Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 157: Powerful Love

Chapter 157: Powerful Love

Catherine stared at the phone, her chest tightening with a swirl of emotions—hope, fear, anger, and longing, all tangled together. The world seemed to blur around her, the grandeur of the mansion and the watchful eyes of the guard fading into the background.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. Should she answer? Did she want to hear his voice again? Could she handle it?

The phone continued to ring, each chime pounding against her resolve.

With a deep breath, she swiped to answer, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.

"Hello?"

A beat of silence, then—

"Yes, Catherine...?" Harold’s voice held hesitation, uncertainty. "It’s Harold. Harold Braddock." His words were hurried, as if he were afraid she’d hang up before he could finish. "Please... can you spare me a minute of your time?"

Catherine’s chest tightened at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the aloof, indifferent Harold she had once chased. No, there was something different in his tone now—something almost desperate.

She felt the familiar ache return.

It had taken every ounce of her strength to try and move on, to bury her feelings deep where they wouldn’t hurt her anymore. And now, just like that, he had the audacity to resurface—sounding like this?

Her fingers curled around the phone as she exhaled.

"Yes," she murmured. Without thinking, she turned on her heel and walked away from the guarded doors, needing distance from prying ears. Some things were too private to be overheard.

She always had time for him.

First love is that powerful.

"Thank you," Harold said softly.

A small, involuntary smile played on Catherine’s lips. She leaned against the cool surface of the wall, seeking some semblance of privacy, though she knew there were no blind spots in this mansion—cameras watched everything.

"I know it’s late to say this..." Harold’s voice trailed off. There was a quiet sigh on the other end of the line, one that made Catherine’s breath hitch.

She bet she could feel it.

His breath against her skin.

It was ridiculous—impossible—but still, her body reacted to the sheer closeness of his voice.

"I remember you," Harold said at last. "That night at the party... by the swimming pool. You were the only one there with a book." He let out a warm chuckle, tinged with something almost nostalgic. "Business? Did you ever follow up with that?"

Catherine’s throat tightened.

"I did..." she whispered, wiping at the corner of her eye. She was grinning, and yet—tears slipped down her cheeks. This. This was what she had wanted to hear for so long. Recognition.

"I graduated in business."

"Good." Harold’s voice lifted, genuine happiness lacing his words. "Keep following your dreams. I’m sorry I forgot you. It was just... a simple gesture, something any decent person would have done. But I can understand why it meant so much to you." He paused. "I’m glad I was remembered so fondly by you. But Catherine—you don’t have to hold onto that. You don’t owe me anything."

She heard the sincerity in his voice, the quiet plea.

"Become great, Catherine," he murmured. "I wish you all the best, from the bottom of my heart."

A lump formed in her throat.

You talk as if I won’t hear from you again.

She hated how small her voice sounded, how bare the words felt. Her smile had vanished along with her happy tears, replaced by a cold sense of finality she couldn’t accept.

She tried to focus, to be rational, but her heart was already in turmoil. If this was truly the end—if he walked away now—she wouldn’t survive it.

Harold exhaled on the other end. He had heard it too—the pain she couldn’t hide.

"Catherine..." he began, but his voice was heavy. "You’re young. You have your whole life ahead of you. I am not worth it, trust me. And I—"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Braddock," she cut in sharply, fire lacing her tone. "Or do you even have that surname anymore?"

Harold stiffened.

"I know you left your family after breaking your engagement with Chelsea. Like the others, do you still believe your worth was tied to that name? That the only thing you had to offer was the Braddock connections?"

Her voice trembled with something deeper than anger—frustration.

Did he truly believe that was what mattered?

Did he think she had loved him because of his name?

Silence stretched between them.

Then—Harold sighed. A long, tired breath, as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.

"You’re right," he admitted, voice softer now. "Smarter than me, really. Chelsea Glover wasn’t the wife I wanted, and Lila Anderson never loved me the way I loved her. And Jerica..." He hesitated. "Even she didn’t stop me. She brushed it off like it was just something I had to do."

Catherine’s heart clenched at the rawness in his voice. She had been wrong. He hadn’t been pushing her away to hurt her—he was hurting too.

That could not be allowed.

"By the way, Jerica is Lydia Sutherland’s daughter. That day Arthur Sutherland took her to protect her from the Glover family. She’s safe now. I am happy for her that she found her real family," Harold said, his voice filled with genuine happiness.

Catherine’s heart clenched. He was hurting and yet he could be happy for others. How could she not love this man?

"I want to meet you," she said firmly. "I’ll send you the location in the evening. I have something important to tell you."

She had a very important news to tell her. She wanted him to learn it from her and not from others.

Harold didn’t respond right away.

"Please," she whispered.

"If only you’re not going to say ’I told you so,’" Harold murmured, a hint of amusement returning.

Catherine smiled.

The call ended.

Taking a deep breath, she turned back toward the living room door.

As they opened, her eyes landed on the man sitting inside.

Her world tilted.

"Dad?" she breathed.

Ragland Glover looked at her with wide eyes.

Catherine Glover didn’t expect her father would be here. She was there because her grandfather asked her.

Her gaze shifted, taking in the familiar figures. Brandon. Philip. And then—

Her lips curved upward.

"Aunt Lydia, you’re here too."

Lydia stood up, her smile genuine. "Erin! You’re here. Come sit with us..."