Love Rents A Room
Chapter 200: Broken Trust

Chapter 200: Broken Trust

Jeffrey’s hand trembled as he reached for the box on the nightstand, the box that had traveled the world in search of perfection, just for her.

The ring inside wasn’t just jewelry. It was the sum of months of devotion, of decisions agonized over in secret, of imagining her reaction over and over. Emerald or diamond? Emerald was her color as it reminded him of her eyes when she was determined, when she was fierce. But emeralds were too soft. Too fragile.

And Joanne... Joanne was not.

So he had chosen a diamond. The hardest, most enduring gem. A stone that wouldn’t break under pressure. A stone that, like her, had endured the weight of time and heat to become something unshakable.

And it couldn’t just be any diamond.

He remembered the hushed phone calls, the discreet meetings with international dealers, the insistence that the gem be ethically sourced—No blood diamond will ever touch her hand. The moment he heard about that rare raw diamond unearthed across the world, he’d moved mountains to get it. He had a master jeweler cut and shape it, and a designer craft a one-of-a-kind setting. A ring that would never have a twin.

Because Joanne didn’t either.

He was supposed to propose tonight.

That was why the entire family was gathered in the estate—not for Heather, but to end everything with her. It was all supposed to end. He would finally tear off the last thread tying him to Heather Nelson and prove himself to everyone in the family.

Then he would fly to Joanne, drop to his knees, and ask her to be his wife.

But Joanne came instead.

And she brought with her not just the child they had created, but every fear and doubt his absence had caused.

This morning, he woke up with excitement, imagining all the scenarios their meeting was going to be. She, standing on the porch, her eyes wide as she saw him standing in her driveway... Fluffy jumping at him... Jeffrey Dahmer neighing from the barn hearing his voice...

But...

His heart ached as he looked at her now, curled on his bed, eyes red, her voice still quivering with uncertainty. She thought he might ask her to prove their child was his?

What had he done? He wouldn’t want this to continue.

He tightened his grip on the velvet box and turned back to her. Slowly, he walked to the bed, dropped to one knee, and held it out to her—not with flourish, but with humility.

---

Joanne didn’t stop there.

She couldn’t even look at him. A strange hollowness settled inside her, like a fog descending without warning. A veil of darkness, thick and suffocating, wrapped around her heart and dulled her senses. She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself, but something within her had shifted. Detached. Cold. Frighteningly numb.

His silence didn’t help. If anything, it made the silence in her own chest louder. She didn’t even realize it, but in that moment, her heart had closed.

"Even if you propose now," she said quietly, her voice brittle with exhaustion and bitterness, "I wouldn’t know if it was out of love... or if you’re just doing it out of obligation."

"Jo!" Jeffrey’s voice cracked as he raised it, raw and desperate. But it was all he had—words that sounded too late. The box in his hand slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a soft, tragic thud.

The ring—a promise forged from months of effort and love—lay there, ignored. Useless.

Her eyes remained downcast, voice a whisper now, but the wound in her words cut like a blade. "I don’t know... I don’t know if I love you anymore." Her breath trembled. "But I’m not going to leave. You will marry me, even if it’s out of duty. You’ll stay... even if there’s no love. But, Jeffrey..."

She finally looked at him, her eyes glistening, but not with hope. With devastation.

"You’ll never give me what I really want, will you? You’ll leave... again."

Jeffrey felt the breath knocked out of him.

Three weeks. Just three weeks, and the love that once made her glow had faded to this. He had been trying to save everything—his family, his company, their future—but in doing so, he’d sacrificed the one thing that actually mattered. Her faith in him.

And now, all of it... her love, her light... was slipping away.

"You should have killed me..." he whispered hoarsely, brokenly. Death would have been a kinder punishment than this. But she didn’t seem to hear him.

She simply turned away. Laid down on the pillow with her back to him, shutting him out not with anger, but with a finality he could feel in his bones. He watched her shoulders rise and fall with the rhythm of her sleep. Gentle. Quiet. Distant.

He moved closer and gently pulled the blanket over her. His hand hovered above her head, aching to touch her hair like he used to. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. His hand trembled.

This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives and here they were...

And with a heart heavier than ever before, Jeffrey walked out of the room like a ghost, leaving the ring and a deeper silence behind him. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing away the last thread of hope he had come clinging to.

Outside, the hallway was quiet, empty, yet it echoed with everything he couldn’t say. The box—the ring he had searched the world for—remained on the floor, its lid still open, its diamond glinting like a cruel joke under the chandelier light.

Her words echoed louder than anything else.

"Even if you propose now, I wouldn’t know if it was out of love or obligation."

He had been too late. He thought he was building something for them—a future, a shield. But instead, he had unknowingly turned his back on the only thing that ever truly mattered.

And now... her heart had closed. That radiant warmth, that blazing fire she always carried, had dimmed because of him. Maybe not completely extinguished, but buried deep beneath layers of pain and fear.

She said she didn’t know if she loved him anymore.

That sentence alone had undone him more than any bullet could have.

Downstairs, the chaos still lingered—voices echoing like ghosts in a warzone. Accusations, defenses, useless squabbles about pride and image. The same conversations he had grown up hearing, all stitched together with entitlement and legacy. Once, this room had meant power. Now, it just sounded hollow.

His family. His legacy. The empire built on generations of strategy and sacrifice.

None of it mattered anymore.

Not when he’d nearly lost her.

Jeffrey stood at the edge of the hallway, fingers curled into fists. His jaw tightened as he tried to steady his breath, but the ache in his chest wouldn’t settle.

Part of him wanted to blame his grandfather—Philip Winchester, the immovable wall he had spent his life trying to please. If only Philip hadn’t trapped him after Wimbledon... If only he hadn’t forced silence when he should’ve spoken. If only he’d allowed him to explain things to Joanne before everything spiraled.

If only...

But what good were excuses now?

Jeffrey exhaled a long breath and pressed his hand against the cold wood of the door.

No. The blame didn’t belong to Philip. Or Heather. Or the family.

It was his own damn fault.

He had turned his back on Joanne when she had needed him the most. He asked Joanne to stay out. He had chosen silence when he should’ve spoken, distance when he should’ve stayed close. He had let Heather hover in the periphery for far too long.

He had been too careful. Too calculating. Too much a Winchester.

And now, he had broken the only person who had ever seen him, beyond the name.

He sucked in a deep breath, his throat tightening as he steeled himself.

And then, without waiting any longer, he stepped through the door—into the chaos, into the firestorm, into the mess he had made.

Into the reckoning.