Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love-Chapter 132: The Reason He Fights

Jerica rushed to Jared the moment the nurse stepped out of the room, her breath finally steadying at the sight of him, safe and whole. Her eyes traced over his face, as though ensuring he was real, and not some figment of her desperate imagination.

Without a word, she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Jared held her tightly, pressing a soft, urgent kiss to her temple before pulling back just enough to search her for any sign of harm. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

"You’re okay?" he asked, his voice a low murmur as his hands gently cupped her face, his eyes scanning hers with tender intensity.

"They drew blood from me," Jerica said as they settled onto the couch, her tone casual, but her hand instinctively brushed the small bandage on her arm.

Jared’s expression tightened, a flicker of panic crossing his face before he exhaled slowly. "Blood?" His brows furrowed in concern. "Are you—" He stopped himself when his eyes landed on the small, almost inconsequential bandage. Relief replaced his worry, though his mind raced with questions.

He needed answers—answers Arthur Sutherland might provide. For now, though, Jerica was here, leaning against his shoulder, and that was enough.

They had scoured the house, their steps echoing in the unsettling quiet. The absence of anyone else left an eerie sense of abandonment. In the bedroom, they found two suitcases neatly packed with their clothes, as though someone had anticipated their every need.

Jared wandered into the kitchen, and his eyes widened at the sight. The pantry and fridge were stocked to the brim—non-perishable staples lined the shelves, while fresh produce gleamed with an almost unnatural vitality. It was enough to sustain them for at least a month.

On the counter, a neatly folded note lay waiting telling them that produce and milk will be delivered freshly each morning from an organic farm nearby.

The sat on the couch, unsure of what to do next. After a moment of silence, Jared spoke hesitantly, his voice softer than usual. "Jerica, who do you take after?"

She lifted her head to look at him, her green eyes perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"You know... your parents. Do you think you take after your mom or your dad?" he asked, carefully keeping his tone light.

Jerica tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "Hmm... I don’t know. I think I’m a mixture of both. You’ve seen their pictures—you should know."

Jared pressed his lips together in a tight line, nodding slowly. But that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. The truth was, Jerica didn’t resemble either of her parents—not in the ways that mattered. He’d never thought much of it before, but now, after everything he’d seen and suspected, the question gnawed at him.

"Why are you asking this now?" she asked, her voice curious, but laced with concern.

Jared hesitated. His throat felt dry as his mind raced. He couldn’t unsee the resemblance—the way Arthur Sutherland’s hazel eyes mirrored the shape of Jerica’s eyes, the subtle curve of his smile. He tried to push the thought aside, but it clawed its way back with relentless persistence.

"Do you think..." he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. Maybe it was better if she didn’t know.

Jerica’s sharp gaze locked onto his face, her eyes narrowing. Her voice was low and laced with suspicion. "Wait..." Her eyes widened in sudden realization. "That btch*!" she spat, shooting up from the couch.

"Jerica!" Jared followed her quickly, his voice tinged with alarm.

"That depraved btch!" Jerica continued, pacing furiously, her hands clenched into fists. Her teeth ground together as she struggled to hold back the torrent of curses that spilled from her lips. "I thought she cheated on my dad after my brother’s diagnosis, but she’s been doing it for years, hasn’t she?" Her voice cracked with a mixture of rage and disgust. "That btch! If she weren’t already dead, I’d kill her myself! Did she care about no one? Was sex that important to her? What did she gain from bedding married men? What a twisted piece of garbage!"

Jared stepped closer and placed a hand on her back, trying to calm her. "Jerica..."

She turned to him abruptly, her face flushed with anger and shame. "I mean... why else would that man do all this? And now that I think about it, he did look familiar. I didn’t realize I was looking at part of myself!"

Her voice broke as she whispered, "You don’t... you don’t hate me for being a bastard, do you?"

Jared’s chest ached at the vulnerability in her voice. He pulled her into a tight embrace, cradling her trembling form. "Oh, you silly woman," he murmured softly, kissing the top of her head. "How could you even think that? And if it makes you feel any better, I’m a bastard too."

Jerica stilled in his arms, her hands clutching his shirt.

"That’s not what matters," Jared said firmly, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. "My only concern is what happens next. Arthur Sutherland is married to a Glover, and I have no idea how his family will react to all of this."

Jerica shrugged, her expression turning bitter. "Well, I’m dying anyway. So what can they do to me?"

"Don’t." Jared’s voice was sharp, cutting through her self-deprecation. He cupped her face in his hands, his brown eyes burning with determination. "Don’t say that. I’m going to find a way. Do you hear me, Jerica? I will find a way."

Before she could respond, he kissed her, the gesture deep and desperate, as though willing his words to be true. Jerica melted into him, letting him take control. His kiss grew more intense, and when her hand slipped under the waistband of his trousers, he broke away, breathless.

"Not yet," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. "Not like this."

Jerica looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of frustration and affection. "You’re too good for me, Jared," she said softly.

"Wrong," he replied, his voice steady. "You’re the reason I fight."

-----

Arthur Sutherland paused outside the study, his hand resting on the ornate doorknob. The cool brass against his palm mirrored the chill creeping up his spine. He knew what awaited him beyond the door—the tempest of emotions that Lydia, his wife, would unleash.

He straightened his tie, a practiced motion meant to steel himself. For years, he had worn masks of composure and control, but tonight, he would have to let them slip. If she’d allow it.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit room.