Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 99: Catherine, The Stalker

Chapter 99: Catherine, The Stalker

"Is Harold coming?" Jerica asked Lila, though her tone carried a knowing edge.

As if on cue, Harold pulled into the parking lot in his sleek sports car. Lila’s reaction was immediate—she scratched Jerica’s thigh lightly, her excitement poorly concealed. Jared leaned back on his seat no before letting out a displeased grunt.

Jerica couldn’t help but notice Jared’s frostiness as Lila’s warm enthusiasm thawed away all the frost.

"He’s here," Lila muttered, her eyes glued to Harold’s every move.

Jerica tilted her head, curiosity bubbling over. "I’ve been meaning to ask..." she hesitated but pressed on, "are you dating Harold?"

"Dating? No!" Lila scoffed, her lips curling into a bemused smile. "I already told you, I’m not planning on dating anyone anytime soon. I just want something... casual."

Jerica arched a brow, her skepticism growing. "Does Harold know that?"

Lila shrugged, but her fingers twitched against her knee—a telltale sign of discomfort.

Jerica leaned back in her seat, her thoughts shifting to Harold. The idea of him being involved with Lila in a "casual" way didn’t sit right. From what she knew of him, Harold was loyal to a fault—at least, he had been.

Had he changed?

Jerica’s chest tightened at the thought. Had Harold taken his fiancée’s offer and decided to seek something on the side? The idea felt unsettling, even if it wasn’t her place to judge. She sighed softly, a heaviness settling over her.

Mostly, she just felt sad.

Jerica’s question hung in the air, ignored as Lila suddenly shoved her aside to get a better view out the window. Confused, Jerica followed Lila’s gaze, her brow furrowing as an old sedan screeched to a halt in front of Harold’s sleek car.

The door of the beaten-up sedan opened with a clang, and out stepped a woman dressed plainly in jeans and a sweatshirt. Yet, despite her unassuming outfit, she exuded an air of confidence that immediately drew attention.

Harold, visibly startled, took a step back, his usual composure cracking as his eyes widened.

"What the hell?" he blurted, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. The confident woman ignored his words as she strode toward him, holding a brown paper bag in her hand.

"Catherine..." Harold said, his voice faltering as if the very name carried a weight he didn’t want to bear. His tone wasn’t just laced with surprise—it was tinged with a primal sort of discomfort, the kind that came from being too close to something dangerous.

Jerica squinted, her curiosity piqued. Harold, typically unflappable, looked like he wanted to bolt.

Catherine’s smile was disarmingly sweet as she held the brown bag toward Harold. "I packed you snacks," she said, her tone dripping with casual familiarity that didn’t match the situation.

Harold’s hand hovered hesitantly, pinching the edge of the bag as if it might explode. "What is this?" he asked warily, his eyes darting between her face and the bag.

"A sandwich," Catherine replied with a playful wink. "With a little... love potion added in."

Harold froze, his expression shifting rapidly from confusion to outright alarm. His grip on the bag slackened until it dangled between them, barely held aloft by the tips of his fingers.

He couldn’t shake this woman off. From the moment he’d met her at that fundraiser, Catherine had latched onto him like gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe—annoying, persistent, and impossible to scrape away.

At first, he’d thought her audacity was some kind of joke, especially when she had waltzed up to him and his fiancée and, with zero hesitation, declared, "Ditch her. Marry me instead."

It was absurd, almost laughable.

But when the jokes continued, the random "coincidental" encounters piled up, and her fixation started bleeding into his work life—like this very moment—it stopped being funny.

Harold had tried everything. He ignored her. He blocked her number, though he never recalled giving it to her in the first place. He avoided events where she might show up. But Catherine had a way of slipping through every crack as if she had made it her mission to haunt him.

He had even considered filing a complaint against her for stalking. But every time the thought crossed his mind, he balked.

Who would take him seriously?

A Braddock, heir to one of the wealthiest and most influential families, filing a restraining order against a 100-pound woman in a sweatshirt? People would mock him for the rest of his life, claiming the mighty Harold Braddock was terrified of a pint-sized redhead.

Such was the plight of being a man in situations like this—too proud to appear weak, too cautious to escalate things publicly, and too tangled in societal expectations to shake off the problem completely.

