Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 156: The Cute Stalker

Chapter 156: The Cute Stalker

Lydia sat with her back straight, knees pressed together, her hands delicately resting on her lap. Her poised demeanor exuded calm, but inside, a familiar tension brewed. Arthur sat beside her, contrasting her upright posture with his casual demeanor, one leg crossed over the other. His relaxed air seemed almost deliberate, as if to balance the charged atmosphere in the room.

Across from them, Philip sat with his jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly as he muttered incoherently under his breath. His sharp glances in Lydia’s direction were full of disdain, but she didn’t flinch. Brandon, meanwhile, occupied a far corner of the room, fidgeting uncomfortably in his chair, as if wishing he could disappear altogether.

By the door, Ragland sat flipping through a magazine, seemingly indifferent to the tension. The forgotten middle child, he had long accepted his role as an afterthought in the family hierarchy. Unlike Philip’s relentless need for validation or Lydia’s fierce defiance, Ragland had quietly forged his own path, leveraging the Glover name just enough to establish himself but steering clear of family drama whenever possible. His disinterest had served him well, shielding both him and his four children from the patriarch’s meddling.

Lydia’s eyes flicked briefly toward Ragland. She had often wondered why their father had been so willing to let him live his life unencumbered while she, the beloved daughter, had to fight tooth and nail for her independence. The memory of her father’s fury when she insisted on marrying Arthur still stung. He had thrown every obstacle in her way, and yet here she was, sitting beside the man she loved.

Her hand moved instinctively, resting on Arthur’s thigh. His presence was her anchor, the calm in the storm of her family’s chaos. Without him, she wasn’t sure she could have carved out the life she wanted—a life free from her father’s suffocating control.

Of their father’s illegitimate children, only Brandon was invited. The others didn’t even get an invitation. Lydia couldn’t get what their father was planning.

"Don’t think you’re getting everything," Philip’s voice cut through the silence, laced with bitterness.

Lydia didn’t respond. She could feel his glare burning into her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting.

"You’re getting nothing. None of us are!" Philip suddenly shouted, his voice rising as he sprang to his feet.

Brandon turned his face away, muttering something inaudible. Ragland didn’t even bother to look up from his magazine.

"You f***ing bastard," Philip growled, storming over to stand in front of Ragland. "How long were you planning this?"

Ragland finally looked up, his expression unbothered. He didn’t dignify Philip’s outburst with a response, calmly flipping a page as though he were alone in the room.

Arthur let out a long, slow breath, his exasperation barely concealed. Lydia rolled her eyes. Philip had always been the family’s drama king, a man who thrived on chaos.

"Erin is getting everything—the conglomerate, this house—everything!" Philip roared, his voice echoing off the ornate walls. "We’re only getting the scraps!"

That finally made Ragland react. He closed his magazine with a deliberate snap and looked up at Philip. "How do you know?" he asked, his tone calm but sharp. There was no way their father, notorious for his obsession with control, would leave everything to his daughter without a reason. Was Philip lying? Or worse, scheming?

"Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know," Philip spat, stepping closer to Ragland. His body language was aggressive, but the presence of security guards lining the room kept him from crossing the line.

"It’s news to me," Ragland said, his voice steady, a stark contrast to Philip’s volatile outburst.

Arthur sighed audibly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. Another day, another Glover family meltdown.

"Oh, stop it, Philip!" Lydia’s voice rang out, commanding the room’s attention. Her tone was sharp, slicing through the tension like a blade. "And what if it’s true? Daddy never makes the wrong choice. Erin has double the IQ points you do, and she’s far more capable of running the conglomerate than you could ever hope to be."

"You—!" Philip pointed a trembling finger at Lydia, his face contorted with rage. But words failed him. Huffing in frustration, he dropped back into his seat, his fists clenched.

Arthur reached over and rubbed Lydia’s thigh, his touch both a gesture of support and admiration. She always knew how to handle her brothers, even when they were at their most insufferable.

At that moment, the muffled sound of voices and movement outside the door caught their attention.

"So it begins," Arthur murmured, his voice low but tinged with amusement.

Lydia turned to him, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "It’s going to be interesting," she replied, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

-----

Harold fumbled with his phone, frustration bubbling under the surface as he scrolled through his contacts. How had he not recognized Catherine earlier? The memory of her desperate eyes, pleading for acknowledgment, haunted him. He felt a sharp pang of guilt. If only he’d handled things differently back then—if only he had seen her infatuation for what it was and guided her to move past it, instead of letting it spiral. Instead of...hurting her.

The image of that day was burned into his mind, the crimson stain on her skin. It had been an accident, but that didn’t make it less cruel. His stomach twisted at the thought.

Did he even still have her number? Catherine had called him from so many different ones over the years. At first, he found her persistence amusing, endearing even. He had saved one of the numbers in a moment of weakness—Cute Stalker. The name brought a rueful smile to his lips, though it faded quickly. The charm of her attention had worn thin as her presence became unavoidable. She had been everywhere he was, her shadow overlapping his. He’d grown annoyed, impatient, and then things had unraveled completely.

Ah, there it was—Cute Stalker. Harold hesitated. What if she had changed her number? What if calling now only stirred up wounds that should be left alone? But the memory of her pain, the anguish in her voice as she asked if he remembered her, drove him to action.

He unblocked the number and hit dial.

On the other side of the city, Catherine stood frozen in front of an ornate door, her breath catching as her phone began to ring. The sound startled her, breaking the tense silence that hung in the lavish entryway.

The guard at the door hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Should he open it for her? Catherine barely noticed him; her attention was riveted on the phone.

It was that ringtone.

The one she had set just for him.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled the device from her purse. For weeks, months, she had wondered if this day would come. If he would ever call. If he cared enough to reach out.

The screen lit up, and her heart raced.

My Knight.

Her breath hitched. It was him.

It was him.