Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 92: The Fearsome One

Chapter 92: The Fearsome One

An hour later, Jerica sat in the living room, her phone clutched in her hand. Harold had left several messages in the past week, his concern evident. She’d avoided calling him back, not wanting to invite more chaos into their already fragile situation. But now, she knew she had no choice.

The phone rang twice before Harold picked up. "Jerica," his voice was sharp, but it softened almost immediately. "I’ve been trying to reach you. Is everything okay?"

"No," Jerica said bluntly, her voice low but firm. "I need to know the truth, Harold. About the accident."

There was a pause on the other end, and she could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind. "I told you before, Jerica," Harold began cautiously. "The Braddocks weren’t behind it."

Jerica tightened her grip on the phone. "I believe you. I’ve... done my own thinking, and I’m inclined to agree. But that leaves only one possibility, doesn’t it?" Her voice faltered, her throat tightening. "The Glovers."

Another silence, this one heavier, more damning. When Harold finally spoke, his tone was grave. "Jerica, you don’t want to go down that road."

"But I have to, don’t I?" she pressed. Her hands shook, but she clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay strong. "Jared won’t tell me anything, and I can’t just sit here and let him pretend this will go away. If it was the Glovers..." Her voice trailed off, but the implication hung heavily in the air.

"Listen to me," Harold said, his voice low and urgent. "If the Glovers are involved, it’s bigger than you think. Jared’s silence is his way of protecting you. Going after them—digging into this—it’s exactly what they want. You’ll be putting a target on both your backs."

Jerica swallowed hard, her heart pounding. Harold’s warning made sense, but it didn’t ease the storm of emotions raging inside her. How could she sit idly by when Jared’s life was at risk? How could she continue to pretend everything was fine?

"I just need to know the truth," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I need to know what I’m up against."

Harold sighed heavily, the weight of the situation clear in his voice. "Be careful, Jerica. That’s all I’m asking. You might not like what you find."

As the call ended, Jerica sat in the darkened room, her mind racing. Harold’s words had only solidified her suspicions, and the name Glover

The Glovers had always been more than a powerful family—they were an institution, a dynasty fortified by wealth, influence, and an unrelenting willingness to crush anyone who stood in their way. Their reach was everywhere: boardrooms, courtrooms, even the underbelly of the city where whispers of their darker dealings echoed. If they were behind Jared’s accident, this wasn’t just a simple vendetta or business rivalry. This was personal, and personal meant dangerous.

Jerica clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as a fierce resolve bloomed within her. If Jared wouldn’t fight for himself, she would. She wasn’t going to sit idly by while shadows loomed over their lives, threatening everything she held dear.

The Glovers weren’t just a family—they were an empire. And now, they were her enemy.

Her gaze shifted to her phone, her finger hovering over Lydia Sutherland’s number. A cold weight settled in her chest. Lydia had seemed so genuine when they met at the café just days ago—warm, polite, and approachable.

Jerica had even thought, for a fleeting moment, that they could form a truce of sorts, a bridge across the chasm between them as they work on their charities.

Now, the pieces didn’t fit. If Lydia truly had good intentions, why hadn’t she called? Surely, if she knew Jerica had been at Judge Jefferson’s quarters that day she summoned her, she’d have known that Jared was hurt and if she had good intentions, she’d have reached out. If she knew Jared had been in an accident, her silence was even more damning.

No. Lydia wasn’t an ally. That woman was a puzzle, one Jerica no longer had the patience to solve. Whether by choice or design, Lydia was complicit.

Jerica sighed, her mind racing. The Glover family was vast, a labyrinth of secrets and alliances. Which of them was Jared’s real adversary? Lydia’s ties to her paternal family might have weakened through marriage, but Jerica couldn’t be sure.

The idea of confronting Lydia outright simmered in her thoughts, tempting yet fraught with risk. But instinct screamed at her to stay silent for now.

Frustration built in her chest like a coiled spring. If no answers came to her, she would find them herself.

