Love Rents A Room -
Chapter 173: She Dropped The Nuclear Bomb On Him
Chapter 173: She Dropped The Nuclear Bomb On Him
"She’s related to Grace Kelly, you know," James Belford said matter-of-factly. "Her mother is. And how do you know her, son?"
William’s eyes widened. "She is related? Are you? No wonder you resemble her..."
Joanne tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling just enough to keep things mysterious. "That’s what I’ve heard," she said. "But I’m not so sure."
"It’s true," James confirmed before turning to his son with a pointed look. "So, again, how do you know her?"
William cleared his throat. "I follow her page..."
Joanne tilted her head, a little surprised. William leaned in and whispered near her ear, "My favorite influencer."
She blinked. Oh. Oh.
"I wouldn’t call myself an influencer..." she said, taking a small step back, suddenly hyper-aware of Jeffrey’s not hovering presence. Where the hell had he vanished to now?
"And that’s what I love about you more." William grinned. "You have that Midas touch—everything you handle turns to gold."
"There’s no such thing as a Midas touch, son," James interrupted, a tad dry. "It’s called hard work. That’s what pays."
William cleared his throat again. A little pink crept back into his cheeks.
The tension dipped into awkwardness—but William, clearly used to saving moments, recovered with a smile. "So..." he said, glancing toward Joanne with a mischievous glint. "The beloved psychopathic horse Jeffrey Dahmer’s kill count just rose by five today. That brings his total to two thousand eight hundred and seven."
Joanne’s jaw dropped. "Wait—you’ve been following our farm updates?"
He gave her a look. "Since the very beginning. I even tried to name one of our bulls Dahmer Jr., but my dad vetoed it."
James let out a long sigh. "It was inappropriate," he muttered, mostly to himself.
But Joanne laughed—really laughed—and just like that, the conversation smoothed into an easy, magnetic rhythm. William had stories. He had wit. And more than that, he had genuine interest.
Apparently, he had finished his studies in England and was ready to take on the family business. That explained the British accent that curled so smoothly around every word. Joanne found herself smiling more than she meant to.
The conversation turned toward her business. To her surprise, William wasn’t just politely interested—he was genuinely curious. He asked the kind of questions that made it clear he’d done more than skim headlines. He wanted to understand how her logistics company worked, how she rebuilt after the Campbell scandal, what her plans were now that things were on the rise again.
Most men, when they learned what she did, tried to pretend they understood. William? He listened. He asked. He even took notes on his phone.
"You really know your way around supply chains," he said. "Honestly, I’ve been looking into diversifying logistics for our ranches for a while now. But none of the options feel... scalable. Yours? Seems brilliant."
Joanne blinked. "You... researched me?"
He tilted his head, amused. "You’re trending in more than just your state, Joanne. It’d be foolish not to know who you are."
Joanne’s heart did that annoying skip again. She sipped her wine to cover it.
It was nice—this attention that wasn’t forced, or patronizing, or heavy with agendas. Just interest. Pure and open. Like he was trying to see her, not the version of her everyone else had decided she should be.
Maybe it was the wine. Or the charm. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the relief of talking to someone who didn’t have ghosts in their gaze when they looked at her.
"I have the right people beside me..." she said, looking around for Jeffrey, although she was with a charming man.
Everything in her wondered where Jeffrey was and why it stung that he wasn’t here. Or anywhere around.
Where was he?
-----
In the quiet corner of the garden, Jeffrey’s jaw was tight, his fists clenched, and the only thing standing between him and Joanne was the smug face of his cousin.
"Move, Robert," Jeffrey growled, low and dangerous. He knew Robert brought Heather in just to cause a scene, and he didn’t want to play along.
Robert, of course, didn’t move. "She’s laughing," he drawled, nodding toward the open-air lounge beyond the hedge. Heather had her phone up like a sniper with a scope.
"Oh look, he’s whispering something. She’s blushing," Heather cooed. "Must be nice to have someone new... someone with clean hands."
Jeffrey’s eyes darkened. His patience, already razor-thin, snapped taut. He stepped forward, but Robert blocked him again, grinning like the devil himself.
"What do you want?" Jeffrey hissed.
"Nothing. I just thought you should know how happy she looks without you," Robert said with a forced smile. He leaned in closer, his voice a venomous whisper. "You don’t belong in her story anymore, silly cousin. Joanne Smith has found someone better to write her next Chapter with. His name is William Belford, the sole heir to the Belford Ranches. He’s worth more than you ever will be."
Jeffrey’s boot came down on Robert’s foot with deliberate force. Robert winced, stifling a yelp as pain flared through his leg. Jeffrey leaned in, voice ice-cold.
"I dare you to say her name again."
"I apologize," Robert said without missing a beat. Just like Jeffrey was too composed to cause a scene in a place like this, Robert knew to hold back. They belong to the Winchester family. They couldn’t fight like common thugs in a place like this.
Jeffrey let go.
Robert straightened his jacket with trembling fingers, his composure a thin mask. "You might want to hear what Heather has to say," he muttered through clenched teeth before limping away, pretending all was well as he pocketed his pain.
Jeffrey turned to Heather, his glare like broken glass. "Don’t. I don’t want your voice in my ears or your shadow near her."
Heather smiled sweetly, like arsenic in a sugar cube. "Walk away, and I’ll tell her."
Jeffrey stopped cold.
"I’ll tell her the truth," she repeated, taking a bold step forward.
He smirked. "She knows. Do your worst, Jezebel."
Heather’s smile faltered. "What does she know?"
"Everything," he said, voice steady. "And she still loves me."
He moved to brush past her—but Heather’s next words stopped him dead.
"You told her you tried to kill her and failed?"
Jeffrey froze.
The color drained from his face like a tide pulled back before a storm.
Heather’s eyes glinted like broken glass catching the sun. "Oh. You didn’t."
The air in the garden shifted—warped—as if all the ghosts Jeffrey had locked in the deepest corners of his past stirred at once. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses in the distance became muffled, like he was submerged underwater.
Heather stepped closer.
"Jeff..." Her voice cracked as she blinked back tears. She clutched her phone like it was a lifeline. "Please... forget her... just... look."
Her hands trembled as she turned the screen toward him.
Jeffrey’s eyes landed on the image—and his heart stumbled.
A child.
A girl, maybe a year and a half. Dark tousled hair, green eyes that looked eerily familiar—eyes he saw in the mirror every morning.
His breath caught.
No words.
No sound.
Just the thunderous pounding of blood in his ears.
"For her sake..." Heather whispered, a tear trailing down her cheek. "We need to be a family."
She stepped even closer, so close he could smell the lingering perfume on her skin—the same one from years ago.
"She needs her father, Jeff. She needs you."
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