Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 151: The Meeting

Chapter 151: The Meeting

Jared looked up, meeting her gaze with a sincerity that took her breath away. "I’ve had to work twice as hard as others because I had no backing. Every step I climbed, I earned on my own. But if someone offers me a ladder—especially the father of the woman I love—I’m not too proud to take it. Why should I complicate my life unnecessarily for the sake of pride? My priority now is you and our child. If accepting help means I can focus more on what truly matters, I’ll do it without hesitation. Arthur understands that, and so do I."

Jerica felt her heart skip a beat. "Wow," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. She was deeply moved by his words, by the vulnerability he was willing to show her.

Jared nestled closer, his head resting against her chest, his hand tracing lazy patterns on her side. "I’m not going to push myself to the point of breaking and risk losing you," he added softly. "I can’t live without you."

Tears pricked at her eyes as she cupped his face, guiding his gaze back to hers. "No matter what, my love for you will never change," she promised, her voice trembling with emotion.

Jared smiled, his hand resting gently over hers. "I know," he whispered, his lips brushing hers in a tender kiss that sealed the unspoken understanding between them.

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Jared stretched his neck and adjusted his tie as he finished another long day at work. He made his way to the parking lot, the cool night air brushing against his face. As he approached his car, the faint sensation of being watched prickled at the back of his neck. He stopped, his eyes scanning the shadows.

Arthur’s security detail should have been nearby, but they were nowhere to be seen. The absence of his usual watchful escorts was unsettling. Then, before he could react, a dark van screeched to a halt in front of him. The doors flew open, and before Jared could even fully process the ambush, several masked men emerged, moving with precision.

Jared’s instincts kicked in, and for a moment, he considered fighting back. But these weren’t amateurs. Their movements were coordinated, efficient, and entirely professional. They restrained him, blindfolded him, and bundled him into the van without a word.

When the blindfold was finally removed, Jared found himself in a lavish suite at the Royal Hilton. The room was opulent—floor-to-ceiling windows framed by heavy velvet drapes, crystal chandeliers casting a cold, brilliant light. Seated on a leather couch with his legs crossed was Philip Glover, exuding smug authority. Standing nearby, fidgeting but trying to appear composed, was Brandon Glover.

Jared exhaled slowly, adjusting his tie and surveying the room. His gaze was calm but piercing, taking in every detail—the exits, the positions of Philip’s men, and the power dynamics between the brothers. It was clear that Philip was the one pulling the strings, while Brandon seemed nervous, almost out of place in the scenario.

Philip didn’t offer Jared a seat, a calculated display of dominance. Jared’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. Powerful men like Philip thrive on displays, but the truly dangerous ones don’t need to show their hand.

Without waiting for an invitation, Jared strode to the chair directly opposite Philip and sat down, crossing his legs in an exact mirror of Philip’s posture. The deliberate action unsettled Brandon, whose eyes darted nervously between the two men.

"Why am I here?" Jared asked, his voice calm but edged with steel. There was no fear in his tone—only quiet menace.

Philip smirked, leaning back into the couch. "You’re here, Mr. Petrovski, for a hearty talk." His voice was smooth, but there was an undercurrent of arrogance.

Jared chuckled lowly, the sound resonating through the room like a warning. "Then let’s talk," he said, his voice dropping into a deeper register. His sharp eyes locked onto Philip’s, daring him to make the first move.

Philip faltered for a split second. Jared’s presence was suffocating, the room’s atmosphere shifting as if the very air had grown heavier. This wasn’t the domesticated man married to Arthur Sutherland’s daughter. This was the Siberian Beast.

"You’ve been busy, haven’t you?" Philip finally said, his tone attempting nonchalance but failing to mask the unease creeping into his demeanor.

"I have." Jared’s fingers drummed lazily on the armrest, a stark contrast to the tension in the room. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"

Philip’s smirk twitched, and he gestured toward Brandon, who stiffened. "I understand you’ve got... grievances with someone in my family."

Jared’s gaze shifted to Brandon, his eyes narrowing into something predatory. "Indeed, I do," he said, his voice low and lethal.

Brandon cleared his throat and stood, trying to project confidence but failing miserably under Jared’s gaze. "Let’s clear this up," Brandon said, his forced smile betraying his discomfort.

Jared leaned back further, his posture relaxed yet commanding. "Is this apology going to be public?" he asked, his tone almost casual.

Brandon’s veneer cracked. "Are you f*cking kidding me?" he shouted, his voice trembling with indignation. "A public apology? What nonsense is this?" He turned to Philip, his frustration boiling over. "Philip, do you think I—"

Before Brandon could finish, Philip lazily waved a hand. Two large men appeared as if summoned by magic, grabbing Brandon by the arms. He struggled and cursed, but they dragged him out of the room like a child throwing a tantrum.

Jared didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed even calmer, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the chair’s armrest. His eyes locked onto Philip’s, unblinking and cold. The room’s temperature seemed to drop, the oppressive aura emanating from Jared filling every corner of the suite.

Philip shifted uncomfortably, his earlier smugness evaporating. He realized too late that his attempt to intimidate Jared had backfired spectacularly. The man sitting across from him was no prey—he was the predator.

For the first time, Philip felt a sliver of doubt. "What exactly do you want?" he asked, his voice lacking the confidence it held earlier.

Jared leaned forward, his elbows resting casually on his knees, his faint smirk a perfect mask of controlled menace. "I think you already know the answer to that question," he said, his voice as smooth as silk yet razor-sharp. His sharp eyes scanned the room deliberately, a subtle reminder to Philip of the obvious: It was Philip who orchestrated this meeting, not him. Jared’s smirk deepened, his tone laced with mockery. "Are you sure you’re ready to deal with me?"

The words hung in the air like a dagger poised to strike. Jared’s calm exterior masked the storm within, his mind working rapidly to assess every angle. This was the man who thought he could rattle him? Jared’s disdain was palpable, though it was carefully cloaked in his composed demeanor.

In that moment, Jared understood why the Glover family patriarch had been hesitant to entrust Philip with the entire family fortune. This man wasn’t just arrogant; he was incompetent.

Philip cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. The faintest flicker of uncertainty crossed his face before he quickly masked it. He had the upper hand here, didn’t he? He reminded himself of the guards stationed outside and the men who had dragged Jared here. There was no reason to feel threatened. Yet, Jared’s piercing gaze and unyielding presence made Philip’s confidence waver.

"I am willing to forget everything your wife and you did against my family," Philip said, his voice rising slightly as though trying to reassert control. "You should know I’m not scared of you or your wife. It’s just that—"

"Come to the point, then," Jared interjected coldly, his voice cutting through Philip’s bluster like a blade. His tone was steady, the command in his words undeniable.¹

The interruption startled Philip, and for a moment, he was rendered speechless.