She moved to Jared’s desk, her movements quiet but deliberate. His phone and laptop offered no clues—wiped clean of anything incriminating. She cursed under her breath, glancing at the clock. Past midnight. The house was silent, the weight of her mission pressing down on her as the hours ticked by.

Jerica glanced toward the bedroom, peeking in to see Jared still deeply asleep. His face looked peaceful in the dim light, and guilt tugged at her heart for disturbing the calm. But she pushed it aside. Time was running out, and she couldn’t afford to hesitate.

Returning to the study, she meticulously searched every drawer, every shelf, every conceivable hiding spot. Papers, books, and folders—none of them yielded what she needed. There wasn’t even a hidden safe or secret compartment, though she knocked against every wooden panel with a desperation that grew with each passing moment.

By 2 a.m., her frustration had reached a breaking point. She slumped into Jared’s desk chair, her thoughts swirling. She needed a new approach. Her eyes darted to her phone, an idea sparking to life. Without allowing herself time to reconsider, she dialed a number.

Nick.

Jerica hesitated for a moment, her finger hovering over the screen, debating whether to end the call. But the tension in her chest was too great, the unanswered questions gnawed at her too fiercely. She took a deep breath as Nick’s groggy voice came through the line.

"Hello? Ms. Evans? Is everything alright?"

Jerica winced. Of course, he’d recognize her number. She quickly composed herself, though her voice was still tinged with urgency.

"Nick, I’m sorry to wake you. I know it’s late, but I... I need your help."

There was a pause, and Jerica imagined Nick rubbing the sleep from his eyes, trying to process her unexpected call. "Is this about JP?" he asked, his tone sharpening with concern.

"Yes," Jerica admitted, her voice trembling slightly. She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder, her fingers tapping absently at her laptop keyboard. The glow from the screen cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the worry etched into her features. "Nick, I need to know the truth about his accident. I’m scared, and he’s not telling me anything. But I know you must know something." Her tone was both pleading and firm, a fragile mix of vulnerability and determination.

On the other end, Nick sighed heavily. She could hear the rustling of sheets, the faint creak of a bed frame as he likely sat up. "Mrs. Evans, it’s not my place—"

"Please, Nick," she interrupted, her voice breaking as raw emotion seeped through. "If you care about Jared, if you care about his safety, then tell me what you know. I can’t protect him if I don’t understand what we’re dealing with." Her words came out in a rush, desperation clinging to every syllable. She pressed her palm flat against her laptop, her hand shaking slightly.

A long silence followed, the kind that made her stomach twist into knots. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she waited, each passing second feeling like an eternity. Finally, Nick spoke, his voice low and cautious.

"Mrs. Evans..." he began, his tone clearer now, as though the seriousness of her plea had pulled him fully out of sleep. "I understand where you’re coming from, and I do want to help. But..." He trailed off, his hesitation thick and palpable.

Jerica froze, her hand hovering over her keyboard. Her brow furrowed, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice soft but insistent. "But what, Nick? What are you afraid of?"

"You remember that I am working for the Siberian Beast. If I go against him, I’ll be torn apart by his fangs. I cannot handle the Beast’s frostiness," Nick said, his voice carrying a nervous chuckle that did little to mask his unease.

Jerica’s lips curled into a faint, wry smile as her fingers resumed their rhythmic clacking on the keyboard. She had expected as much. Of course, Nick would side with Jared; his loyalty wasn’t surprising. Nick barely knew her—his allegiance would naturally lie with the man who he worked with, the man whose fearsome reputation kept him in line.

"I figured you’d say that," she murmured, her tone dry but edged with frustration. "After all, you’re part of his inner circle."

"It’s not just about fear," Nick replied quickly, his voice almost defensive. "It’s about loyalty..."

Jerica’s eyes darted to the glowing laptop screen in front of her, and a quiet, mirthless chuckle escaped her lips. The sound was low and tinged with something sharp—something Nick couldn’t quite place.

"Mrs. Evans...?" Nick’s voice wavered on the other end of the line, hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure if her reaction was a good sign or a dangerous one.

It did sound dangerous.