<b>Chapter </b><b>148 </b>


    <b>581 </b>


    In my previous life, Quinn and I were oil and water. She thought I was a freeloader because I asked Jared for money and called me a parasit When I refused to divorce him, she cornered me at the door and shouted every insult she could think of. Remembering that sharp tongue o hers, this time around, I’m not giving her an inch. If she jabs at me, I’ll jab right back.


    I slid onto the couch next to Jared. They were deep in conversation. Apparently, some high–profile, blue–blooded figure was being flown in from Braylin for medical treatment, and John was trying to pull strings for a visit. So far, no luck.


    Jared shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t make that happen.”


    John sighed in disappointment, then filled us in. “The old man’s in his seventies, doesn’t have long. Word is his kids are tearing each other apart over the inheritance. A car ident overseas took out the second son a few weeks ago.”


    A shadow crossed Jared’s face. His long fingers tapped the edge of the coffee table. “The richer the bloodline, the nastier the feud. And that family’s connected to forces way deeper than money. Life and death are always up in the air with them.”


    John nodded. “The guy’s soft spot is his youngest grandson, brought the kid along for his treatments. Wherever the grandpa goes, the kid goes. If the old man dies, that boy’s in trouble.


    “His dad was killed years ago, so he’s only got his mom’s rtives for backup. I’m betting his grandpa leaves everything to him in the end.”


    Jared’s brows inched up. “The grandson’s in his twenties, right? Which school?”


    “Shaville University. Senior year,” John said, clearly well briefed.


    “Okay, Uncle John, I can introduce you to a couple of people. Whether yound a meeting is on you.” With that, Jared stood and stepped outside to make a call.


    I caught maybe half the story–old–money n, ugly session war, a kid about to get steam–rolled.


    At dinner, Jared got pulled away by another phone call, so I stayed with John’s family. The older rtives zeroed in on one topic: when I nned on giving them a baby boy.


    They listed the perks of having a <i>son </i>while I smiled, nodded on cue, and maintained my gracious–wife fa?ade.


    By the time I reached the hotel, it was past ten. Instead of phoning Jared, I asked the driver to take me to the harbor, locals said the night views were Instagram gold.


    The driver was a sweetheart<b>, </b>giving me a mini tour, pointing outndmarks, even snapping a few pictures for me.


    Just as I was about to head back, my phone buzzed. A text from Tracy: [Mr. Hob’s drunk. You should go to sleep, Mrs. Hob.]


    I stared at the message in silence, then tossed the phone onto the seat and turned to the window. The car stereo was ying a moody Secret Garden track, sounded like a farewell poem in disguise.


    Jared’s hot–and–cold routine these past few days? ssic. At the end of the day, a dog still loves its bone. Bon appétit, Jared. Choke on it if


    you must.


    I made it back to the hotel, showered, and went straight to bed. Honestly, I figured Jared and Tracy would be going at it till dawn.


    But at a little after two–thirty a.m., the door banged open. Jared stumbled in, dead–drunk, half–carried by the chauffeur. Their noise yanked me out of a light sleep.


    <b>1/3 </b>


    <b>58</b><b>%</b>5


    Still in my silk night–set–snow–white, V–neck, and anything but modest, I padded into the living room.


    The driver’s eyes locked on me for one stunned heartbeat, then shot to the floor. Jared waved him off with azy “Thanks, man,” and the poor guy all but sprinted.


    Yes, the look was deliberate. Figure–hugging satin, bare feet, loose hair, every inch the gorgeous wife who knows the family dog’s been rooting in garbage and is already nning her next spring fling.


    Jared wasn’t ckout, just buzzed enough to reel. He reached for my curves like a reflex.


    “Have fun tonight, honey?” I asked, ducking out of reach and heading back to the master bedroom. Door closed. Lights out.


    <b>29 </b>


    Sunrise. He woke up on the couch, stiff and furious. “Victoria, did you seriously leave me out here?”


    I sat in a corner chair flipping through Vogue. “Sorry, babe. Me gragging a six–foot man to bed wasn’t happening. At least I made sure you didn’t face–nt on the floor.”


    “Victoria, I was entertaining clients till three a.m. and this is how you reward me?” He snatched the magazine from my hands.


    I tilted my head. “Thought Tracy had you covered. Surprised she let youe home. How inconsiderate of her.”


    His eyes narrowed. “How do you know she was with me?”


    I held up my phone. “She texted. Very thoughtful of her, really.”


    He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tracy was just… looking out for me. She didn’t want you worrying.”


    “I’m not worried. If anything, I should learn from her. How to empathize with a husband who ‘works‘te.”


    My voice stayed velvet–smooth, but color drained from his face. He retreated to the bathroom, showered, and emerged fresh–pressed yet pale fromck of sleep.


    “So,” he said, nting himself in front of me, “what do you want to do today? I’ll take you anywhere.”


    “No, thanks, I feel like exploring solo. You handle your business.”


    He sat, reached for my hand. I casually lifted a teacup instead, letting his fingers meet empty air.


    His gaze followed the miss. “Are <i>you </i>mad again? I’m sorry. Next time Tracy shows up, I’ll tell you right away. No more misunderstandings.”


    “Wasn’t a misunderstanding,” I answered calmly. “Tracy sacrifices a lot for thepany. I’m not that unreasonable.”


    “Victoria, drop the sarcasm.” His patience frayed. “I need you to give me a little grace. Stop sweating the small stuff. Can you do that for me?”


    There he was, the real Jared, head of the household in fullmand. The tender, soulful husband? An illusion. Once the mask dropped, he was all Siberian permafrost. Cold, hard, unyielding.


    I filed his warning away, then smiled sweetly “Honey, maybe I’m still not ‘thoughtful‘ enough. Tell me what to fix. From now on, and Tracy travel, I won’t ask questions. At the office, I’ll put her needs first. How’s that?”


    when


    you


    A storm cloud darkened his face. “Are we seriously at the point,” he murmured, “where there’s zero–absolutely zero–marital feeling left


    between us?”