Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love-Chapter 82: Precious Moments

Jerica felt a weak grip on her hands. She turned, breath caught in her chest, and saw Jared’s eyes fluttering open. That moment shattered the world around her into a blurred haze, and without thought, she leaned over his face, her voice trembling with relief and hope.

"Mea Amor," she whispered, holding his hand as if he were her anchor.

Jared hadn’t fully woken; his eyelids flickered with the weight of exhaustion, and he lacked the strength to lift them completely. But even in his dazed state, his fingers tightened weakly around hers. If Jerica had been thinking clearly, she might have noticed that Jared was trying to communicate, to hold her back from slipping away from herself. But logic had abandoned her. She was consumed by irrational joy—wild and fierce.

"Mrs. Evans, we are doing this for your well-being. Please, come with us," the doctor’s voice cut into the moment, as the staff tried to pry her away. Jerica wrenched her arm free, her focus unyielding.

"No! You don’t understand," she said, her voice sharp with desperation.

"What’s going on here?"

The air shifted, a commanding presence seizing the room. The staff fell still, their grip loosening as they recognized the source of the voice. Harold Braddock stood in the doorway, his eyes stormy, his suit immaculate. Jerica’s head snapped up, and something raw and feral ignited within her. The pieces connected in her mind—Harold’s family, their reach, their motives. Her heart beat thunderously as rage coursed through her veins.

She stood, the chair scraping sharply against the floor as she faced him. Her fists clenched, and her eyes blazed with an intensity that made Harold pause. He had never seen her like this before—her beauty turned fierce with hatred, a dagger aimed directly at him. His chest constricted painfully at the sight. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Jeri..."

The soft call of her name was nearly lost in the whirlwind of emotion. She turned back to Jared, the fury dissolving from her expression as quickly as it had come, replaced by a tender, broken smile.

Harold saw it all. A bitter ache settled deep in his heart, but he schooled his features into a neutral mask. "Doctor," he said, placing a reassuring hand on the physician’s shoulder and guiding him toward the door. The doctor hesitated but recognized the unspoken power Harold wielded and complied.

"Let her stay," Harold murmured, his voice steady. "It will help them both."

With a reluctant nod, the doctor signaled for the staff to stand down. Harold cast one final glance back, his eyes drinking in Jerica’s radiant smile as she gazed at Jared. The sight cut him to the core, but beneath the pain, a seed of bittersweet contentment took root.

Maybe this was enough, he told himself as he stepped out, his expression hardening to hide the war within. At least she was happy—that was all he’d ever wanted for her.

Jerica was left alone after Harold spoke with the doctor.

Jared couldn’t say much, but Jerica remained wrapped in his embrace, his hand clinging to hers with a fragile grip. She sat beside him, leaning so close she could feel his uneven breaths brush against her cheek. She couldn’t stop touching him, as though needing the constant, visceral reminder that he was truly there.

The sterile, sharp scent of antiseptics masked the familiar notes of him, but the warmth radiating from his skin was an anchor amidst her whirlwind of fear. Trembling fingers traced the outline of his arm, mapping the path from wrist to shoulder, until her palm rested over his chest. Beneath her touch, his heartbeat drummed a steady rhythm, a reminder of life that felt almost sacred.

The rise and fall of his chest, labored but defiant, became the most beautiful sound in her world. It was a melody she hadn’t realized she had taken for granted, one she now vowed to cherish for the rest of her days.

"Isn’t your breath wondrous?" she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. "I could live the rest of my life just hearing you breathe, mea amor."

A tear glistened in the corner of Jared’s eye, catching the dim light as it rolled down his temple. The raw emotion in his gaze mirrored hers—relief, awe, and a love so deep it felt like it might break them both.

Jerica shook her head gently, brushing the tear away with a feather-light touch. "Don’t," she murmured. "Save your strength." Leaning down, she pressed her lips to his, a kiss as soft as a prayer, carrying every unsaid word and every promise.

Gratitude flooded her senses. The chill that had wrapped around her heart at the thought of losing him was dissipating, replaced by the warmth of his presence. He was here. He was alive. And she couldn’t fathom what she would have done if fate had taken him from her.

Jared summoned every last reserve of his strength to squeeze her hand, a silent declaration of understanding. He knew she loved him more fiercely than he could ever deserve, more than he could repay. Yet, in this moment, he was selfish enough to revel in it, to let himself feel the weight of her love surrounding him like a balm.

The memory of her fury at Harold flickered in his mind, and a shudder coursed through him. He had seen her fierce before, but never like that. The fire in her eyes had been both terrifying and awe-inspiring. It told him more than words ever could—she would fight for him, for them. And that realization sent a pang of fear and protectiveness through him.

"Come," he rasped, patting the narrow space beside him. He needed her close, needed to feel her heartbeat next to his.

Without hesitation, Jerica climbed onto the bed, nestling beside him. She fit perfectly against him, the discomfort of the cramped space irrelevant. It was him. It was them. Everything else faded into insignificance.

Pressing her ear to his chest, she listened to the subtle protests of his body, each breath a determined battle. He had to keep fighting. For her. For them.

"Did you eat?" Jared asked, the effort behind the question evident in the strain of his voice.

Jerica’s heart tightened, a bittersweet ache blooming in her chest. "I wanted to eat lunch with you," she replied, her voice soft with a touch of teasing, even as her eyes shimmered with tears.

She should have been angry—should have chided him for leaving the house when he was supposed to be resting, for not being there when she returned home. If only he had waited for her, perhaps with one of his surprise meals ready, they might have avoided this nightmare.

But for now, none of that mattered. He was here. Alive. And that was everything.

Before she knew it, sleep overtook her, the exhaustion of the night weighing heavily on her eyelids. Jared, fighting against the discomfort that pulsed through his body, watched her as she surrendered to slumber. It didn’t matter that pain clawed at him—what mattered was that he was alive to hold her, alive to kiss her forehead with the last bit of strength he could muster.

He knew that if she discovered the Glover family’s role in his near demise, she would burn the world to the ground for him. He had often wondered what path she would take if he were ever in danger—the quiet route where she internalized her grief, or the fierce, blazing road of vengeance. Now, he knew. And it terrified him.

The nurse came in to adjust his IV, her eyes widening when she saw Jerica asleep in the narrow bed. She moved to wake her, but Jared stopped her with a silent plea. He needed her here, beside him, for every precious moment until he was strong enough to stand on his own.

-----

"Atlas, sit!"

The command rang out as Arthur strode into the lavish bedroom, his eyes catching the glimmer of his wife, Lydia, seated at the vanity. The soft glow of the room’s sconces lit up her face as she went through her meticulous nighttime skincare routine. The faint scent of jasmine and vanilla clung to the air, a testament to her ritual.

With a playful glint in his eye and a bounce in his step, Arthur approached her from behind and playfully pinched her waist. Lydia gasped, and a drop of serum, glistening like liquid gold, slipped from the glass applicator and splattered onto the plush carpet.

"Artie!" Lydia’s tone was mock-indignant as she spun around, narrowing her eyes at him. But even as she tried to feign anger, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

It was impossible to maintain a stern front with him—Lord Arthur Sutherland--her husband who, despite his commanding presence in the world, was forever an impish schoolboy when it came to her.

"What?" Arthur’s grin widened, unbothered by her protest. He dove in to tickle her, his fingers seeking out the spots he knew would make her dissolve into helpless laughter. And sure enough, Lydia’s laughter burst forth, ringing out with a carefree joy that belied her poised, iron-clad demeanor seen by everyone else.