Second Chance: Winning Her Heart

On their wedding anniversary, Elizabeth Penrose found herself alone, signing in at the gynecology department.

At the hospital, she ran into Armando Taylor, holding the woman he loved—Sherry Scott.

Sherry leaned into Armando's chest, her voice soft and sweet. "Armando, thank you for coming with me today... I've been having terrible cramps."

Armando's eyes flicked to Sherry, then he curtly ordered Elizabeth to buy chocolate.

Elizabeth's lips curved into a sudden smile. Her hand slipped away from her stomach.

How convenient... she had been planning to switch hospitals for the procedure anyway. She wasn't going to have this child.

Elizabeth was here today to end her pregnancy.

She had registered, taken her number, and waited for the doctor.

Around her sat couples—wives with rounded bellies, husbands at their side. The contrast made her solitude feel heavier.

Two months ago, she had accompanied Armando on a business trip. There had been a corporate dinner, too much wine, and when she woke the next morning, she was alone in a hotel suite. Clothes were scattered across the floor—hers, and a white shirt that belonged to him.

Her heart had leapt that morning. After all these years, he had finally accepted her feelings. She loved him—truly, deeply.

That fragile joy had shattered last night.

She had asked him, casually, what he would do if she were pregnant. His hand had been resting on her stomach when he chuckled. "Then you'll have to get rid of it. I'm not going to let you get pregnant."

The words had been cold, blunt, and merciless. The chill had spread from her feet to every nerve in her body.

She had been his secretary for five years. She had loved him for even longer. She had been his wife for two years. Even a dog would earn some affection after that long... wouldn't it?

Apparently not.

Thinking of last night, she let out a bitter smile.

Before it could fade, she saw Armando walking toward her, Sherry in his arms.

Elizabeth's body went rigid. She lowered her head instinctively.

"Is that Elizabeth?" Sherry's eyes widened above her mask. Tugging at Armando's sleeve, she urged him forward. "Let me say hello."

"You should see the doctor first," Armando replied, his voice warmer than usual.

"I haven't seen her in ages... just a quick hello." Sherry's gaze sparkled, and she tapped his chest playfully. "It's just cramps and low blood sugar, no need to worry so much."

Elizabeth sensed someone standing in front of her. She looked up.

Armando. Her boss. Her husband in name only.

He stood there, holding Sherry openly.

Her mind blanked for a moment.

"Elizabeth, it's been so long. You look more beautiful than ever," Sherry said brightly.

Sherry Scott—Armando's first love, the ex-girlfriend who had left four years ago.

Elizabeth forced a polite smile. "It has been a while."

Sherry laughed softly. "You've taken such good care of Armando these past years. Only you could put up with his temper."

Elizabeth's smile didn't reach her eyes. "It's not difficult. Johnson Corporation pays well."

A nurse arrived with a wheelchair. Armando lowered Sherry into it with gentle hands.

So his tenderness had limits... and she wasn't within them.

Sherry tilted her head toward him. "Thank you, Armando." Then she looked at Elizabeth. "Were you waiting to see a doctor?"

"No. I've already seen the doctor. I'm heading out."

Sherry tugged at Armando's sleeve again, leaning against his arm. "I suddenly want chocolate... really want it."

"Doctor first," Armando said with mild exasperation. Then his gaze shifted to Elizabeth. "Elizabeth, please buy a box of chocolate and bring it to the fifth floor."

Cold spread through her chest, sharp enough to make her laugh.

He wanted her to buy chocolate for his ex-girlfriend.

Sherry swatted his arm lightly. "Elizabeth's probably here because she's not feeling well. You shouldn't be asking her to run errands."

"It's her job," he said flatly.

Yes. Her job.

Elizabeth lowered her gaze to hide the flicker of pain in her eyes. "Ms. Scott, as his secretary, it is indeed my job."

She nodded to them, fingers tightening around her purse, and walked away quickly.

