Love Rents A Room
Chapter 92: Wasted Chances, Fading Time

Chapter 92: Wasted Chances, Fading Time

Jeffrey stood frozen for a beat, his emotions a tangled mess of shock, happiness, and something bitterly close to anger. He hated that he was glad to see his grandfather.

He hated even more that he knew Philip wasn’t here for him. That calculating glance said it all.

Sebastian stood silently in the foyer, observing but saying nothing, his presence only adding to the weight pressing down on Jeffrey’s chest.

Then Philip spoke, his voice steady, deliberate. "Joanne is in danger."

The words sliced through the air, but instead of fear, they only ignited Jeffrey’s frustration. His fists clenched. His jaw tightened.

Of course, her.

"Not even a ’how have you been, Jeffrey?’" His voice came out sharp, laced with resentment. "You’re here for her, but you can’t even pretend to care about me? Four years! It’s been four years and... Do you have any idea how much I’ve suffered?"

Philip exhaled slowly, disappointment flickering in his gaze.

Jeffrey knew that look too well.

The same look he used to get when he failed at something. The same look Philip had given him the day he turned his back on the family by refusing to marry that woman.

Jeffrey swallowed, suddenly feeling small.

"I was happy to get that email from you," Philip finally said, his voice softer.

Something in Jeffrey’s chest twisted.

For a brief moment, his anger faltered. His fists relaxed.

He could hear the disappointment buried beneath Philip’s words, even as he spoke of happiness.

And damn it, he felt ashamed.

He had sent that email with so much conviction, promising to change. Promising he would be different.

But that was when he thought he was still in love with Joanne.

That was before he knew who she truly was!

Now?

She was still Joanne...

But she was also the woman who had stolen his throne. And he wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive her for that.

"You’re always disappointed in me." Jeffrey’s voice was hoarse, raw. He took a step closer, his anger bubbling to the surface. "But with her..." he let out a bitter laugh. "You gave her twelve million, Grandpa! You erased her debt~"

"Fifteen million."

Philip’s correction was razor-sharp, his eyes flashing with something cold and immovable. It wasn’t regret. It wasn’t even an argument. It was just fact.

Jeffrey clenched his fists.

Philip continued, his voice like steel. "I didn’t throw you out with nothing. I gave you fifteen million dollars before sending you away, which was fifteen million more than what my father left me. If you had bought a failing company, used the money to build something, I would have respected you. Hell, if you had even bought gold bonds, invested in something—anything—even if you had failed trying—perhaps we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation."

Philip’s lips curled slightly, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "But you, Jeffrey? What did you do? For two years, you and your little girlfriend spent and spent, like spoiled children who thought the well would never run dry."

He stepped forward, his voice a quiet, dangerous thing. "And her? Poppet... I paid her debt, and look at her now...! Now, look me in the eye and tell me why I shouldn’t admire my dearest Poppet."

Jeffrey’s hands began to tremble and he took an unconscious step back. That day, his grandfather slapped him. Today, his cheeks burned without Philip’s hands landing on him. He was ashamed of himself.

It was the truth, wasn’t it?

Why hadn’t he thought of it this way before?

For years, he had been angry. Furious that he had been cast aside because of Joanne. But what had he done since then? What had he built?

Nothing.

He had wasted everything.

And she had made something of herself. As a business man, wouldn’t his grandfather look at Joanne as the better investment? He still was talking to him because he was his blood.

What an ungrateful fool I am.

Philip’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "If you know where she might have gone—which camera was down—then help. Otherwise..."

He turned his face away, the conversation already over in his mind.

"Shit!" Jeffrey hissed. His pulse spiked. "She’s in danger!" His voice rose as the realization fully hit. "Camera? She went to check a camera?"

He rubbed his forehead, forcing himself to focus. What had she said?

Then it hit him.

"The Northeast one!" Jeffrey snapped his fingers as the memory surfaced.

Philip immediately stood, and Sebastian barked orders into his phone, mobilizing the bodyguards.

"You won’t reach her in time using the Rover." Jeffrey’s voice was urgent as he yanked open a drawer, grabbing a gun and enough ammo to fight off a damn army.

He wasn’t thinking.

He wasn’t feeling.

If he was, he would have realized that his heart was panicking for a woman he was supposed to hate.

"Jeffrey! Bring the saddle!"

From the barn, the quirky stallion trotted forward, holding the saddle in its mouth like an obedient warhorse.

Jeffrey didn’t hesitate.

With quick, practiced movements, he fixed the saddle, mounted the horse, and took off at a full gallop.

Philip watched the scene unfold, an unreadable expression on his face.

Sebastian had already relayed Joanne’s location to the team, every moving piece clicking into place like a well-oiled machine.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Fiona clutched her chest, her heart hammering.

She had been moments away from handing Philip his lemonade when Jeffrey stormed in, and now...

Her eyes widened in shock.

Jeffrey Daniels... is Jeffrey Winchester?

Wow.

-----

Holding Mr. Darcy’s reins, Joanne walked alongside the horse, leading "Johnny" toward the house. He didn’t talk much, but there was something off about him. A quiet hostility clung to him like a shadow.

She couldn’t explain it—maybe it was his microexpressions, the slight tension in his jaw, or the way his eyes lingered on her when he thought she wasn’t looking. Maybe it was just her gut screaming at her, some primal instinct warning her to run.

He felt like danger.

It could’ve been the way his hand hovered near his gun. Or the way Mr. Darcy kept shifting uneasily, ears flicking back and forth, nostrils flaring. The horse was just as restless as she was around this man.

"Do you see that line of trees out there?" Joanne pointed into the distance.

The man followed her gesture, turning his gaze toward the horizon.

The second he did, she moved.

In one swift motion, Joanne grabbed the saddle horn and swung herself onto Mr. Darcy’s back. The ever-intelligent horse needed no further command. His hooves pounded against the earth as he galloped into the tall grass, vanishing them from the man’s plain view.

"Stop, you b*tch!" the man’s voice roared behind her.

Joanne leaned low, pressing close to Mr. Darcy’s neck, willing him to go faster.

If his gun went off...

The shot rang out.

A sharp, sickening thud.

The next second, the world flipped.

Joanne felt herself ripped from the saddle as Mr. Darcy lurched beneath her. Her body slammed into the earth, rolling violently through dried brush, the air knocked from her lungs.

Then... stillness.

And pain.