Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 85: Mesmerizing Eyes

Chapter 85: Mesmerizing Eyes

"It won’t repeat this time," Arthur said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "Do not touch anything—or anyone—that belongs to that girl. That’s final."

Philip started to speak, his voice muffled in protest, but Arthur didn’t wait to hear it. With a quick swipe of his thumb, the call was ended, leaving only the faint hum of the room and the soft, uneven breaths of his wife. He placed the phone down on the nightstand, letting out a slow, measured exhale as he turned his attention back to her.

Lydia’s gaze found his, her eyes heavy but searching, as if trying to anchor herself in the steadiness of his presence. A faint flicker of gratitude passed over her face, fleeting but unmistakable. Arthur reached for her, pulling her into the shelter of his embrace. His fingers threaded through her hair, the gesture tender and grounding, as if willing his strength into her.

He held her close, feeling the weight of her turmoil pressing against him. Whatever storm she was trapped in, he was determined not to let her face it alone. He would stand by her, weather the fallout, and protect her from whatever it was that haunted her now—even if it meant diving headfirst into the shadows of the past she had tried so hard to escape.

But his resolve was not without fear. The girl—this mysterious presence who had unsettled his wife and drawn the ire of her brother—was no ordinary distraction. Lydia’s connection to her ran deeper than Arthur could yet grasp, and it terrified him. It wasn’t just Lydia’s concern for the girl that worried him; it was the way the girl seemed to echo something Lydia had buried long ago.

Arthur pressed a kiss to her hair, his heart heavy with unspoken fears. Whatever this was, he would unravel it, one thread at a time, if only to save Lydia from the abyss she teetered on the edge of.

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As the first light of dawn crept into the room, Jerica stirred, her senses pulling her gently from sleep. Her fingers rested against Jared’s chest, rising and falling in time with his breath, warm and steady beneath her touch. She opened her eyes, and there he was—pale, weary, but alive. Relief swept over her in a tidal wave, and her heart swelled, tethered to the sight of him.

The soft, golden hues of the morning sun spilled over his features, turning his skin to porcelain and his lashes to spun gold. Time seemed to dissolve as she gazed at him, studying every line of his face, every crease of his lips, and every shadow that hinted at his struggle. She memorized the flutter of his lashes, as if afraid that closing her eyes might erase this fragile moment.

When his eyes finally opened, meeting hers, their familiar golden-brown depths held a light that seemed to flicker solely for her.

"Go eat something," Jared murmured, his voice raspier than usual, but with a strength that made her smile.

She shook her head, the corners of her lips curving gently upward, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I’m fine," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Seeing him awake, alive, and speaking was nourishment enough.

Unable to resist, her fingers gently traced the contours of his face, memorizing the sharp line of his jaw, the softness of his cheek. And then his eyes—those eyes. They mesmerized her in a way she couldn’t explain. They weren’t just beautiful; they were magnetic, holding her in their depths, telling a story only she could hear.

Jared chuckled softly, a sound like distant thunder rolling through her. It warmed her, chasing away the lingering shadows of fear and doubt.

He tilted his head forward, pressing his lips to her forehead, his kiss as gentle as the dawn itself. He lingered there, his eyes drifting closed as he drew her even closer.

After a beat of silence, his voice softened. "Do you want to know the real reason I wear glasses?"

Jerica blinked, her brows rising with curiosity. She hadn’t expected that, but the question intrigued her. "You’re not just wearing them to match me?" she asked, a teasing note in her voice as she tilted her head, a small grin tugging at her lips.

He opened his eyes again, and for a moment, they glimmered with something playful yet bittersweet. "Not exactly," he said, his tone carrying the hint of a secret long kept.

"Jared..." Jerica whined.

"Well, that’s only one of the reasons," Jared admitted with a cheeky smile, his lips curving into a grin that softened the tension lingering in the air. "The secondary one."

Jerica’s brow furrowed, her curiosity deepening. "Then what’s the primary one?" she pressed, rolling onto her side to face him properly. Her hair tumbled over her face in unruly waves, a testament to her restless night, and her skin carried the faint sheen of fatigue. She looked disheveled, unbrushed, unwashed—yet to Jared, she was breathtaking. His heart gave a small, traitorous skip, as if captivated anew.

With a quiet laugh, Jared reached out, brushing the stray strands of hair away from her face. His fingers lingered, gently tucking them behind her ear as his eyes roamed over her features. "What a pretty face," he murmured, his voice low and warm, a smile tugging at his lips. It was a quiet, unguarded moment, one that spoke volumes without needing to be loud.

"Stop deflecting." Jerica huffed, her lips curving into a playful pout. She caught his hand, guiding it to her neck, her pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips. Leaning forward, her voice softened. "Tell me, Jared."

Jared held her gaze, his teasing grin melting into something softer, almost vulnerable. His thumb brushed gentle circles against her neck, grounding them both. "The primary reason," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "is because you love my eyes."

Jerica blinked, momentarily confused. Her brows furrowed slightly as she tilted her head. "What?"

A faint smile tugged at Jared’s lips, this one laced with mischief. "You look at my eyes with such intensity that sometimes I worry you might pluck them out just to keep them for yourself."

The teasing lilt in his tone made her huff in mock indignation, but beneath the humor, she understood him. He wasn’t just being playful—he had noticed her possessiveness, something she hadn’t realized until now. The thought that he wore glasses to placate her childish jealousy stirred something tender in her.

"You do have a lot of admirers," she said, brushing a gentle finger across the tip of his nose, her touch light but her words weighted. "I don’t like their eyes on you. None of them know you belong to me."

Her actions might have been soft, but her voice betrayed the depth of her feelings. It was more than mere jealousy; it was a fierce protectiveness, an unyielding claim. Jared recognized it, and though he often teased her, he was far from indifferent. Her possessiveness was something he both admired and indulged.

"I don’t think anyone notices me," he replied, feigning innocence with a shrug. It was an answer crafted to soothe her insecurities, though deep down, they both knew it wasn’t entirely true.

Jared was acutely aware of the attention he garnered, particularly from women. He often maintained an aura of coldness and aloofness to deter them, a habit he’d cultivated to avoid the unnecessary drama their interest brought. But he wouldn’t deny that much of it was for Jerica’s sake now. Her happiness mattered, and he had grown to align himself with her needs almost instinctively.

Her eyes softened at his response, the tension in her posture easing. Unbeknownst to her, Jared had already started adjusting his life to accommodate her desires. He hadn’t expected to change so much, yet he found himself adapting effortlessly, almost willingly.

Still, there was something—small, barely noticeable—that pricked at his heart, though he ignored it for now.

He smiled at her, a gesture that felt as natural as breathing. Jerica, however, tilted her head, her disbelief clear. She didn’t buy his modesty for a second. "Unnoticed? You? Jared, you used to flaunt your good looks like a peacock when we were dating. Don’t act like you don’t know."

Jared chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest. He knew better than to argue with her when she was like this. Instead, he leaned back, waiting for her to continue.

"In a way," she said, tracing her finger idly over her hand, "it’s better that you don’t wear a wedding band. Some women go after married men just for the thrill of it."

Her tone shifted, darkening with a disdain that Jared rarely heard from her. He didn’t press her, but he could see the shadow of an old wound in her eyes.

Jerica’s thoughts drifted, unbidden, to her mother—a woman who had treated seducing married men as a sport, a challenge to assert her power over others. Jerica despised that kind of arrogance, the toxic pride of breaking boundaries simply because she could. It was a trait she could never forgive, and one she had vowed never to emulate.

"I despise such women," she muttered, the conviction in her voice startling even herself.