Elizabeth bought the chocolate at a nearby supermarket and took the elevator up to the fifth floor.

When the doors opened, she saw them immediately—Sherry's arms around Armando's waist, their lips pressed together.

Her stomach lurched violently. She covered her mouth, bracing herself against the mirrored wall of the elevator as nausea clawed at her.

Their eyes met for a split second before the doors closed again. Tears stung her eyes as she continued to gag, alone in the confined space.

"What's wrong with Elizabeth?" Sherry asked, startled by the sound.

Armando's gaze darkened, remembering her question from the night before. He didn't answer.

Elizabeth handed the chocolate to a nurse and asked her to deliver it upstairs.

Then she drove home. The first thing she did was pack her bags. Tomorrow, she would move out.

Two years of a contractual marriage—shattered in an instant.

The dream was over.

Two years ago, Bronte Langley had wanted to see Armando married before she died.

Armando had asked Elizabeth if she would marry him under a prenuptial agreement. He promised her a large sum of money.

She had already been in love with him. She had also needed the money. So she said yes.

It had been a contract, but she had treated the marriage with sincerity. She believed love could be reciprocated.

Sherry's return had proved how foolish that belief was.

That evening, Elizabeth waited for Armando to come home.

She stayed calm, determined to confront him.

From six to eight, she called him several times. No answer.

He didn't come home.

Instead, Mindy Johnson sent her a photo from Sherry's social media—Armando in a bathrobe, blow-drying Sherry's hair.

Elizabeth stared at the image, her eyes burning. She let out a soundless laugh.

She opened a drawer and pulled out their marriage contract.

Her gaze fell on the final clause.

It read: [Within five years, the party initiating divorce must pay the other two hundred million dollars in damages.]

At the time, she had asked for thirty million. Armando had wired her one hundred million.

She calculated quickly—after paying for Quinton Ward's chemotherapy, she had ninety million left. Not enough to cover the penalty.

She put the contract away, changed clothes, grabbed her keys, and left.

Silverlight City had plenty of bars.

Elizabeth had never been to one before. She ordered a drink but didn't touch it. Thinking of the child in her womb, she set the glass down.

She had wanted to drown her pain in alcohol... but even that wasn't an option.

She stepped outside, inhaled sharply, and felt tears spill down her cheeks.

She had loved Armando for years. And it had all come to nothing.

A taxi with its door open waited nearby. She got in, her voice thick. "Emerald Park."

The driver, Eli, glanced at her in the rearview mirror, then at the man sitting beside her—Timothy Robinson. "We men should be kinder to women," he said.

Elizabeth blinked and turned. Timothy wore a mask; she couldn't see his face.

"Stop the car. I'm sorry—I got in the wrong one."

Eli pulled over. Elizabeth apologized several times before stepping out. She glanced back at Timothy. He was looking at her too.

Armando returned the next morning to change clothes.

He saw the suitcases in the living room. "Who's here?" His voice was hoarse as he unbuttoned his shirt.

"My luggage," Elizabeth said, her gaze fixed on the red lipstick mark on his collar. She pointed at it. "A woman's lipstick."

He pulled the collar aside and saw it himself.

For a moment, his expression faltered. Then the cold mask returned. He didn't even bother to explain.

Of course he didn't.

Elizabeth laughed.

Armando frowned. "What's funny?"

"Nothing. I just saw a joke online this morning. I'm going to the office."

She picked up her bag and, without thinking, switched to flat shoes before leaving.

Upstairs, Armando stepped into the bedroom. He undressed and headed for the shower—only to find no clothes prepared for him.

Elizabeth had always laid them out beforehand.

His eyes narrowed slightly. He walked out, dialing her number. "I forgot to ask you something."

He opened the wardrobe drawer.

"Elizabeth... you're not pregnant, are you?"

His voice was cool, but it pierced straight through her, making her heart pound violently.