Love Rents A Room
Chapter 146: Unexpected Allies

Chapter 146: Unexpected Allies

Joanne stirred slowly, eyes fluttering open to the soft morning light washing over the room. Jeffrey lay beside her, his arm still resting protectively around her waist. Her lips curved into a sleepy smile.

She could live like this forever.

The warmth of his body beside hers, the quiet safety of his presence—it was the kind of peace she never thought she’d have. But lately, even in this calm, fatigue tugged at her constantly. She watched the sunlight spill across his face, softening his features, before her heavy eyelids pulled her back into sleep.

It wasn’t long before she felt a gentle touch, feather-light on her shoulder.

"Jo..." Jeffrey’s voice was low, reverent. He was always careful not to startle her.

She forced her eyes open, though it was still hard to fully wake. But when she saw the tray of breakfast in his hands—and the familiar steam rising from a mug of coffee—her heart warmed.

"You made coffee?" she asked, surprised. He was usually strict about her resting.

"There’s someone who wants to meet you today," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Noel Bilham."

Joanne frowned slightly. "Bilham?" The name tickled something at the edge of her memory.

"You know him?" Jeffrey asked, leaning closer. There was something curious in his voice—as though it surprised him too. Noel had agreed suspiciously fast once he learned who the story was about. It was uncanny.

Joanne bit her lip, concentrating. "I’ve heard that name before..."

Then suddenly, the connection clicked.

"Wait—is he a journalist?"

"Yes," Jeffrey nodded, clearly intrigued now. "You do know him?"

"No..." she said, voice trailing off. "But I’ve heard of him... from Benny..."

Her face grew thoughtful. Then she glanced toward the bathroom. "Let me freshen up first."

Jeffrey helped her up gently. She disappeared into the bathroom, and when she emerged, her face was washed, hair tidied, and her presence composed. Even in her vulnerable state, she carried herself with quiet strength.

She ate the breakfast he made—simple toast but she loved how thoughtful it was. Just as she finished, the knock came at the door.

Jeffrey answered, and when Joanne came to the living room, her face lit up.

"Benny! Benny Holmes!" she exclaimed, patting the young man on the shoulder as he stepped inside. "What are you doing here? I heard you got too busy to return to Rockchapel. Welcome back, Benny!"

The young man beamed and wrapped her in a warm hug. "Jo... it’s good to be back."

He had grown—broader in the shoulders, more confident in his posture—but the boyish affection in his smile hadn’t changed. Joanne had sponsored him once, back when he was a bright-eyed student with dreams of journalism. He was the first one she sponsored, almost giving every profit she made in her first year. She’d believed in him. The spark in his eyes that wanted to achieve something. He reminded her of herself.

And clearly, he hadn’t forgotten.

Benny gestured to the man beside him. "This is Noel Bilham. My mentor."

The older man offered his hand with a polite smile. "Benny has told me a great deal about you."

They all sat, and the pieces fell into place. Benny had shared Joanne’s story with Noel, who was now interested in writing a feature on her. A Pulitzer-winning journalist, sitting in her living room, wanting her story.

Joanne flushed, a little shy, her hands curling around her coffee mug. "I’m really not that interesting," she murmured.

Jeffrey, however, looked smug, clearly disagreeing. He tried to steer the conversation further in that direction, but Joanne smoothly redirected it toward more pressing matters.

Jeffrey leaned forward and explained the situation—how Congressman Campbell was being lobbied by Imperium Logistics, how they were attempting a hostile takeover of Shamrock using twisted legal avenues.

As he spoke, Joanne watched both Benny and Noel’s faces harden.

Benny’s brows drew together. "That’s disgusting."

Noel folded his arms. "We’ll look into it. And not quietly."

Joanne raised a brow. "I’m not sure you two are the most unbiased sources in the world..." It was obvious they were on her side.

Benny smirked. "That’s a risk we’re willing to take."

And in that moment, surrounded by unexpected allies, Joanne felt a rare thing—hope. She was not alone.

-----

Philip Winchester sipped his tea under the shade of the gazebo, the soft clink of porcelain against china echoing faintly in the summer stillness. The garden stretched before him in full bloom, a riot of greens and warm sunlight, but his eyes weren’t on the view.

They were fixed, as always, on his wife.

Christina sat across from him in the dappled light, her knitting needles clinking gently as they moved with rhythmic precision. A skein of deep forest-green wool rested on her lap, slowly unraveling into what looked like the beginnings of a sweater. Her brow was furrowed, lips slightly pursed, all her attention seemingly caught in some complicated stitch.

Philip frowned—pouting, really—though he’d never admit it.

"You’re concentrating far too much on that," he said at last, his tone tinged with gentle jealousy.

It was always like this in summer—Christina’s quiet little obsession with knitting new sweaters for the whole family in time for Christmas. But it wasn’t the knitting itself that irked him. It was how thoroughly it absorbed her. Look at him—he could barely enjoy his tea properly, distracted by how much she wasn’t looking at him.

Christina barely registered his complaint.

"Huh?" she said absentmindedly, lifting her head and peering at him over the rim of her glasses. "Oh—this is a beautiful wool, you know. I’m knitting it for her. I found a new stitch I wanted to try. It’s tricky... but it’s worth it, don’t you think?" She held up the half-finished sweater with a quiet sort of pride. "Green will suit that child, won’t it?"

Philip’s heart softened. The pout melted away, replaced by a slow, blooming smile. Of course she was making it for Joanne.

"Well," he said, a touch smug now, "she did give you the best, didn’t she?"

Beside him, Sebastian stood dutifully silent, though the slight quirk of his mouth betrayed his amusement. His master always became a bit silly where Joanne Smith was concerned.

Christina ran her fingers gently over the wool, almost reverently.

"It is... the best," she said, almost to herself. "I rarely come across something this fine."

Philip watched her quietly, pride blooming in his chest—not just for Joanne, but for this woman beside him, who had so effortlessly folded that girl into her heart, as if Joanne had always belonged there.

But still...

A shadow crossed his face.

"You didn’t think she was suitable for Jeffrey either..." he said quietly, the sorrow in his voice veiled but unmistakable. He wasn’t trying to wound her—it was simply the truth, one that had long lingered between them.