Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 93: The Most Dangerous One

Chapter 93: The Most Dangerous One

Jerica chuckled darkly as Nick’s silence hung heavy over the line. "You forgot something, Nick," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "That Siberian Beast married me. Everyone knows I’m not the beauty for the beast. For the beast to choose me..."

She trailed off, letting the weight of her unspoken words linger.

I must be a beast too.

Jerica hardened her resolve, her fingers tightening around her phone as she prepared to press forward.

"Mrs. Evans?" Nick asked, confusion evident in his tone.

"You’re family is cute," Jerica said smoothly, her smile audible. "I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said your family owns an entire island town in Alaska, would I?"

Nick exhaled, his earlier tension easing slightly. "You know about my family? Yeah, it’s a nice town. Everyone’s pretty—"

"Nathan Heinrich," Jerica interrupted sharply.

The name hit like a thunderclap, cutting through Nick’s words. On the other end of the line, she could hear his breath hitch.

Jerica’s heart clenched at the sound, a pang of guilt momentarily surfacing before she ruthlessly squashed it. She didn’t care about Nick’s feelings right now—this was about Jared. This was about survival.

Was I always this ruthless? she wondered. When did I become someone willing to wound others for answers?

The answer came to her as quickly as the thought. Love. It was love that made her this way. Love that turned her into a beast willing to tear through anyone who stood between her and protecting her husband.

"Nathan Heinrich," Jerica began, her voice steady but laced with a deliberate sharpness. "Your father’s old friend, wasn’t he? Nathan started as a stock market investor—respectable on the surface—but his name is infamous now for something far darker. Even today, he’s practically a case study in academic circles. Students study him as a master manipulator of financial systems, the architect of one of the largest money laundering empires in history."

Her tone darkened, each word striking like a hammer. "It took the FBI twenty years to even realize what he was doing. And even after that, it was another decade before they managed to take him down. But they didn’t bring him down for his empire, did they? No. They got him for something as mundane as tax evasion." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "A testament to how untouchable he thought he was. Too bad he was also too loyal—he never snitched on his ’friends.’"

Nick’s silence on the other end of the line was deafening, and Jerica pressed on. "And then there’s your father," she said, her voice softening to a dangerous calm. "Sliding into the vacuum left behind. A man tied to Heinrich in ways no one could prove but everyone could whisper about."

She let the words hang, sharp and undeniable. "Should I continue, Nick? Or do you see where this is going?"

"Stop," Nick said, his voice sharp and edged with something cold.

Jerica ignored him. "And then there’s your father. A loyal friend to Heinrich, wasn’t he? Benefitting from—"

"That’s enough, Mrs. Evans," Nick snapped, his tone turning dark and hostile.

Jerica stopped, tilting her head slightly as she listened to the heavy breathing on the other end of the line. She could practically feel the anger radiating from Nick, and a bitter smile curved her lips.

"I do not want to talk to you for even a second longer," Nick said, his voice low and shaking with restrained fury. "I despise you, Jerica Evans. Do you hear me? I despise you. I’ve never hated anyone in my life—it’s too much energy to waste. But you? You’ve earned it."

Jerica pressed her lips together, a flicker of regret flashing in her eyes. She knew she deserved his anger, deserved his loathing. But she couldn’t back down now.

"What is Jared working on?" she demanded, her voice unyielding.

Nick hesitated, but only for a moment. "I’ll tell you," he said, his words like steel. "But after this, I never want to see or hear from you again."

Jerica nodded to herself, her grip on her phone so tight that her fingers ached. "Agreed," she said simply.

As Nick began to explain, Jerica listened intently, absorbing every detail with icy determination. She knew she wasn’t taking the proper route, knew she was crossing lines that could never be uncrossed. But for Jared? For the man she loved? She would cross them all.