Catherine clasped her hands behind her back and leaned in slightly, her sly smile only amplifying Harold’s discomfort. "She... isn’t serious with you," she said, her voice carrying a mock sincerity that felt like nails on a chalkboard. "I thought you should know."

Harold’s eyes darkened, hostility flaring in them like a lit match. Up until now, he had tolerated her antics, filing her under "annoyance to avoid." But now, she was stepping onto dangerous ground. Lila was off-limits. Whatever Catherine thought she was doing, dragging Lila into her twisted games crossed a line.

"Catherine," Harold said, his tone low and controlled, though the weariness of endless encounters with her clung to his words. "I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but let me make one thing clear: it’s not going to work."

Catherine’s expression didn’t waver. If anything, his pushback only seemed to amuse her further. "Oh, Harold," she sighed dramatically, tilting her head like a cat toying with its prey. "I’m not trying to accomplish anything. I’m just being thoughtful." She thrust the brown bag forward again, as though her offer of the so-called snack was the most generous gesture imaginable.

Harold stared at her, incredulous. Was she really this delusional? Or was it all just a sick game to her?

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said firmly, taking a step back toward his car. The space between them didn’t feel like enough, but it was better than nothing.

Catherine’s smile stayed in place, unshaken. That unnerved him more than her words.

As Harold finally ascended the bus steps, his movements sharp with irritation, his expression was a thunderstorm of frustration. The brown bag sat abandoned on the pavement, an unwelcome reminder of the chaos he couldn’t seem to escape.

"Who is that?" Jerica whispered to Lila, her curiosity piqued by the bizarre exchange they had both just witnessed.

Lila’s grin widened, her eyes gleaming with an almost childlike delight. "Catherine," she replied, practically savoring the name. "Harold’s personal nightmare, apparently. Isn’t she amazing?"

Jerica arched a brow, glancing back out the window at Catherine, who was now nonchalantly adjusting her hair as though she hadn’t just staged a public scene. "Amazing? She seems... unhinged." She was worried for Harold.

"Exactly," Lila said, her tone dripping with mischief. "This trip just keeps getting better."

Jerica leaned back in her seat, exhaling softly. She couldn’t argue with that. If Catherine’s dramatic entrance was any indication of what was to come, the next two days would be anything but boring.

And they hadn’t even made it to the woods yet.

Jerica leaned against the bus window, tuning out the rowdy energy of her colleagues. The chatter and laughter of people playing charades and guessing games reverberated around her. She sighed, rolling her eyes. As if she cared who could mime "octopus" the best. All she wanted was to scroll through her phone for a while and then slip into a peaceful nap.

But peace was hard to come by in this moving cacophony. Jerica adjusted her headphones, blocking out most of the noise as she tilted her head against the window. Eventually, the bus’s gentle vibrations lulled her into a light sleep.

That was, until she felt a sudden, sharp pinch on her hip.

Jerica jolted awake, her hand instinctively swatting the spot where the pinch landed. Her narrowed eyes darted toward the aisle seat where Jared was sitting, his head tilted back and eyes conveniently shut, his face the picture of innocence.

"Seriously?" she hissed under her breath.

Jared didn’t move, though the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

Jerica glanced past him at Nick, who was seated on the other side. Nick immediately raised his hands in mock surrender, shaking his head. "Don’t look at me," he said quietly, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

She squinted, certain Jared was the culprit. No one else would dare.

Sighing, she leaned back again, determined to catch at least a few more minutes of rest. But just as her breathing evened out, Jared shifted in his seat and "accidentally" nudged the back of her seat with his elbow.

"Oops," he muttered lazily, his eyes still closed.

Jerica shot him a death glare, but he kept his expression neutral, as if he had no idea why she might be upset.

This became the rhythm of the journey.

Each time she managed to settle in, Jared found a new, subtle way to jostle her. A slight nudge with his knee. A soft tug on her sleeve. Once, he even dropped a pen into her lap, claiming he "thought she might need something to write with."

When the group started another round of charades, Jared leaned over to her, his breath warm against her ear. "Your turn, Jerica," he said smoothly, loud enough to draw the attention of their colleagues.