Go on," Mrs. Dashiell urged,

pressing the tray into her hands.

saw

you in You two have had a

e look on your faces whet

fight, haven't you?"

Latisha didn't answer. She didn't even know what to call their relationship anymore. After his cold dismissal the other night, what was left between them? Nothing buta hollow marriage, a sapling with no roots, ready to be toppled by the slightest breeze.

"Go on, now," Mrs. Dashiell insisted again.

Latisha was silent for a moment before taking the tray and heading upstairs. She

knocked on the study door and then pushed it open.

Clifford was at his desk, and he

didn't look up as she entered. She placed the tray on an empty co

of the desk and gently tugged on his sleeve. He glanced over at her.

*Eat something,* she signed.

"Who is that, Clifford?"

Yesenia's voice came from the other side of the desk. Latisha's eyes followed the

sound and saw his phone propped up. Yesenia's face filled the screen.