Love Rents A Room
Chapter 86: The Photograph That Unraveled The Past

Chapter 86: The Photograph That Unraveled The Past

Jeffrey’s hands trembled. His mind screamed for denial, but the truth loomed before him, cold and undeniable.

His gaze flickered to Joanne, asleep in the dim glow of the bedside lamp—serene, untouched by the storm raging inside him.

Everything he knew about her... Everything he thought she was...

No. It couldn’t be.

Gripping the photograph tightly, he rushed to his room, his pulse thundering in his ears. His fingers tore through the drawer, searching, desperate. It had been days since he last looked at it—days since he let himself remember.

But now, he had to know.

When he finally found it, his breath hitched. His hands shook so violently that the worn edges of the picture crinkled under his grip. He didn’t want it to be true. He wanted to be wrong.

Yet, as he laid both pictures side by side on the bed, his stomach twisted.

The curve of the jawline. The curl of the hair at the exact place. The background color.

It was the same picture.

The same woman.

Smith.

The ghost he had been chasing for two years. The woman who had manipulated his grandfather. The reason he had been cast out of his family.

The gold digger who had ruined his life.

A sharp breath punched from his lungs. His spine buckled, and he sank onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. A bitter laugh crawled up his throat, hollow and disbelieving.

What kind of twisted joke was fate playing on him?

His skin crawled with the weight of his mistake. He couldn’t stay here—not another second. His body felt tainted, like he had let a viper coil around him, mistaking its poison for warmth.

Without another glance back, Jeffrey threw on his clothes, shoved open the door, and disappeared into the night.

He had nowhere to go. His mind was spinning, his body pulsing with rage and betrayal. But there was one place in this godforsaken town that never closed...

The bar.

The neon sign flickered weakly as he stepped inside. The air was thick with the stench of alcohol and cigarettes. A handful of men were scattered around, nursing their drinks, chatting in low voices.

This town really loved to drink.

Jeffrey slid onto an empty barstool and ordered vodka. A strong one. He needed to clear his head—drown the sickening ache in his chest. One drink after another, he chased the numbness, but the fire inside him refused to die.

His phone chimed.

He blinked down at the screen. A notification from Nina’s page.

Why the hell was he still following her?

His fingers fumbled, and before he realized what he was doing, he accidentally tapped on the video. The sound blared through the quiet bar, drawing a few side glances. He was too drunk to care.

At first, it was a blur—figures moving, indistinct voices. But then, he heard it.

Her voice.

Joanne Smith.

His stomach twisted painfully.

Was this fate’s cruel joke? The betrayal in his chest burned hotter. His thoughts spiraled.

Did she know?

Had she known all along who he was and played dumb?

Was that why she let him stay with her? Was it all an act? A sick, twisted way to toy with him by offering him shelter, warmth, love... just to watch him fall even lower?

Had she been sneering inside when she handed him her company, knowing that he, Jeffrey Winchester, had been reduced to working for her? That she was better than him in every way?

But then... her eyes.

The way she looked at him. The way she surrendered to him.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head. He couldn’t let himself think of their night together. It had felt real. It had been perfect—almost divine.

How could that be fake?

His gaze returned to the video, and there she was.

Strong. Unyielding, even in the face of betrayal.

His chest tightened, admiration mingling with his pain. He had never met anyone like her.

Until...

"I even rejected Jeffrey fucking Winchester in the past. I can certainly do better than you, Mr. Meyer."

Silence roared in his ears.

His grip on the phone tightened.

She said his name.

She rejected him?

Wait...

Does this mean she doesn’t know who I am? She doesn’t even recognize me? Or... was she bragging?

She didn’t reject me! I rejected her!

"Fuck you, Joanne Smith!" Jeffrey slammed his fist against the table.

The bartender barely glanced up before turning his attention to another patron ordering a beer.

In the shadowed corner of the bar, a man lifted his glass to his lips, a smirk curling over the rim.

Johnny, as he called himself, had been waiting for an opportunity. He had gone to McDonald Farms earlier that night, but the entire place had been fenced off, the dogs patrolling the grounds. He couldn’t get close.

He thought he had run out of luck. But when he returned to the same bar he frequented about a decade ago, where everyone once knew him, he realized that no one recognized him anymore. He feared being exposed, as everyone had turned against him after that day. But that didn’t happen.

Wasn’t that lucky? And now...

Now, lady luck had delivered something better.

A man filled with anger and heartbreak. A man who hated that raggedy girl as much as he did.

Johnny pushed off his seat and strode toward the bar, settling onto the stool beside the younger man.

"So... what do you do for a living, son?" he asked, watching as Jeffrey downed another drink, his eyes clouded with alcohol and rage.

He was just at the right state to be useful.

And Johnny was overjoyed.

-----

When Joanne woke up, the sky was already brightening, soft streaks of gold and pink spilling across the horizon. She had slept in later than usual, but as she stretched beneath the sheets, a slow, satisfied smile curled on her lips.

Last night had been... incredible.

Her body still hummed from the memories, a warmth lingering in her chest. She turned toward the other side of the bed, expecting to find Jeffrey’s solid warmth beside her.

But...

It was empty. Cold.

Her smile widened unconsciously. Did he wake up early?

Kicking her legs in excitement, she buried her face in the pillow for a moment before sitting up.

Is he making me breakfast?

The thought alone sent a giddy thrill through her. Was she about to get breakfast in bed?

She had no idea if Jeffrey could cook, but the image of him in the kitchen, maybe shirtless, flipping pancakes... God!

I need to freshen up quickly!