Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love-Chapter 124: Jerica’s Involvement

Jerica peeked nervously from behind Jared’s broad back, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of the sudden tension crackling in the air. Jared’s protective stance, shielding her as if she were a fragile vase, only heightened her fear. Her husband was rarely this visibly shaken.

"Is that... Arthur Sutherland?" she whispered, her voice barely audible as it trembled into Jared’s ear. The name felt foreign and ominous on her tongue.

Jared stiffened instantly at her question, his muscles locking as though to confirm her suspicion. Without answering, he gently but firmly nudged her further behind him, as if her very presence in Sutherland’s line of sight was dangerous.

"Well, hello there..." The smooth, calculated voice sent a chill down Jerica’s spine. Arthur Sutherland stepped forward with a disarming smile, the kind that seemed too friendly to be trusted.

Jared’s frame grew taut, every inch of him screaming silent defiance. Jerica, feeling the tension radiating off him, pressed herself against his back, her grip tightening around his arm. His voice, when he spoke, carried layers—anger, fear, concern, and something else Jerica couldn’t quite place. Was it love? Or perhaps desperation?

Arthur raised a hand, signaling to his men. Without a word, they gestured for Jared and Jerica to follow, leading them to a large, ornately decorated dining table. The entire scene felt surreal, like a twisted parody of civility. Jerica clung to Jared’s side, her unease thickening with every step.

When they were seated, Arthur dismissed his men, leaving the three of them in stifling silence. Jared and Jerica sat shoulder-to-shoulder on one side of the table, their hands brushing under the cover of the polished wood. Across from them, Arthur leaned back, his gaze unflinching and all too calm.

"Are you okay?" Jared murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

Jerica nodded, but her hands were trembling in her lap. Her stomach churned, a mix of stress, fear, and something else she couldn’t quite name. The spinning sensation in her head made her dizzy, and for a moment, she wondered if her illness was catching up to her. The cancer—stage IV—had yet to rear its head in ways she feared, but was this the beginning?

Arthur broke the silence, his voice smooth and calculated. "I know this is not conventional," he began, folding his hands neatly on the table. "But I thought this was the easiest way to ensure you both arrived here safely."

Jerica froze at that word. Safely.

Her vision sharpened, narrowing in on Arthur’s smug face. Something snapped inside her.

"Safe?" Her voice was sharp, slicing through the tension like a knife. "You call this safe? My husband is bleeding! Do you even know the meaning of the word?" Her face twisted with fury, her eyes blazing despite the dizziness threatening to topple her.

Jared’s hand shot out under the table, resting firmly on her thigh. His grip was both steady and urgent. Please, stop. Don’t push him. You don’t know what he’s capable of.

Jerica faltered under Jared’s pleading gaze but didn’t completely back down. She lowered her head, biting her tongue, her hands curling into fists in her lap. She didn’t care about the discomfort she was enduring—the fear, the nausea. But seeing Jared hurt, his skin raw and bleeding, made her blood boil. The sight of his injuries was a knife to her heart.

Arthur sighed, his tone surprisingly patient. "I’m sorry it had to be this way..."

Jared’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. He blinked in disbelief. Had he just heard Arthur Sutherland apologize? The Arthur Sutherland, a man known for neither regret nor forgiveness? What was happening here?

"But your husband needed to be restrained for his own safety," Arthur continued, his tone calm but tinged with faint condescension.

Jerica scoffed, the sound loud and scornful. Jared’s grip on her thigh tightened, silently urging her to stay silent. His unspoken words hung in the air: Please, let it go. Don’t make this worse.

But Jerica’s jaw clenched, her fiery glare fixed on Arthur. She didn’t care for his supposed civility or his excuses. The sight of Jared’s injuries had awakened something fierce in her. She wouldn’t let this slide—not without consequences.

Jared, sensing her resolve, exhaled deeply, resignation settling over him. He didn’t mind the pain of his wounds—it was nothing compared to what he would endure for her. But her defiance, though admirable, terrified him.

Arthur Sutherland wasn’t a man who tolerated insolence.

And Jerica was pushing the final boss.

Jerica’s voice was soft, deceptively calm, but it carried an edge that cut through the room’s heavy atmosphere. "Since he’s so ’safe’ here, why don’t you remove his tie?"

Her words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate. Jared tensed, his eyes darting to Arthur, gauging his reaction. The last thing they needed was to provoke him, yet Jerica’s tone, though mild, was laced with defiance.

Arthur, however, didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze fixed on Jerica, unblinking and intense. Jared’s brows furrowed as he observed the man’s reaction. Arthur’s scrutiny of Jerica’s every little movement—how her fingers twitched, how her lips tightened—was too much. Too invasive.

Something about it stirred an unease in Jared, but also... jealousy?

No. That’s ridiculous.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, narrowing his eyes. Sure, Jerica was stunning—breathtaking, even—but why would a man like Arthur Sutherland, a self-proclaimed "wife-slave," be looking at her like that?

The nickname wasn’t just a joke—it was legendary. Arthur’s devotion to his wife was both well-known and heavily speculated about. Was it out of genuine love? Or was it fear of his wife’s powerful family? No one really knew. Whatever the reason, Arthur was notorious for putting his wife on a pedestal, practically worshiping her.

So why was he now staring at Jerica with such intensity?

A flicker of discomfort ran through Jared, but his protective instincts kicked in harder. "I’m fine," he said firmly, his voice steady as he tried to draw Arthur’s attention away from Jerica.

But Arthur didn’t so much as glance his way. His dark, calculating eyes remained on Jerica, as if Jared’s words were insignificant. And worse, Jerica wasn’t backing down. She met Arthur’s gaze head-on, her expression unreadable but unwavering.

Jared’s heart thudded in his chest as he began to notice something strange. The way Arthur stared at Jerica, and the way Jerica stared back, wasn’t merely an exchange of defiance or intimidation.

It was... familiar.

His throat tightened. Was he imagining things? The similarity in their expressions? The way their eyes lingered on each other, like two people searching for something they couldn’t name?

No. That’s absurd.

He shook the thought off, forcing his mind to focus. His instincts told him to stay vigilant, but this particular line of suspicion felt too far-fetched.

Arthur finally broke the unsettling silence, turning his head to the side. The movement snapped Jared back to the present. Arthur nodded once, and one of the suited men entered the room almost immediately.

"Get him first aid," Arthur ordered, his voice clipped but calm.

Jared blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

Arthur was... listening to Jerica?

His stomach churned. The unease he’d been suppressing doubled in intensity. First the apology, now this? Arthur Sutherland wasn’t supposed to be the type to take orders, yet here he was, responding to Jerica’s suggestion.

But why?

Jared’s fingers curled tighter under the table, his nails digging into his palms as he watched Arthur with growing suspicion. Whatever this man’s intentions were, Jared was certain they weren’t good. His chest tightened with dread, a cold realization dawning on him.

This wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about Jerica.

But before he could act on his suspicions, two of Arthur’s men seized him by the arms. Their grip was like iron, and they hauled him to his feet with no regard for his protests.

"Hey! Let go of me!" Jared shouted, struggling against their hold. His chair screeched against the floor as he thrashed, but it was no use. The men were stronger, dragging him toward the door with practiced efficiency.

Jerica shot to her feet, her eyes wide with panic. "Where are you taking him?" Her voice cracked, trembling with both fear and fury.