Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 88: Slipped Words

Chapter 88: Slipped Words

Jared’s eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I heard it from reputable sources," Nick explained. "They’ve pulled back, no doubt about it. And I think it has something to do with your wife’s meeting with Lydia Sutherland."

Jared let out a breath, his chest tightening. Jerica met with Lydia? He couldn’t immediately piece together the Sutherland family’s intentions, but one thing was clear: if the Glovers were shifting their strategy, Jerica might be at even greater risk. He felt a cold knot of fear settle in his stomach.

She wouldn’t give me up. That much he was sure of. But what did that mean for her safety? Could he protect her if he continued his quest for justice? Or was his mother right—was it time to let go, even if it meant leaving unfinished the work that had consumed so much of his life?

Jared’s thoughts churned as he stared at the ceiling. He felt the weight of his dilemma crushing him, and for the first time in years, he couldn’t see a clear way forward.

"Get her something to eat," Jared said suddenly, his voice low but clear, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. "Preferably porridge... No, go for a stew. She likes stew better."

Nick blinked, taken aback by the abrupt command but nodded without hesitation. He didn’t question how Jared knew what Jerica preferred—his boss always seemed to know these little details.

Right then, the door swung open, and in came Jerica, carrying the coffee she had promised. Nick glanced between her and Jared, silently marveling at his uncanny timing. Does this guy have a sixth sense for his wife?

Nick took the coffee with a small nod of thanks. He wasn’t in the mood for vending-machine cold coffee—not after seeing his boss in such a fragile state. But he knew better than to waste it. If he didn’t drink it, Jared would find out, and Nick would rather not endure a subtle but stinging reprimand from his meticulous boss.

With exaggerated reverence, he sipped the drink, pretending it was gourmet coffee, all the while vowing to never get caught in such a situation again.

True to Jared’s request, Nick went off to find the best stew nearby. When he returned, he offered it to Jerica, who tried to pay him, but Nick adamantly refused. "It’s my treat," he said, brushing off her insistence before taking his leave.

Back in the room, Jerica set the warm container of stew on the bedside table. The aroma was rich and inviting, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat. She managed a couple of spoonfuls before setting the spoon down, her appetite stolen by the sight of Jared hooked up to tubes and monitors.

Jared noticed her hesitation but didn’t say anything, only offering her a faint smile. She returned to his side, smoothing a lock of hair away from his forehead as he drifted back into a light sleep. When the nurse arrived to give Jared another sponge bath, Jerica sprang to her feet, stepping protectively between them.

"I can take care of him," she said firmly, crossing her arms.

The nurse hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with Jerica’s intense stare. Jared, however, couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound rumbling softly in his chest. "You’re saving me from the bother of being touched by an unfamiliar female, huh?" he teased, his voice weak but laced with amusement.

Jerica turned to him, her lips pressing into a line. "I’m serious, Jared. You don’t need anyone else here for this."

Jared’s smile deepened, a glint of affection in his tired eyes. "I know you are," he murmured. "But you can relax, Jerica. They’re just doing their job."

Jerica huffed but relented, stepping aside only after making sure the nurse understood she’d be watching closely. Jared leaned back, his amusement giving way to quiet gratitude. Even in her most protective, borderline ridiculous moments, she made him feel cared for in a way no one else ever had.

-----

Back at the Sutherland penthouse, Arthur Sutherland lingered in the doorway, his gaze falling on his wife. Lydia sat at the dining table, her elbow propped up, her cheek resting heavily against her palm.

The phone in her other hand dangled precariously as if it had been forgotten mid-thought. Her hair, usually styled with care, was an untamed mess, strands falling over her face. The sight tugged at him.

She hadn’t moved all day, trapped in an endless cycle of thoughts.

Arthur walked over quietly and sat beside her, the chair creaking slightly under his weight. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly as he spoke. "You haven’t called her yet, have you?"

Lydia let out a tired sigh, the corners of her mouth twitching downward. "I said I would," she admitted, her voice soft and uncertain. "But every time I pick up the phone, I... I don’t know what to say to her." Her fingers tightened around the device in her hand. "It feels wrong. It was my family that put him in that hospital, Arthur. How do I even begin that conversation?"

Arthur tilted his head, studying her. It wasn’t like Lydia to be so hesitant. She was usually decisive, and resolute. But this situation had shaken her. "You’ll find the words," he said softly, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself.

Lydia shook her head. "I don’t want it to seem like I’m pretending I don’t know," she murmured. "But I also can’t call her and admit I do. What would she think of me? What would she say to me?" Her voice cracked slightly on the last question, and Arthur’s heart ached for her.

She was spiraling, and he knew he had to ground her. "Maybe it’s best if we leave this place," he suggested gently. "My work here is done. We can return to Latheron, back to Orkney. Let this... situation rest."

Lydia didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes remained fixed on her phone, her brow furrowed as if wrestling with an invisible weight. "Maybe I could just... happen upon her," she murmured finally. "What do you think? That man you visited yesterday—he’s still in the hospital, isn’t he? Perhaps I could—"

"No," Arthur interrupted, his voice firmer than he intended. He ran a hand down his face and sighed. "You need to let this go, Lydia."

Her eyes darted to him, narrowing slightly. She wasn’t the type to take orders, not even from him. "Why?" she asked, her tone sharp. "I only want to check on her."

Arthur hesitated, Philip’s warning ringing in his mind.

He could almost hear her brother’s voice: Don’t let history repeat itself. Keep her out of it, Arthur. This will only end badly.

But Arthur couldn’t bring himself to stop Lydia. He decided to change tactics.

"Did Alfred call you?" he asked, his tone deliberately light. "He mentioned wanting to introduce us to his girlfriend. Says she might be ’the one.’"

The only thing his wife was interested more these days was their future daughter in law their son was going to bring home. Although Alfred was just 23, Lydia was so excited about having many grandchildren whom she could care for.

Lydia blinked, the tension in her shoulders loosening slightly as her thoughts shifted focus. "He did?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and skepticism. "Who is she? Didn’t he say he wasn’t going to date anyone seriously for another six months?"

Arthur smiled faintly, relieved to see the spark of interest in her eyes. "Love doesn’t always stick to timelines, does it? He seems pretty certain about this one. Wants us to meet her soon."

Lydia’s lips pursed as she leaned back in her chair, her mind clearly spinning with questions. "If he’s serious, I’ll need to know everything about her. Her background, her family, her intentions—everything." Her tone grew more animated, and for the first time that day, Arthur saw a hint of her usual self.

He chuckled softly. "I’m sure our son has prepared for the Spanish Inquisition."

Lydia’s huff gave way to a faint smile as she pushed herself up from the chair, a flicker of energy returning to her weary form. But just as she moved, the soft chime of her phone pierced the quiet room, halting her in her tracks. Her eyes dropped to the screen, and the brief lift in her expression faded.

"She’s not eating anything," Lydia murmured, her voice carrying a quiet despair. "His colleague brought her food, but still... she hasn’t touched it."

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. He stepped forward, his tone low but firm. "You’re stalking her now?" The words were sharp, and he immediately regretted the edge in his voice. "Lydia, this has gone too far."

Lydia spun to face him, her eyes flashing. "It’s not stalking!" she snapped, her voice defensive, raw. "Checking on her is not stalking, Arthur!"

He took a measured breath, forcing calm into his words. "Lydia," he said softly, his hands reaching for her shoulders. "You don’t need to check on her. She’s not your daugh—"

The word caught in his throat too late.