Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 22: The Picture

Chapter 22: The Picture

Jerica froze, her heart sinking like a stone in her chest. His voice was calm, his expression neutral, as if they were talking about the weather. As if her words hadn’t reached him at all.

"No," she said, sharper than she intended, before quickly heading into the bathroom. The moment she closed the door, she leaned against it, her breathing growing shallow as the weight of everything settled over her.

He didn’t care.

It was becoming clearer by the minute. Whatever they had left, was fading fast, slipping through her fingers like sand. And yet, the thought of walking away, of letting him go entirely, sent a pang of loss through her that she couldn’t shake.

Maybe it was better if she left him. Maybe Jared could be with the woman who impressed him, who lit up the parts of him that Jerica hadn’t touched in years. And maybe she had become unimpressive. Bland. She could feel herself disappearing into the shadows of his life, and it terrified her.

The sound of the doorknob turning made her flinch. She hadn’t even realized she’d locked the door. Maybe it was symbolic—closing herself off from him the way she had closed off her heart.

"I’m not killing myself!" she shouted, the words spilling out without thought.

There was a pause on the other side of the door. Then, softly, Jared’s voice, laced with something she hadn’t heard in a while—pain. "Jerica... that’s not why I—"

His words trailed off, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to open herself up to more hurt. Not tonight.

After a moment, she heard his footsteps retreat. She let out a shaky breath, feeling both relieved and... disappointed. She’d wanted him to fight for her, to demand answers, to show her that he still cared, but instead, he’d left her alone.

Again.

Jerica turned on the shower, the sound of the water drowning out her racing thoughts. She stepped in, letting the warmth cascade over her, trying to wash away the confusion, the pain. But no matter how long she stood there, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slowly losing herself in a marriage that no longer had space for her.

-----

The next morning, Jared tried to talk to her, but Jerica gave him nothing—just a sharp, silent stare that could burn right through him. She didn’t even respond when he asked her to join him for breakfast. Her coldness stung, and though Jared couldn’t completely understand the depth of her anger, he knew it was his fault. He knew he’d lost her somewhere along the way.

But what was he supposed to do? He had tried to control his temper the night before when she mentioned Harold. He had swallowed his jealousy, but none of it seemed enough.

What more could he do to break through the walls she’d built around her heart?

It wasn’t always this hard. Jared’s mind wandered back to the first time he’d noticed her at work—the way she commanded the record room like her own little kingdom, smiling at everyone but always with her own will intact.

She’d earned the nickname in his head: "Steel Marshmallow." Soft and approachable, but no one could bend her to their will. She wasn’t easily swayed, and he admired that about her.

The more he watched her, the deeper he fell, until one day, by some miracle, she asked him out. He’d never forget the thrill of that moment, or how he couldn’t sleep that night because of the happiness coursing through him.

Now, that woman—the woman he loved more than anything—was slipping through his fingers, and he had no idea how to get her back.

As Jared left the courtroom later that day, he was intercepted by Keith Rower, the District Attorney, who greeted him with his usual smug smile. Beside him stood the one person who made Jared’s blood boil—Harold Braddock.

"Well, Petrovski," Keith began, "we were just talking about—"

"—a more comfortable chair for him, I hope?" Jared cut him off coldly, barely acknowledging Harold’s presence. "I see he doesn’t sit in his office much. I’d recommend the ergonomic chairs from The Chair Boutique."

Keith laughed, a nervous sound that echoed awkwardly in the hall. "No, no, we were discussing—"

"I’ll text you the manager’s number," Jared interrupted again. "He gave me a great discount." Without waiting for a reply, Jared brushed past them, his frostiness lingering in the air.

Nick, Jared’s paralegal, followed him closely. He’d been watching his boss all day, noticing that something seemed off. The usual sharpness and precision that earned Jared his nickname, "The Siberian Beast," were dulled. Jared had even paused, blank, in court—a rare and concerning slip for a man as focused as him.

Nick had also noticed Jared’s newfound habit of sneaking off to the Clerk’s Office lately, making excuses to pass by Jerica’s desk. But he deliberately avoided even looking in that direction that day.

Was Jared returning to his natural state, or evolving into something even more dangerous? What if the Siberian Beast was transforming into something worse, a frost-breathing dragon? He shuddered at the thought. The world wouldn’t stand a chance.

"I’m leaving," Jared said abruptly, grabbing his jacket.

Nick nodded, holding his breath until Jared was out of sight. The Beast was unraveling, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

Meanwhile, Keith Rower turned to Harold with an awkward chuckle. "Not sure why he brushed us off. You’d think he’d be more polite, especially to someone from an impressive family like yours."

Harold forced a smile, though his eyes flashed with malice. "He’s a self-made man, I suppose. That’s an admirable quality." But his words dripped with contempt. "I’ll talk to his paralegal about the case. He’ll know all the details."

Keith made some awkward small talk about the weather before excusing himself, leaving Harold to stew in his thoughts.

As soon as he was alone, Harold’s face twisted into a sneer. Jared had not only taken Jerica from him but had the audacity to disrespect him, right to his face. And worse still, Jared was making Jerica unhappy. He didn’t deserve her anymore, and Harold was going to make sure of it.

Pulling out his phone, Harold dialed a number. "Send him the picture," he said, ending the call with a smirk.

As Jared descended the stairs, his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. He was about to block it when the image caught his eye—Harold and Jerica, sitting close in a car. Harold’s hand rested tenderly on her arm, and their faces were inches apart. It looked like Harold’s lips were almost brushing hers.

Jared’s heart slammed against his chest, the image burning into his mind. It wasn’t just the proximity that made him freeze—it was the look in Jerica’s eyes. She wasn’t pulling away. She was meeting Harold’s gaze, and for the first time in months, she seemed... present.

Jared’s hand shook as he stared at the screen, unable to look away.

Right then, he received a call. Seeing the name, his expression softened.

Natasha.