Love Rents A Room
Chapter 128: The Man Who Waited

Chapter 128: The Man Who Waited

Joanne pressed her lips together.

That woman had a habit of documenting and posting every petty moment as if she were the main character in some grand drama instead of a glorified gossip machine.

Joanne barely spared her a glance. "Should I change my face just for this? Like you did?"

Bernice’s expression twitched—or at least, tried to. The Botox did most of the heavy lifting, freezing half of her outrage in place.

"What the hell are you~"

Before her screech could reach a frequency high enough to fry brain cells, Joanne raised a hand and made a talking puppet gesture. "Blah, blah, blah... I’ve filled up your daily word quota. Now, will you let me pass, or are you about to start charging toll fees?"

Bernice’s manicured claws tightened around her phone. She wouldn’t post this—not if she knew she was the one getting mocked. That woman was too narcissistic to risk looking bad in her own curated little world. Joanne had played her like a fiddle, and as always, it worked.

Bernice lowered her phone, but now Tom stepped forward, puffing up his chest like a dollar-store action figure.

"Do you think you’re something?" he sneered, gesturing wildly as if he were on a Broadway stage. "Your name is getting dragged through the mud, and here you are, shamelessly parading around~"

"Oh, look who’s copying his wife." Joanne tilted her head, smirking. "What’s next? You borrowing her clothes? Maybe trying out her makeup routine? You do love to talk with your hands, might as well accessorize."

Tom’s face went beet red.

"If you had any shame~"

"I don’t. Move." Joanne cut him off. Seriously, how did this man the brother of Liam?

They didn’t move, so she walked straight through them, pushing them aside like a set of inconvenient doors. Bernice wobbled in her new, pointy heels, barely catching her balance.

And then she noticed her husband looking at Joanne’s sashaying back.

Not just looking.

Leering.

Bernice’s jaw locked so tight, her veneers nearly cracked.

Joanne.

That smug, redheaded witch.

She had no business turning heads, no business walking around like she owned the place. And yet, there she was—strutting through life like a peacock while Bernice had to work her ass off for every like and follow.

It wasn’t fair.

Bernice meticulously curated her social media presence—face tuned to perfection, lighting adjusted down to the last pixel, captions revised until they oozed effortless charm. And yet—YET—this woman had thousands of followers, just because she had the audacity to be born with natural red hair and an attitude that made people eat out of her hand.

Women like her...

They weren’t just dangerous.

They needed to be burned at the stake.

That redheaded menace!

With a sharp thwack, Bernice smacked her husband on his balding head.

"Stop staring, you useless lump!" she hissed. "Do something! Talk to the others! I don’t want that walking PR disaster anywhere near the stage! If she so much as sniffs at a microphone, you can forget about stepping foot in our bedroom for the next month!"

Tom winced, rubbing his head. But he didn’t argue. He never argued.

With a final, dramatic flip of her hair, Bernice turned on her heel and stormed off, her expensive stilettos clicking like a countdown to someone’s execution.

Tom gritted his teeth, rubbing his head. He hated when she did that—hated the way she treated him like an errand boy. But more than that, he hated Joanne.

That bitch had humiliated him.

Right in front of everyone.

Mocked him like he was some simpering fool, made his own wife look down on him even more. And to make it worse, she had done it so effortlessly—barely lifting a finger, just a few sharp words, and she had turned him into a joke.

Tom Sullivan wasn’t a man who let things slide.

Oh no.

He was a man who waited.

Bernice might be fixated on keeping Joanne off the stage, but Tom had bigger plans. He wasn’t just going to silence her—he was going to make her pay.

Make her feel small.

Make her regret ever crossing him.

And when the time came, Joanne Smith wouldn’t even see it coming.

-----

Joanne strode onto the field, her eyes scanning the crowd until she spotted Fiona standing with her usual group of friends. A warm smile tugged at Joanne’s lips as she had been meaning to check in with Fiona about her doctor’s visit.

But just as she was about to call out, Fiona turned her back.

Joanne’s steps faltered.

That was deliberate.

Her chest tightened slightly. She thought she had made progress with Fiona, that they had moved past the icy tension from the past. But this... this felt like a rewind.

Had something happened?

Before she could dwell on it, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Jo!"

Joanne turned, spotting Liam making his way toward her.

"Liam," she greeted, forcing a smile.

He led her toward the announcer’s stall, where she pulled out a chair and sat. Joanne had no interest in stepping onto the stage, not today. Not with everything weighing on her mind.

Most of all, she was waiting for him.

Jeffrey still hadn’t called. How long was that damn meeting? When was he coming back?

Liam sat beside her, his voice low as he leaned in.

"Heard about everything," he murmured. "Are you handling it?"

Joanne exhaled, rubbing her temple. "Yeah... got a lawyer and..." she trailed off before lowering her voice. "Liam, I need you to check my trucks."

Liam’s brow furrowed. "Check them? For what?"

Joanne hesitated, glancing around at the noisy crowd. Then, leaning in even closer, she whispered, "For anything... weird."

Liam’s expression darkened. "Weird?"

"Like secret compartments. Or... things that shouldn’t be there." She met his gaze. "Hire someone if you need to, I’ll cover it. But I need every single truck checked before the month is over."

Liam didn’t need her to say more. He understood.

With the trafficking allegations swirling, she had to be absolutely sure her business was clean. And there was no one she trusted with this more than Liam.

After a beat, he sighed, then clapped a reassuring hand on her back. "Don’t worry, I’ll do it myself."

Relief washed over Joanne. "Thanks, Liam."

But as she lifted her head, she felt it.

A gaze. Sharp. Unwavering.

Her eyes flickered to the side.

Fiona.

She was watching.

Hard.

A knot formed in Joanne’s stomach.

What the hell is that about?