Love Rents A Room
Chapter 160: The Broken Monster

Chapter 160: The Broken Monster

Joanne reeled back the moment she saw Tom Sullivan. Her breath caught, her stomach turned. Every instinct in her body recoiled.

Not again. Not him.

"Jo, get inside," Jeffrey said, parking the truck with deliberate calm.

There was nothing calm in his eyes, though. Joanne could see it—the storm gathering behind his gaze. He looked like a man ready to tear someone apart. She didn’t argue. Instead, she stepped out and quietly walked to the porch, where she could still see everything.

She didn’t want to admit it—but she needed this. She was tired of fighting her battles alone. It felt good... no, safe... to have someone who would stand between her and the things that once broke her.

Jeffrey slammed the truck door shut. The sound echoed across the yard like a war drum.

From the shadows of the trees, Tom emerged, striding forward with angry purpose. His hands were empty, but Joanne didn’t relax. She stayed vigilant, eyes sharp, mind ticking through all the ways things could go wrong. She hated even laying eyes on that coward, but she was watching Jeffrey’s six.

Tom didn’t waste a second.

"How dare you!" he roared. "You spammed my dealership’s reviews with one-star ratings! And what’s with all those fake complaints about discrimination? People I’ve never even met filing reports to the Consumer Protection Agency? What about the break-ins? The vandalism?"

Jeffrey didn’t respond. He kept walking, slow and steady. Dangerous.

Tom’s face twisted in fury, his voice cracking. "I know it’s you! No one else would dare touch me, you bastard!"

After Tom was bailed out, the hell began. His business fell apart. What began as a few complaints snowballed into chaos. Customers posing as buyers wasted hours of time, then backed out. Fraudulent payments, fake IDs, and even a massive canceled order that nearly tanked his cash flow. His suppliers delayed deliveries. And his wife... his wife saw the financial statements and lost it. Berated him. Threatened him.

Now he was drowning. And this—this confrontation—was his last grasp at control.

Jeffrey kept coming.

Seeing the cold fire in Jeffrey’s eyes, Tom faltered. Took one step back. Then—snap!—he pulled out a gun.

Joanne’s heart stopped.

"Jeff!" she screamed, bolting off the porch. Jeffrey didn’t even flinch.

She rushed to the truck and grabbed the gun they kept inside. Her fingers trembled, but her purpose was clear. She ran toward them.

"Why not go to that congressman you’re in bed with?" Jeffrey’s voice boomed, rage boiling over. "Why come here?"

That roar—it didn’t just shake the air. It shook Tom. Even with a weapon in hand, he took another step back.

And then Jeffrey lunged.

With a clean, brutal motion, he punched Tom straight in the jaw. The man stumbled backward, and Jeffrey was on him in an instant, straddling him, fists flying.

Joanne dashed in and swiftly grabbed Tom’s gun, securing it. Her hands didn’t shake now. She was focused. Tom wouldn’t hurt anyone again. And she didn’t care if Jeffrey broke every bone in his face—as long as he didn’t die, she was fine.

"Yes, it was me," Jeffrey snarled between punches. "I tanked your ratings. Breached your data. Unraveled every shady deal you ever made."

Tom groaned beneath him, face bloodied, lips torn. "Let me go..." he whimpered, weak and defeated. He hadn’t even landed a single blow—Jeffrey was too fast, too feral.

Joanne watched in awe. This wasn’t some spoiled aristocrat. This wasn’t a man who lived on titles and bloodlines.

This was a man who fought for the woman he loved.

"I did all of it!" Jeffrey roared, grabbing Tom by the collar. "You thought you could lay a hand on my Jo and walk away?!"

Joanne’s breath hitched. My Jo.

The words pierced through the fury of the moment like a declaration.

Tom lay in a pool of his own blood. He wasn’t even trying to fight back anymore. Joanne expected many things when she fell for Jeffrey—but not this. Not this righteous wrath. Not this relentless, unforgiving loyalty.

She’d thought she’d left behind the days of watching men brawl like animals. But maybe... maybe some battles deserved it.

And maybe some men weren’t just brawling. Maybe they were avenging.

Jeffrey leaned close, voice low and cold, as he delivered the final blow—not with his fists, but with his words.

"Oh, I won’t kill you," he said, his tone venomous. "You’re going to live. Long enough to regret everything. Long enough to know fear."

He spit in Tom’s face.

"From now on, if you feel like you’re being watched... you probably are. That truck that almost hit you? Not a malfunction. That power cut last week? Maybe someone testing your system. That surgery your wife’s planning? Hope nothing goes wrong. Because when I said I’d make your life hell..."

Jeffrey leaned in, whispering into Tom’s bloodied ear.

"I meant it."

With one last punch, he stood up, chest heaving.

If he managed to make Joanne flinch in fear, if he had the nerve to make her cringe with discomfort, if he touched her in a way that made her uneasy, then he would face serious consequences.

This was a clear promise from Jeffrey Winchester—a firm warning to anyone who believed they could get close to the woman he loved.

Joanne was there, silent and unmoving, watching him—not with fear, not with judgment—but with something deep, awe-struck, and quietly grateful.

He turned to her, and for a second, he thought she’d be shaken by what she saw.

But she met his gaze, unwavering.

"You okay?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Joanne looked down at the gun in her hand, then back at Tom, then at Jeffrey.

"Yeah," she said. "But you didn’t have to do all that."

Jeffrey stepped close, wiping his bloody knuckles on his jeans. "Yes, I did."

She didn’t argue. Because deep in her heart... she knew he was right.

She walked to him—steady, silent—and leaned into him. Her head rested on his chest, her hand curled gently into the fabric of his shirt. Jeffrey’s arms came around her instinctively, drawing her close like he’d never let her go again.

Tom was still groaning on the ground, broken and gasping in a pitiful heap. His blood smeared the driveway, staining the gravel red. He whimpered, but neither of them looked at him anymore. He had already faded into the background, just noise—just the echo of a nightmare that no longer held power.

Jeffrey looked down at him anyway. His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed. And yet... it still wasn’t enough. His fists had landed. The words had been said. But his heart—his heart still panicked. It still saw her—his Jo—curled up on that cold restroom floor, trembling, lifeless, small. That memory would haunt him until the day he died.

But the woman in his arms now... she was not the same.

Joanne exhaled, long and slow, like something inside her was finally being released. The ache, the shame, the helplessness that had followed her like a shadow—it loosened its grip. It didn’t vanish, not entirely. But it lessened.

She had carried it alone for so long. Too long.

But now?

Now she had him.

And when she had Jeffrey by her side, when she felt his arms around her and heard the steel in his voice when he said my Jo—why should she worry? Why should she ever be afraid again?

She felt protected. Seen. Held.

She looked up at him. His jaw was tight, his knuckles bloodied. But his eyes—when they met hers—were full of pain and tenderness.

"I’m okay," she whispered, just for him.

He didn’t speak. He just kissed the top of her head, holding her tighter.

And behind them, the monster lay broken, irrelevant, forgotten.