Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 29: An Uncomfortable History

Chapter 29: An Uncomfortable History

Without a second thought, Jared walked straight toward Harold, his footsteps heavy with purpose. He didn’t want to engage with him, didn’t even want to acknowledge his presence, but something in the pit of his stomach forced him forward. The last conversation they’d had still lingered in the back of his mind, Harold’s words about Jerica echoing like a taunt.

Harold turned and immediately sized Jared up, his gaze sweeping him from head to toe with that infuriating smirk still plastered across his face.

"Well, well, Jared Petrovski. Look at you," Harold said, raising an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "You clean up well." His voice was casual, but there was an edge beneath it, a hint of something deeper. Harold then chuckled softly, his eyes flicking down to Jared’s carefully chosen outfit. "She dressed you, huh?" he sighed, and for a brief moment, his expression softened as if he was remembering something personal, something from long ago.

Jared’s hands twitched at his sides, fighting the urge to roll his eyes or simply walk away. Of course, Harold would notice. He was close enough with her to know Jerica’s touch on everything.

"She has an amazing sense of fashion," Harold continued, his voice quieter now, as if he were speaking more to himself than to Jared. He seemed lost in thought for a second, his gaze distant as if recalling memories he wasn’t willing to share. "Always did, back then..."

Jared didn’t need to hear this—didn’t want to hear it. The last thing he needed was Harold waxing poetic about his wife, especially with that wistful tone, as if Jerica was still something—or someone—he could claim.

We practically grew up together... Jerica’s words came back to him to irritate him.

His teeth ground together as Harold’s words struck a nerve. It wasn’t just the familiarity in Harold’s voice that irritated him; it was the fact that he knew exactly how well Harold understood Jerica. There was history between them, an undeniable connection that, no matter how much time had passed, always made Jared uncomfortable.

But Harold wasn’t done. "So..." Harold leaned in slightly, glancing behind Jared with a casual, searching look. "Where is she?"

The question hung in the air like a taunt, like a challenge. Jared’s jaw clenched harder, and for a moment, he struggled to keep his composure. Of course, Harold would ask that. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was looking for Jerica, not Jared.

"Not here," Jared replied, his voice sharp, clipped. He didn’t elaborate, didn’t give Harold the satisfaction of knowing why Jerica wasn’t with him. But Harold’s knowing grin only widened, like a predator who had found a weakness.

"Not here?" Harold echoed, feigning surprise. "You didn’t bring her to a wedding? Jared... that’s low, even for you."

Jared’s eyes flashed with anger, but he kept it locked behind a steely exterior. The truth was, Harold had hit too close to home. Jerica should’ve been here. Hell, she should’ve been with him for more than just appearances. But it was a pattern now—he always went alone, and he continued to leave her out for reasons he couldn’t quite admit to himself.

As Jared stood beside Harold, watching him pull out his phone with that smug, lopsided smile, a wave of unease settled in Jared’s gut. "I’ll call her," Harold said with casual confidence, his thumb already scrolling through his contacts.

"She won’t come," Jared responded quickly, his voice more firm than he intended. It wasn’t just a statement—it was a plea, a prayer. If Jerica showed up, Harold would win in a way Jared couldn’t afford to let happen.

Harold raised an eyebrow and gave Jared a taunting grin. "She loves the happy atmosphere of a wedding," Harold said smoothly as he found Jerica’s number. He didn’t miss a beat, as if this entire scenario was just a game to him. Jared’s stomach tightened in a knot as he watched Harold press her contact.

And that’s when Jared saw it—the name flashing on Harold’s screen.

Poodle Princess.

Jared’s pulse quickened, and a sickening jealousy twisted in his chest. Poodle Princess? What kind of nickname was that for his wife? Jerica wasn’t some pampered, snobbish creature, far from it. She was strong, intelligent, and fiercely independent. The moniker felt insulting, reducing her to something superficial.

Even Jared, for all his emotional distance, stored her number as simply "Jerica"—because she didn’t need any embellishment. She was enough as she was.

Jared’s face darkened further as Harold’s smirk deepened, clearly enjoying the tension. "She’s not coming," Jared repeated, this time with a hard edge to his voice. He was trying to convince both of them, but Harold wasn’t buying it.

"Is that an open challenge?" Harold teased, his sneer making Jared’s fists clench by his sides.

Jared stood motionless, the air thick with tension as he watched Harold raise the phone to his ear. Please, Jerica, don’t answer. Jared’s heart thudded in his chest, each ring echoing like a countdown.

The seconds seemed to drag on, his hands gripping the edge of his jacket in frustration, barely resisting the urge to snatch the phone from Harold.

His mind raced as the silence stretched between the rings. Would she answer? Would she pick up Harold’s call just to spite him? What would Harold say to her?

The ringing persisted, long and torturous, like a slow drip of anxiety. Harold’s confident smirk started to waver, and Jared noticed the subtle shift in his expression—there was no answer. The call kept going, but Jerica wasn’t picking up. Jared’s heartbeat quickened with a mixture of relief and anticipation.

Maybe she’s ignoring him. Maybe she won’t come.

He held his breath as the call finally disconnected. Harold lowered his phone, his face flushed with embarrassment. For the first time that evening, Jared saw the cracks in his armor.

"She must be busy," Harold muttered, but his voice had lost its earlier bravado. He glanced at Jared, but the weight of his failed attempt hung between them. Before Jared could reply, Harold quickly excused himself, retreating from the confrontation.

Harold walked away—no, he nearly ran—away from Jared, as though the mere act of leaving would preserve what little dignity he had left.

Jared didn’t stop him. He stood there for a moment, watching Harold’s back disappear into the crowd, a sense of satisfaction curling in his chest. Jerica hadn’t answered. She hadn’t fallen into Harold’s trap, and that small victory felt monumental. For once, she wasn’t within Harold’s grasp.

His lips twitched upward into a proud smile. That’s my girl. Jerica always had a way of making him proud, even when they weren’t on the same page. In her own quiet, strong way, she’d chosen not to give Harold the time of day.

Jared felt a renewed sense of resolve, and with a contented sigh, he pulled out his phone and typed a quick text to her.

[Will be home within an hour.]

He smiled, hitting send. It was time to start fixing things with her. He could feel it—this was the beginning of something better.

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Tonight, he’d talk to her, maybe share the thoughts he’d been keeping buried for too long. He had to get closer to her before it was too late.