The assistant panted. “Ms. Johnston, I saw Mr.... oh no, Bond. He’s not doing well now, though. He’s working as a cleaner in a hotel.”
Timothea’s face was grim, but she didn’t react. She spoke succinctly. “Take me there now.”
After ten years together, I knew all too well how Timothea’s body reacted when she was nervous.
She was tense now; she must have been waiting for this moment for five years. Seeing the assistant’s hesitation, Timothea interrupted impatiently, “Forget it, give me the address, I’ll find it myself.”
After receiving the address, Timothea rushed into the hotel like a madman, searching every floor and every bathroom for me.
Only on the 22nd floor did she see the man, hunched over, cleaning the toilet.
Timothea’s body stiffened, her breathing becoming rapid.
“Bond!” She rasped and sneered as she grabbed the man’s wrist.
“You took my money and left with a divorce agreement and now you’re in this mess. Do you regret it?”
Her eyes were bloodshot as she stared at the back of the man’s head.
But the moment he turned, I couldn’t help but smile bitterly.
It turned out to be a misunderstanding.
Seeing a completely unfamiliar face, Timothea was startled, the light in her eyes dimming.