Love Rents A Room
Chapter 129: The Misunderstanding

Chapter 129: The Misunderstanding

For someone who had no problem verbally body-slamming Tom and Bernice, confronting Fiona was hard.

Because Fiona mattered.

Joanne had grown attached to her. She had wanted to get along with Liam’s wife—not just for peace’s sake, but because she genuinely liked her. She had believed she was gaining a real friend.

But that glare... that glare sent a cold shiver down her spine.

Joanne wasn’t the type to shrink from a fight, but this wasn’t a fight she wanted. She racked her brain, trying to figure out what she could have done to warrant such an icy reception. Had she unknowingly offended Fiona? Crossed some invisible line?

Fiona wasn’t just looking at her—she was studying her. Brows furrowed, expression unreadable. Her friends weren’t much better, whispering, sneering, eyes darting toward Joanne with expressions that made her stomach churn.

Joanne’s first instinct? Leave.

If Fiona was mad that she was sitting with Liam, Joanne wasn’t about to stick around and make things worse.

Just as she started to rise, a firm hand wrapped around her wrist.

"Where are you going?" Liam asked.

"I’ll sit somewhere else."

Liam frowned. "Sit here."

Joanne hesitated, then darted a glance at Fiona. The glare hadn’t let up.

"Your wife’s mad at me," she muttered. "I’ll leave."

Liam followed her gaze, then—chuckled.

That infuriating chuckle.

"No, she’s not."

Joanne rolled her eyes. Oh, sure. In Liam’s eyes, his wife was probably glowing with beauty and grace even as she stared daggers. Men and their damn rose-colored glasses.

"I’m not taking any chances," Joanne muttered, pushing herself up.

Before she could take a step, Fiona moved.

Her eyes were looking forward with sharpness, her pace was determined. She was ready for something. Her friends, who were with her, scattered away, muttering to themselves. Shocked and bewildered.

Joanne’s heart kicked.

Run. Run now.

"Joanne!" Fiona called, voice sharp.

Liam, still setting up his equipment, chuckled again and grabbed Joanne’s wrist.

"Wait for her."

Joanne glared at him. "Let go."

"Relax." He grinned. "If she’s mad, better to handle it now than let it stew."

Easy for him to say.

Still, she exhaled sharply and sat back down, yanking her hand free.

Fiona’s pace slowed. Instead of taking the empty seat next to her husband, she dragged a chair over and sat beside Joanne.

Close.

Joanne’s heart pounded harder.

Fiona didn’t say a word. Just stared.

Joanne swallowed. For the first time today, she genuinely wished she were dealing with Bernice instead.

"Do you have somewhere else to be?" Fiona’s voice was calm, almost teasing.

Joanne hesitated, finally looking at Fiona—really looking.

The tension from earlier? Gone. Fiona didn’t look mad anymore.

"You were in a bad mood a moment ago..." Joanne tested the waters.

Fiona hummed noncommittally and turned away.

Liam, ever the neutral party, handed Joanne a bottle of water. Without thinking, she passed it to Fiona. Fiona took it, took a sip, then sighed.

"I thought they were my friends." The words were soft, but bitter. "Maybe it’s the hormones, but I don’t like them anymore. All they do is bitch around. And—" she turned to Joanne, expression darkening "—why would they laugh at your misfortunes? You never stole anything from them."

Joanne blinked.

Oh.

It hit her all at once—Fiona wasn’t mad at her. She had been mad for her. She wasn’t glaring because she was upset with Joanne. She was upset with those so-called friends who had been whispering and sneering at Joanne’s expense.

Joanne exhaled, a little stunned. "So... you weren’t mad at me?"

Fiona furrowed her brows. "Why would I be mad at you?" Then, as if something clicked, she smirked. "Oh, that? You were going to ask about my doctor’s visit, weren’t you?"

Joanne nodded. That was the moment Fiona had turned away earlier, cutting her off before she could get close.

Fiona leaned in, her voice lowering to a whisper. "I haven’t told them about my pregnancy yet. Not even my mother knows."

Joanne’s eyes widened.

She hadn’t even told her mother, but she told her?

The realization settled in her chest, warm and unexpectedly moving. Fiona wasn’t trying to push her away—she had just been careful, guarding a secret she wasn’t ready to share.

Joanne reached out and gently held Fiona’s hand. "So... how did the visit go?"

Fiona’s expression softened, her hand drifting to cradle her belly. "He’s fine." Her voice brimmed with something pure and glowing. "We heard his heartbeat."

Joanne’s face lit up. "Congratulations!" she whisper-shouted into Fiona’s ear.

Fiona beamed. "Thank you. I’ll be depending on you for my morning sickness."

"And your cravings," Joanne added with a smirk. "I’d be honored to serve."

Fiona chuckled and squeezed her hand in gratitude.

"Told you she wasn’t mad at you," Liam shouted in her ear.

Joanne groaned and rolled her eyes. Fine. Fine! He was right about his wife.

She glanced across the field and, sure enough, Fiona’s so-called friends were still watching them from a distance, whispering, muttering, their judgmental eyes darting between her and Fiona.

Joanne didn’t care anymore.

The finals started, and Liam busied himself with the announcements.

Joanne checked her phone. Still no reply from Jeffrey.

A tiny knot of worry twisted in her stomach. He hadn’t answered her texts. Had the meeting run late? Or had something else happened?

"I’ll be back in a minute," she told Fiona as she stood.

She needed a quiet place to make a call.

But as she walked away, she never noticed the shadow moving behind her.

Someone was following her.

-----

Jeffrey pulled over to the side of the road, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding against each other.

He was furious.

Furious at them. Furious at himself.

He thought playing along—letting them believe he was just another vulture circling Shamrock Logistics—would get him closer to the truth.

And it worked.

But at what cost?

He let them speak about Joanne like she was nothing. Let them mock her, tear her down, treat her like she was disposable. And he stood there, pretending it didn’t bother him.

What kind of man was he?

Still, they didn’t reveal much—not until he played their game.

Not until he let them get drunk enough, let them win at their petty power plays, let their fragile egos swell until they had to brag.

Only then did he see what they truly wanted from Shamrock Logistics.

Despicable.

Jeffrey exhaled sharply, yanking open his pocketbook. With measured precision, he scribbled down their names, one by one, in the order of their offenses.

Each one deserved what was coming.

You spoke ill of my Joanne.

He tapped the pen against the paper, eyes darkening.

Just wait.

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