Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 55: To Keep Her Close

Chapter 55: To Keep Her Close

"She was probably ashamed of him, hiding him like some dirty secret. A snake, that’s what she is! You should be thanking God that she left you on her own." She then turned to her husband. "Noel, you won’t believe how much I tried to get her to introduce her husband to me. Buts he slipped away like a slimy b*tch. She’s such a snake!"

Harold stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw clenching, and his fists tightening. His mother’s words dripped with venom, each syllable designed to pierce, to wound. Rage simmered beneath the surface, growing hotter with each word until it finally boiled over.

"Shut the hell up, Mom!" he roared, his voice a mix of anger and disgust. His gaze, usually filled with warmth, was icy as he glared at her. "We both know why she left me—it’s because you couldn’t stand that she didn’t fit your idea of ’worthy.’ You’re the reason she’s with that bastard now! She should have been with me, by my side, where she belongs!"

Hannah’s face twisted in shock, the insult hitting her squarely. She wasn’t used to this defiance, especially from her own son.

"Harold!" Noel’s voice boomed, his tone sharp with authority. "That’s enough. Watch your mouth when you speak to your mother, for your own good."

But Harold’s eyes didn’t leave his mother’s, his anger unyielding. "For my good?" He scoffed, letting out a bitter laugh as he turned to face his father. "Really, Dad? You stood by and let her manipulate everything, ruining the only thing that mattered to me. You knew Jerica was my life, and you let her poison everything!"

Hannah let out a laugh that was almost a bark, her shock blending with incredulity. "So, I’m a ’poison’ now, am I? A ’wench’ too? Then what is she?" She was clearly rattled, the nerves in her neck pulsing with indignation as she glanced at Noel for support.

But Harold’s hands were shaking, his fingers trembling as he pointed at her, barely restraining himself. "Don’t you dare say another word about her, Mom. Not one more word, or I swear—"

Noel, sensing the brewing storm, shook his head subtly at his wife, wordlessly instructing her to stay silent. With a huff, she stepped back toward the piano, crossing her arms, fuming but compliant for the moment. Harold loosened his tie, his chest heaving, before turning to leave again. But as he reached the door, he hesitated, his resolve hardening. He turned back, his gaze as unyielding as steel.

"I swear, if either of you so much as thinks about hurting her or making her suffer, you’ll regret it. You won’t just lose me—I’ll end the Braddock name myself." His voice was steady, each word dripping with the weight of his threat.

Noel’s calm façade finally broke, his lips curling in irritation as he took a step forward. "And just what do you think you’ll do? Everything you have, everything you are, comes from this family, from your last name. Without it, you’re nothing. You think you can threaten us for the sake of some woman?"

Harold’s jaw set as he took a step forward, facing his father without a hint of hesitation. "Try me, Dad. Just try, and you’ll find out."

Without another glance, he turned and strode out, slamming the door behind him. The echo reverberated through the grand hall, hanging in the tense silence that followed. Hannah winced, shaking her head as she glanced nervously at her husband.

"He’s lost his mind, Noel," she muttered. "I wanted to test if he had rekindled anything with her and it appears that..." she sighed and her eyes turned serious as she looked at her husband. "We can’t let him ruin everything for that woman. She needs to be handled. Her husband too. Just end that bastard so that he never crosses our path!"

Noel, who had remained calm until now, took a deep sip of his scotch, the golden liquid swirling as he held it up to the light, an eerie smirk forming on his lips. He looked over the rim of his glass, his eyes cold and calculating.

"No," he replied softly, musing as though a plan was forming in his mind. "Not like that. But you’re right—we can’t allow this to continue. She’s a distraction, a threat to everything we’ve built. Harry would do anything for her. If we can keep her in check... keep her far enough to not ruin him."

Hannah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You can’t end that bastard, can you? That would only drive him closer to her."

He chuckled darkly, savoring the scotch as though it held all the answers. "I don’t need to end him as we previously planned, my dear. Just... Even if she knew all the truth, we must remind her where her loyalties should lie."

As he drained his glass, the smile on his face deepened, sharpening into something almost cruel. He had always been a man of control, of measured decisions, and he had no intentions of allowing his son’s misplaced love for Jerica to destroy their carefully constructed empire. Whatever it took, she would be kept in her place—or, at the very least, kept out of their lives.

-----

Jerica lay beneath the soft covers, her heart still racing, her skin glowing from the intimacy she’d just shared with her husband after so long. She felt Jared’s fingers tracing gentle patterns along her bare skin, his touch sending a delicious warmth radiating through her body.

Every stroke seemed to carry a sense of possessiveness and reverence that only deepened her bliss. His eyes were hooded as he gazed down at her, that dark, simmering intensity unmistakable.

Jared’s fingers traced over her skin, savoring every soft curve as she lay beside him, her lips parted in a contented smile that sent a fresh surge of satisfaction through him. From the moment she’d appeared in that dress at the gala, he’d felt a need simmering, an urge to make her his completely, to break through the distance that had settled between them.

That night had been a burning ache of waiting, especially when she disappeared to reminisce with the Walshes. Each passing second had stretched into eternity, and he’d barely held himself back before finally going to get her.

Only when she’d looked up at him, sleepy but with that familiar spark in her eyes, had he felt his pulse slow and his irritation fade.

But even as he’d finally had her in his arms, there was something else that had held him back—the damn dress. He’d wanted to tear it away right there at the gala, to claim her with nothing between them. She doesn’t dress up often.

He hesitated, however, when he got the chance, his frustration mounting as he tugged, fearing it might scratch her. He could bear a little discomfort, but he refused to let anything hurt her, even inadvertently. And on that bed—where Harold had been before—he knew he couldn’t.

His desire was fierce, but that thought had stilled his hands. No, he would wait until he could take her somewhere that was truly theirs.

Now, as he leaned down, he traced a line of kisses along the curve of her ear, then down the gentle slope of her neck, marveling at the faint red marks he’d left there. The hickeys, he thought with pride, marked her as his.

Each one was a reminder of the intensity they’d shared, of the passion that had reignited between them after so long. Her eyes twinkled as she hugged a pillow to herself, and he couldn’t help but smile, a possessive warmth spreading through him.

She was his, undeniably his, and it was high time she let herself be reminded of it. What was she doing hiding behind that pillow, anyway? With a grin, he climbed over her, tossing the pillow away, determined to keep her close.