Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 154: He Remembered Her

Chapter 154: He Remembered Her

In the quiet of the night, Jared was pulled from his sleep by the soft chime of his phone. The sound was unmistakable—a special notification tone he had set specifically for Arthur. As his mind shook off the haze of sleep, he frowned, his instincts alert. Arthur rarely reached out at this hour, and if he did, it was never without reason.

Jared immediately turned his attention to Jerica, her presence beside him grounding him even as unease started to creep in. Her face was peaceful, softened by the warm glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains. She was deeply asleep, her breathing steady and rhythmic, and for that, he was grateful. Pregnancy had taken a toll on her energy, leaving her exhausted most days.

Moving with care, Jared adjusted the blanket around her, tucking it snugly over her shoulders. His fingertips lingered for a moment, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and he froze, watching for any sign she might stir. But she remained still, lost in a restful slumber.

He felt a pang of guilt as he stood and quietly left the room. The last thing he wanted was for her to wake up to worry about something she didn’t need to. In the dimly lit hallway, Jared unlocked his phone and opened the message from Arthur.

The text was long, typical of Arthur’s style when delivering information that required gravity.

{Richard is out of the ICU. There’s a meeting tomorrow. I’ll attend the meeting with Lydia to know what the patriarch is planning for the family’s future. It is expected that Philip will be announced as the heir. I’ll be there to contend his decision. Also for other reasons. Our meeting will have to wait.}

Jared’s thumb hovered over the screen as he reread the message. Richard, the patriarch’s recovery was bound to set a series of events into motion. If Richard was awake and alert, Lydia would inevitably be summoned to the meeting. And if Lydia went, Jerica’s identity as her daughter would be revealed to the entire family.

His jaw clenched at the thought. Tomorrow would be a long, complicated day. The undercurrents of power struggles and unspoken alliances were always tense in their circles, but now, with Jerica at the heart of it all, it felt personal in a way it hadn’t before.

For a moment, Jared leaned against the wall, closing his eyes as he gathered his thoughts. His primary concern was, and would always be, Jerica’s safety. Whatever politics Arthur was preparing to navigate, Jared knew his father-in-law had the resources and influence to hold his ground. But even Arthur wasn’t infallible. The Glover family was unpredictable, and Jared didn’t trust them any more than he trusted Philip’s ambition.

As his thoughts swirled, a quiet determination settled in his chest. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Jerica. Not her, not their child. If tomorrow brought chaos, he would face it head-on, with or without Arthur’s help.

Tucking his phone into his pocket, Jared made his way back to the bedroom. Jerica was still sound asleep, her soft breathing a balm to his restless thoughts. Sliding carefully into bed beside her, he wrapped an arm protectively around her. She shifted slightly, her hand instinctively finding his.

Jared pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered, "I’ll keep you safe. No matter what."

Jerica stirred, her lips curling into a faint smile even in her sleep. That simple gesture eased some of the tension in his chest, reminding him of what he was fighting for. Whatever the morning brought, Jared was ready. He wouldn’t let anything touch the family he held so dear.

-----

Harold buried his head deeper into the sack of files strewn across his desk, the weight of his cases bearing down on him. After leaving his family behind, he had thrown himself into his work with a single-minded intensity. Maybe it was necessity—feeling like he had no choice but to succeed—or maybe it was a need to prove to himself that he could build something on his own. Either way, this job had become his lifeline, the one thing his family hadn’t been able to take from him despite their best efforts to sabotage him.

He wanted to stay here, to carve out something lasting, something that was his and his alone.

As he flipped through the next file, his gaze lingered on a heartbreaking case involving a teenage girl. The report detailed her torment—bullying at school so relentless it had driven her to a breaking point. In a tragic twist, she had lashed out against her tormentors, and in the chaos, a life was lost. Now, she was convicted of manslaughter. Harold’s chest tightened as he read. The girl had been failed by the world around her, and now the justice system would fail her, too.

Life wasn’t fair. It rarely was.

As he pondered her story, a memory suddenly surfaced, unbidden and vivid. It was like a reel playing in his mind, dragging him back to a poolside party he had attended years ago.

The scene was chaotic—thumping bass from loudspeakers, the acrid smell of alcohol mixed with chlorine, teenagers dancing wildly, their inhibitions stripped away by liquid courage. Everywhere he turned, he saw a spectacle of youthful recklessness—drunken laughter, flirtations turned brazen, and the kind of hedonism that only the privileged seemed to indulge in so freely.

And then his gaze had landed on someone who didn’t belong in that chaos.

By the pool, on one of the lounge chairs, a girl sat apart from the crowd. She wasn’t in swimwear like everyone else but wore simple loungewear, a thick business book propped open in her hands. She seemed oddly serene, completely detached from the madness around her.

The sight of her had made him pause. Why would someone who wanted to study sit right in the middle of such commotion? Her presence was almost defiant, as though she were challenging the very atmosphere around her. There was something about her air—confident yet unbothered, as if she didn’t care what anyone thought of her.

But then, the mood shifted.

A group of boys, emboldened by alcohol and egged on by the rowdy atmosphere, surrounded her. At first, it seemed like harmless teasing, but it quickly escalated. Their voices grew louder, their words sharper, and then they began tugging at her clothes, laughing as they tried to force her to "join the fun."

Harold hadn’t noticed at first, distracted by the chaos elsewhere, but Jerica had. She tugged at his arm, her voice urgent as she pointed out what was happening.

Without hesitation, Harold intervened. He stormed over, his voice cutting through the music and laughter as he barked at the boys to back off. He didn’t care that they were wealthy kids with influential parents. He didn’t care that this might cause trouble for him later. He only knew he hated seeing anyone—especially a woman—cornered and helpless.

The boys, startled by his intensity, backed away reluctantly, muttering under their breaths. Harold turned to the girl, who was trembling, her book clutched tightly against her chest as though it could shield her from the world.

He grabbed a towel from a nearby chair and draped it over her shoulders, shielding her from the stares of the onlookers who had started to notice the commotion. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentler now.

She didn’t respond immediately, her wide eyes darting around as if she were still processing what had happened. Jerica stepped in, guiding the girl inside the house to give her some space and comfort.

Harold’s heart raced as he remembered that moment. He hadn’t thought about that night in years, but now it all came flooding back—the poolside chaos, the helplessness in the girl’s eyes, the overwhelming need to protect her.

And then her name surfaced in his mind like a whisper.

Catherine.

How could he have forgotten her?