For a mont, Jerica stood in stunned silence, searching for words that refused to co. The absurdity of it all seared through her thoughts—they truly didn’t know. They hadn’t pieced together the truth of her marriage to Jared.
How co? How dumb are these people and why are they in such high positions?
The shrill ring of her phone shattered the mont. She glanced at the screen, the sequence of numbers familiar but nacing, and ignored it.
The judge’s phone rang next, a jarring echo that made him jump. He answered it with a tremor of urgency, the chair scraping back as he stood.
"Yes, Sir. This is Jefferson." His voice was pitched with respect so profound it bordered on fear.
Jerica watched him, curiosity coiled tight in her chest.
"Yes, Sir... Yes, Sir... Of course." His eyes t hers, calculating, wary. Without another word, he extended the phone to her, hand outstretched like an offering.
"Ms. Evans, Lady Sutherland wishes to speak with you," a voice said once she placed the phone to her ear.
Jerica’s breath caught, the weight of the na pressing on her. Lady Sutherland’s reach was legendary, her power suffocating. And within a minute of their earlier exchange, she had tracked her down. A chill slithered down Jerica’s spine.
Or was she under her radar for longer than she realized?
"Ms. Evans," ca that unmistakable, commanding voice, each syllable sharp as a blade. "You haven’t left yet."
"I didn’t realize it was you calling earlier," Jerica said, heart thundering in her chest.
"My driver is waiting. Get moving," Lydia Sutherland ordered, the conversation ending as abruptly as it began.
Jerica lowered the phone, passing it back to Jefferson. His eyes searched hers, filled with unspoken questions and grudging admiration.
"She spoke to you directly?" he whispered, reverence leaking into his tone.
"With the reverence you gave that person, I thought you were speaking to the President himself," Jerica said, her voice barely concealing the edge of disdain.
She could feel the tightness in her chest as she delivered the words to the judge, her dislike for him bubbling to the surface. What a sycophant, she thought bitterly. To grovel at the feet of soone simply because they were a PA to a powerful figure... Does he have any self-respect?
She turned sharply, preparing to leave the suffocating atmosphere of the office, but Judge Jefferson’s voice stopped her.
"Why does she want to et you?" he asked, his tone laced with a hint of suspicion.
Jerica didn’t bother answering. The simple answer was that she didn’t know.
Jefferson’s words lingered in the air. "It must be about your involvent with him..."
Her hand froze on the door handle. The ntion of Jared hit her like a jolt. Is it really about him? She hesitated for a brief mont, a flicker of doubt creeping in, but she quickly masked it.
"He’s stirred up a lot of trouble," Jefferson continued, his voice lower now, almost as if he were offering unsolicited advice. "Don’t get tangled up with him."
Jerica’s gaze flicked back to him. There was sothing strange in his eyes—a fleeting look that almost resembled pity, or perhaps sothing more dangerous. For a heartbeat, she thought she detected a glimr of care, but it vanished as quickly as it ca. Without responding, she turned and walked out of the office, her pulse quickening with every step.
She didn’t even notice the surprised glance of Judge Jefferson’s staff seeing her leaving without tears in her eyes.
Jerica didn’t need to look for the car. She knew exactly which one was waiting for her. Parked outside the building was a sleek Rolls Royce, its EU Diplomatic flag fluttering in the breeze—a stark reminder that her life had taken a turn she hadn’t planned for. The emblem on the flag glead in the afternoon light, almost mocking her uncertainty.
The chauffeur, stiff and formal, opened the door for her with a bow, and Jerica slid into the backseat, the cool leather against her skin offering no comfort.
The mont the door shut, the car glided forward, and Jerica leaned back, allowing the smooth motion to lull her into a state of quiet contemplation. Before she could fully process what was happening, the car had arrived at the Island Café.
She took a slow, steadying breath, to try and regain control over her emotions before facing whatever awaited inside. When she pushed open the door, she was t with a silence that felt almost deafening.
The café, usually bustling with the murmur of conversation, had been emptied out—every table, every chair, vacated in preparation for her arrival.
Her steps echoed through the hollow space, a sharp contrast to the tense stillness in the air. She didn’t have to look far to know that this was no coincidence. She was being watched—observed like a subject in so strange experint. Every instinct told her to stay on alert, but her mind was already swirling with the implications of her eting with Lydia Sutherland.
Jerica’s eyes swept across the room, her posture straightening, her determination hardening like steel. Whatever it was she was not going to beco a pawn. Losing her self-respect for anything was not sothing she could do.
If Lydia wanted sothing, she was going to make sure it was on her own terms.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Sutherland," Jerica said, extending her hand in a composed yet polite manner.
Lady Lydia Sutherland, renowned for her poise and impenetrable deanor, softened for a mont, her expression shifting from the carefully curated mask to sothing warr.
To Jerica’s surprise, Lydia bypassed the handshake, leaning in for a hug. The gesture threw Jerica off balance—unexpectedly intimate for a eting that had carried an air of impending confrontation.
Suppressing her confusion, Jerica embraced Lydia, finding the gesture oddly reassuring, even if it felt premature. As they broke apart, Lydia’s eyes sparkled with an emotion Jerica couldn’t quite place—calculated kindness or genuine affection.
"Please, have a seat," Lydia said, gesturing to the chair opposite her.
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