Love Rents A Room
Chapter 198: She Pulled The Gun

Chapter 198: She Pulled The Gun

Joanne tried to sleep that night, but sleep refused to come. Her mind spun through a thousand dark what-ifs... all of them ending with her alone.

Could she do it alone? Absolutely. She always had. But this time, she didn’t want to. She was tired of being strong. Tired of carrying every burden by herself. Tired of pretending that needing help was a weakness.

She didn’t want to raise a child alone. Not in secrecy. Not with whispers following her, questioning who the father was. Not without a ring on her finger or a promise in her hand.

Yes, she was strong. But not that strong. Not anymore.

The truth rang painfully clear in her heart:

She could, but she refused.

She loved this baby with every part of herself already—but love shouldn’t have to mean doing it all alone.

Why should she carry everything when the father bore just as much responsibility?

The second phone—the one Jeffrey had left for her—buzzed endlessly on the nightstand, flooded with his messages. She didn’t bother to look. She couldn’t. Not right now.

She rarely felt helpless. But tonight, she did.

Moving like someone on autopilot, Joanne changed into a set of travel clothes, tossed a clean sweatshirt into a bag, and holstered her licensed sidearm. Nothing more. She hadn’t felt hungry in days, and she wouldn’t bother with food now—not with her stomach already churning.

In the middle of the night, she got into her car, drove to the nearest airport, and booked the first available flight to the closest airport near the Winchester Estate. By some miracle, a last-minute business class seat opened up. Eight hours later, she arrived, early morning light breaking across the horizon.

No hotel. No change of clothes. No food. Just her, unsteady and determined.

By the time she reached the estate gates, she was pale and exhausted. The guard recognized her and hesitated for a beat, stunned by her appearance. She looked nothing like the polished woman from her last visit. But before he could ask, she pushed forward. When he offered to call the caddy, she ignored him and walked straight through.

The security detail chased after her, trying to catch up, but she didn’t respond.

The caddy caught up eventually and she climbed in silently. She didn’t glance at the manicured gardens or the sprawling architecture. There was no awe, no admiration this time, only purpose.

Some of the household staff recognized her. Their eyes followed her, confused and concerned. She didn’t meet their gazes. The butler, sensing something serious, didn’t ask questions. He led her straight to the main living room. He knew this woman can barge into Philip Winchester’s room if needed.

Joanne paused for a moment at the living room. It was full.

Every member of the Winchester family was there.

Her breath caught. She hadn’t expected an audience. And certainly not one like this. She thought only Jeffrey would be there.

She became painfully aware of her disheveled state. Hair unbrushed. Sweatshirt wrinkled. Eyes rimmed with fatigue. A woman out of place in a room of calculated perfection.

But it didn’t matter.

Not until her eyes landed on her.

Heather Nelson.

There she sat, perfectly poised among the Winchesters, like she belonged there. As if nothing had changed.

Joanne’s hands clenched. Her whole body trembled.

So Heather was still family, still part of their circle. Still welcome.

And who was she, then? The woman standing there in borrowed air, hidden behind secrecy, carrying the next generation of Winchesters in silence?

Who was she, if not family?

A mistress in the countryside?

A secret?

Her jaw tightened as she stood there, surrounded by marble and wealth and judgment. And for the first time in her life, Joanne Smith wanted to raise hell. She didn’t want to stay silent anymore.

She looked around and found the man she was looking for. "Jeffrey Winchester!" Joanne’s voice cracked through the living room like thunder, drawing every eye.

Jeffrey had already been rising, concern etched on his face. But then Heather stood abruptly and rushed to his side, her hand snaking around his arm like a claim. He stopped in his tracks.

And then she smiled. A crooked smile that pierced through Joanne’s weary heart. Joanne’s heart didn’t just ache; it splintered. Her lips trembled, not with sadness but fury.

Was Jeffrey still pretending? Or had he never intended to choose her at all? Had she been nothing more than a secret fling while his heart belonged to Heather?

Before she knew it, her hand reached instinctively for her sidearm. The cold metal found her grip, steady and sure, and in a breath, she was pointing it at Jeffrey’s chest. Her hands didn’t shake.

"I’d rather tell my son I killed his father," she said calmly, "than tell him I let him grow up knowing I watched his father be happy with another woman."

The room exploded into chaos.

Jeffrey’s expression flashed—confusion, then realization, and then something radiant and stunned: happiness.

Christina gasped and tried to stand in front of Jeffrey, to shield him. Robert surged forward, along with his cousins. After all, no one could bring a weapon into the living room of the Winchesters.

Heather ducked behind Jeffrey and shoved him forward like a human shield. Jeffrey’s mother screamed profanities, hiding behind a couch. Servants panicked as they knew how good she was with guns, and voices clashed in a cacophony of outrage.

But Philip Winchester didn’t move. He simply raised an eyebrow, quiet and composed. There was a flicker of a smile on his poker face.

Joanne didn’t flinch by the commotion around. Her eyes never left the muzzle of the gun, still trained on Jeffrey’s heart.

If she couldn’t have it... She’d shatter it.

She didn’t care about appearances anymore. Didn’t care what anyone thought. For the first time in her life, she was fighting not for pride or power, but for her heart.

And she’d never felt more unhinged, more alive.

"No one touches her!" Jeffrey’s voice cut through the uproar, thundering with authority.

Robert still lunged at Joanne, but Jeffrey shoved Heather off him and stepped between them. "Don’t you dare," he barked, eyes blazing.

Robert faltered, confused. Wasn’t he trying to protect him?

But Jeffrey didn’t spare him a glance. He kept walking toward Joanne, toward the woman who was holding him at gunpoint.

He knew she was a crack shot. He knew she had every reason to pull the trigger. And yet, he walked straight into her aim without fear.

"Jo..." he whispered as he reached her.

Joanne’s finger on the trigger tightened.