FakeNovelChapter 39
He would never allow Timothy and Sheila to rekindle their old flame.
Timothy lounged carelessly against the back of the sofa, his lips pressed into a hard, thin line. His eyes-icy and
sharp-locked onto Phelps with an unsettling intensity.
"You're really protective of her, aren't you?"
That piercing stare made Phelps deeply uncomfortable. His grandson had grown up, and more and more, he felt
Timothy slipping out of his control.
"You married her, you have a son together. Naturally, | don't want to see your marriage fall apart."
A faint, cold smile flickered across Timothy's face. "Is that really the only reason, Grandfather?"
Phelps's lips trembled as if searching for the right words. His wrinkled hands clutched his cane in a white-
knuckled grip.
"Timothy, don't be foolish."
"I know what I'm doing. But don't you think you owean explanation for announcing our marriage certificate
so publicly?"
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Phelps's faded eyes narrowed. "You've been married seven years. Your son is six. What's so wrong about making
it public now?"
Timothy's long fingers tapped lightly on the armrest. "Is that what she told you?" Phelps looked genuinely
puzzled. "Timothy, what are you getting at?"
"If she hadn't promised you something, would you really have gone so far as to use The Lawson Group's official
account to announce our marriage?"
Suddenly, realization dawned across Phelps's face.
"Don't tellyou're making a fuss over this with her-and that's why, in a fit of anger, she refuses to come
home?" Phelps's voice softened. "It wasn't her. It was my decision to make it public."
Timothy eyed him skeptically, his tapping fingers falling still.
No wonder she'd insisted she knew nothing about it.
She really didn't know what he was talking about.
Timothy's handsfeatures darkened.
Phelps stood up slowly, bracing himself on the cane. "If she's upset, maybe you ought to ask yourself if you're
the problem. You really are losing your head- focusing on all the wrong things!"
With that, Phelps walked out of the study.
After dinner at the old family home, Timothy returned to The Gilded Whisper Estates. He carried Henry, sound
asleep, in his arms.
Mabel cover and gently took Henry from him.
"Where's Mrs. Lawson?"
"She left with a suitcase," Mabel replied.
A crease formed between Timothy's brows. "Did she say where she was going?"
"She didn't."
Without another word, Timothy turned and left the house.
Mabel watched him go, thinking, Well, at least he's acting like a husband now.
Timothy got into his car and called Jessica. The call was immediately declined.
He frowned, those sharp brows knitting, and tried again. The call was cut off once
more.
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He opened Jessica's chat and typed out a message:
Where are you?
A red exclamation mark popped up as soon as he hit send.
Timothy's lips went pale. She really had the nerve to block him.
He called his assistant. "Find out where my wife is. | want an answer in thirty minutes."
Closing his phone, Timothy started the engine, intending to visit Sheila at the hospital. As he reached for the
center console to put his phone away, his hand brushed against a velvet ring box-the kind that played a tune
when opened.
His gaze froze on it. He started the car, but instead of heading out, he pulled over a few blocks away.
He stepped out and lit a cigarette.
Half an hour later, his phone rang.
At his feet, five or six cigarette butts lay scattered on the pavement.
"Mr. Lawson, we found her. Mrs. Lawson is staying at The Obsidian Haven, room 303. I've arranged for the front
desk to have a key card ready for you." Timothy got back in the car and drove straight toward The Obsidian
Haven.
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