Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 94: Shadow of the Past

Chapter 94: Shadow of the Past

Apologize?

That stopped him in his tracks. Jared frowned, stepping closer to her, the tension in his shoulders shifting into something heavier. "Did you not sleep the whole night?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Jerica’s gaze dropped to her lap. She felt the weight of his concern, and it only deepened the guilt gnawing at her. She had stayed up, not just fretting over what she had done, but also wrestling with the truths she had uncovered.

"I did something behind your back," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jared’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he schooled it into calm. "What did you do?"

Jerica hesitated. Her lips parted, and for a moment, she considered spilling everything. The sleepless night of digging through his secrets, her conversation with Nick, the painful truths she had unearthed—it all hovered on the tip of her tongue. But she stopped herself. She wasn’t ready to confront him with everything she now knew. Not yet.

"I... looked through your study," she said finally. Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on. "I wanted to understand what you’re working on."

Jared’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he glanced toward his study. His hands curled into fists, and when his gaze returned to her, it was distant and cold.

"You have no idea about personal space, do you?" he said quietly, his voice cutting like a blade.

Jerica flinched at the harshness of his tone. She bowed her head, her fingers clutching the fabric of her pants. "I’m sorry," she whispered.

Jared stood there for a moment, his frustration evident in the way his body tensed. Without another word, he turned and walked to the kitchen. The silence that followed felt heavier than any argument they could have had.

Jerica watched him go, her heart sinking. She had expected him to be upset, but the quiet hurt in his demeanor was worse than she had anticipated. She bit her lip, guilt clawing at her chest. She hadn’t just invaded his privacy—she had wounded his pride.

In the kitchen, Jared leaned heavily against the counter, his hands gripping its edge so tightly his knuckles turned bone white. He stared blankly at the stovetop, his mind swirling in a tempest of emotions. Betrayal pierced his chest like a dull, relentless ache. But it wasn’t the kind of betrayal born from malice—it was steeped in love, worry, and desperation.

Somehow, that made it sting even more.

Jerica hadn’t meant to hurt him. He knew that. Yet her actions had carved open old wounds he thought he’d buried deep. She had gone behind his back, violating the private sanctuary he’d fought so hard to protect.

She wouldn’t have found much in his study—he was careful like that—but knowing her, this was just the beginning. She was relentless when it came to seeking the truth. She wouldn’t stop until she unraveled it all.

And he couldn’t let that happen.

The soft shuffle of footsteps pulled Jared from his thoughts. He stiffened, sensing Jerica’s presence before she spoke.

"Jared..." Her voice was soft, hesitant. She lingered in the doorway like she was stepping onto thin ice.

He didn’t turn. He couldn’t. His emotions were too raw, his frustration too near the surface. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, pretending he hadn’t heard her. But he had. Her words settled in the air between them, heavy and guilt-laden.

Jerica shifted uncomfortably, her fingers twisting together as if she could wring the guilt from her hands. She wasn’t feeling any better than him—perhaps worse. She had crossed a line, and the weight of it bore down on her.

She wouldn’t have felt this way if Jared had confided in her himself. But no. She had to dig for the truth, piecing it together from scraps, because he refused to share even the smallest part of his world with her.

"Jared..." she called again, her tone now tinged with uncertainty. Still, no response.

The silence only deepened her guilt. She thought back to Nick’s hesitation when she had pressed him for answers. Even he didn’t know everything—only enough to give her a glimpse of the storm Jared was navigating. She had pushed for more, crossed boundaries she didn’t want to admit, and now she stood here, paying the price for her insistence.

Her heart clenched at the thought of how Jared must feel—exposed, betrayed, perhaps even humiliated. But beneath her guilt simmered a quiet resentment.

How could he hold her at arm’s length like this? After four years of marriage, did he still not trust her enough to let her in? The thought stung almost as much as her guilt.

"Jared..." Her voice wavered, her frustration starting to seep through. He remained motionless, his back to her, his silence an iron wall she couldn’t break through.

And suddenly, she saw a shadow of the past—those painful months when their marriage had felt like an empty shell. The memory of their last fight about having a baby surfaced unbidden, the way he had shut her out completely afterward, leaving her to weather the storm alone. Eight grueling months of silence and distance, during which she had seriously contemplated divorce.

Was history repeating itself? Was he going to retreat into himself again, leaving her stranded on the outside?

"I had to look into you because you never open up to me!" she shouted, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.

Her outburst hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. She wanted to lash out at him, to force him to see her pain. But mostly, she wanted him to speak. Anything. A word. A sigh. A reaction. Instead, he remained rooted in place, his silence a deafening reminder of how easily he could shut her out.

Her chest heaved as she waited, her heart thundering in her ears. She thought she saw his hand pause, a flicker of acknowledgment. But still, he said nothing.

"I still know nothing about you..." she whispered, her voice hollow now, stripped of the fire that had flared moments ago. She turned on her heel, her footsteps heavy as she walked toward the door.

Behind her, Jared’s grip on the counter tightened until his knuckles turned ghostly white again. He stayed frozen in place, his body trembling with suppressed emotion.

He heard her retreating footsteps, and felt the tension in the air shift as she left the room. Only then did he release his grip, the strain in his hands replaced by a cold, empty ache.

Jared’s chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm as he struggled to reign in his emotions. Guilt gnawed at him, a relentless ache that mingled with the sharp sting of anger and the hollow ache of heartbreak. Every fiber of his being wanted to chase after Jerica, to pull her back and make her understand. But the words he needed—words to explain, to reassure—remained lodged in his throat like a cruel blockade.

He bowed his head over the counter, gripping its edge as though the physical pressure could hold together the crumbling pieces of his resolve. He didn’t want to let her go, not really. But he convinced himself that this distance, this silence, was necessary. If he pushed her far enough away, maybe she’d stop digging into his secrets. Maybe she’d stay safe.

Later, when he finished making breakfast, Jared meticulously plated the food. He brought the dishes to the table, setting them in front of Jerica with a quiet insistence. She glanced at the meal but didn’t move to take a bite. Her arms crossed over her chest as she looked away, her expression a mixture of defiance and hurt.

Jared sat across from her, his jaw tight as he waited. She wasn’t going to budge; he could see it in her eyes. He didn’t say a word, and neither did she. Minutes stretched into an uncomfortable silence until, with a clenched jaw and a tightness in his chest, Jared stood. Without hesitation, he scraped the untouched food into the trash.

Jerica’s heart sank as she watched him, but she refused to let the gesture sway her. He might be angry at her, but she was just as angry—if not more so—at him. She wouldn’t let him sweep this under the rug like nothing had happened. Not this time. She wouldn’t let him lock her out of his world again.

Lunch came, and the cycle repeated. Jared prepared the meal with quiet precision, presenting it to her as if testing her resolve. Once again, Jerica refused. She held her ground, and Jared, his frustration barely contained, tossed the meal into the trash without a second glance.

By dinner, his patience—or perhaps his pride—seemed to waver. Jared brought the food to the table and, instead of his usual stoic silence, asked her to join him. His tone was calm but laced with the tension of their unresolved conflict. Jerica met his gaze with a glare, her frustration simmering just beneath the surface.