Chapter <b>220 </b>
<b>Chapter </b><b>220 </b>
The Hob family’s maneuvering grew transparent. Clearly, Sally was hedging her bets, keeping Tracy on standby as the reserve <b>daughter </b>in Dra <bst </b>shred of goodwill I harbored for Sally evaporated.
I understood -my resolve for divorce was absolute, and as Jared’s mother, securing his future was natural. But by actively courting Tracy, she’d relinquished any moral standing to meddle in the divorce proceedings.
Sally had intended secrecy, but Yvonne became the unforeseen leak, prematurely blowing her grandmother’s cover. I meticulously saved three <b>photos </b>where Tracy’s presence was undeniable.
Melissa mmed her palm on the table, incensed. “Vipers! Absolute vipers. You’re not even legally divorced, and they’re already auditioning recements? The sheer audacity. Victoria, divorcing that man was the single wisest decision you’ve ever made.”
A profound sense of detachment settled over me. I was finally untethered. The sting of divorce couldn’t reach me now. “Indeed,” I murmured. <b>“</b><b>Let’s </b>see what their next move is.” Then I steered the conversation elsewhere. No point squandering energy on their theatrics.
Melissa wisely avoided mentioning Nathan again. She understood my principles. I wasn’t one for blurred lines. Until the divorce was finalized<b>, </b><b>any </b><b>whiff </b>of scandal with another man could jeopardize my position.
Returning to my temporary office after lunch, I found Jared ensconced in my chair, idly flipping through one of my books. Nearby, Ryan fidgeted <b>with </b><b>a </b>pen, his gaze locked on Jared with the wary stillness of a predator assessing a rival.
“Ms. Murphy, Mr. Hob has been waiting for some time,” a colleague offered pointedly as I entered.
“Mr. Hob’s be quite the frequent visitortely,” another chimed in, a teasing lilt in her voice.
“You must have saved his life to earn this kind of devotion,” a third quipped.
I managed a thin smile. If only they knew the truth. He wasn’t saved by me; he damn near buried me.
Jared’s gaze lifted to meet mine, his expression unreadable.
I pushed through the door. Jared rose smoothly, surrendering my chair. Deliberately bypassing the seat he’d warmed, I dragged a side chair to the opposite side of the desk and sat. “Mr. Hob. To what do I <b>owe </b>this visit? Business, I presume?”
A shadow crossed Jared’s face. “Must you be so distant? I was merely passing by and thought to bring you something sweet.”
Only then did my gazend on the elegant basket beside the desk. Inside nestled an assortment of exquisite miniature cakes from my go–to patisserie.
“So the art of courtship isn’t entirely lost on you,” I observed, my voiceced with icy sarcasm.
Jared stiffened momentarily, then emitted a short, humorlessugh. “I suppose attempting to remedy past oversights could be construed as progress.”
“Spare us the charade, Jared,” I stated tly, my gaze fixed on the screen cycling through a roster of male models–each sculpted like a Greek god. In that moment, rity struck: clinging to a single, withering branch was sheer folly when an entire forest beckoned.
My icy rejection, even of this small peace offering, sparked a sh of genuine pain in his eyes. “Victoria,” the plea was raw, stripped bare<b>, </b><b>“</b><b>must </b><b>it </b><b>be </b>like this? Not even a sliver of a chance to set things right?”
“There’s no love left, Jared. And spare me the family pretense–I have genuine family.” Iid the truth bare<b>, </b><b>mercilessly</b>. While Sally and <b>Yvonne </b>were scouting your next bride in Aurelia, you performed this devotion pantomime here? The irony was exquisite.
The idea that Jared was ignorant of their machinations was absurd. Tracy wouldn’t miss a chance to unt her position<b>. </b><b>No</b><b>, </b><b>he </b><b>knew</b>. <b>And </b><b>knowing</b><b>, </b><b>he </b>still arrived bearing sweetness. Was his capacity for affection truly this vast, or was this simply another calcted <b>act</b><b>? </b>
“Have I not agreed to the divorce?” he retorted, his voice taut with suppressed anger. “All I sought was a moment of grace <b>before </b><b>we </b><b>part </b><b>ways</b>. <b>Was </b><b>such </b>harshness truly necessary?” Without waiting for a reply, he pivoted sharply and strode out.
<b>1/2 </b>
Chapter <b>220 </b>
<b>I </b>stared at the desktop<b>, </b>drawing <b>a </b><b>slow</b>, steadying breath. Ipartmentalized the unsettling <b>encounter </b><b>and </b>forced <b>my </b>focus <b>back </b>onto the afternoo demanding workload.
As dusk bled into the windows, news came that the cleaning service was off sick. The office bore the evidence–desks cluttered, the floor gritty with. “ fineyer of construction dust tracked in from the site.
I prepared to tackle the mess myself after work, only to find Ryan already wielding the mop.
His movements were unpracticed, hinting at a privileged upbringing unustomed to menial tasks. Yet, the simple initiative–recognizing <b>a </b><b>need </b><b>and </b>acting–possessed an undeniable charm.
Once the outer office gleamed damply, he appeared in my doorway. “Ms. Murphy, may I tackle this floor too?”
I arched a brow, a faint smile touching my lips. “Since no one else volunteered, what motivated you?”
A!
Comment
Send gift
<b>No Ads </b>
13.44 Wed 20 AUG & DO