Nick’s voice was still echoing in Jerica’s mind as she sat back on the couch, the phone slipping from her grip onto the cushion. Her heart was pounding, her breaths shallow, as she stared blankly at her laptop screen. Her fingers, stiff and trembling, still ached from the white-knuckled grip she had held on the phone.

She hadn’t expected him to fold so quickly. Nor had she expected the venom in his words—the sheer disgust that had laced every syllable.

But she couldn’t afford to dwell on it. Not now.

Jerica leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands. For a moment, she let herself feel the weight of what she had just done. The lines she had crossed, the person she had become—it all pressed down on her like a suffocating blanket. Was this really her? A woman who would twist the knife in someone’s past just to extract the truth?

Yes. The answer came swiftly and without hesitation. She would do it again. For Jared.

Pulling her hands away from her face, she sat up straighter, her jaw tightening. There was no room for regret, not when Nick’s revelations were still sinking in. Jared wasn’t just tangled in a dangerous game—he was playing on a board she hadn’t even known existed. The stakes were higher than she’d imagined, and the players were more ruthless than she could have prepared for.

On the other end of the call, Nick sat motionless in the dark, his phone still clutched tightly in his hand. His breaths came fast and uneven, his thoughts racing in a chaotic spiral. He had thought he’d seen it all working alongside Jared—the cunning maneuvers, the brilliant yet brutal strategies. But Jerica Evans? She was something else entirely.

Nick’s chest tightened as he replayed their conversation in his mind. The calm precision with which she had wielded her knowledge, the sharp edge in her voice that cut through every defense he tried to mount. She hadn’t just cornered him—she had unraveled him.

"She’s more than dangerous," he muttered, staring into the shadows of his bedroom. "She’s a damn hurricane."

And yet, there was a twisted admiration buried in his fury. No wonder Jared had chosen her. No wonder he kept her close. Jared might have been the Siberian Beast, cold and calculated, but Jerica? She was the storm that no one saw coming. And that made her the most dangerous person Nick had ever encountered.

In the suffocating silence of his room, Nick allowed himself one final thought before he forced himself to sleep.

God help anyone who stands in her way.

The acrid smell of burning filled Jared’s nostrils the moment he woke, and his heart jolted with panic. Throwing the blanket aside, he rushed toward the kitchen. What he saw made him freeze for a moment before a wave of frustration and disbelief crashed over him.

Jerica stood in the middle of the smoke-filled kitchen, a spatula in one hand, her face streaked with flour, and an unmistakable look of panic mixed with determination. The stovetop was a warzone—pancake batter splattered everywhere, a skillet emitting ominous smoke, and the faint sizzle of something irreparably charred.

"Why do you even try?" Jared exclaimed as he hurried to her side, grabbing her wrist and pulling her out of the smoky chaos. His voice was sharp, but his touch was gentle, more concerned with getting her away from danger than scolding her.

Jerica blinked at him, looking a mixture of sheepish and defiant. "I just thought—"

He cut her off, his frustration bubbling over. "You know you’re terrible in the kitchen. You can’t even boil water without setting off the smoke alarm! What were you thinking?"

But even as the words left his mouth, Jared felt a twinge of guilt. He hated seeing her upset, especially when he could tell her intentions were good. She’d probably been trying to do something sweet for him. That realization tempered his anger, replacing it with a weary sigh.

"Just sit," he muttered, gesturing toward the couch in the living room. "I’ll take care of this."

Jerica didn’t argue. She shuffled to the couch, her shoulders slumped, and sat with her head bowed. Jared turned back to the kitchen, grabbing a dishtowel to wave away the lingering smoke and surveying the damage. It wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought, but the sight of her effort—a poorly mixed bowl of batter and a recipe on her tablet—made his chest ache.

By the time he cleaned up the mess and returned to her, his frustration had faded into concern. She looked drained, as though she hadn’t slept at all. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to approach the situation.

"You want pancakes?" he asked, his tone softer now.

Jerica looked up at him with tired, apologetic eyes. "I was trying to apologize..."