The Day I Stopped Being the Nice Wife - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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Jane knocked twice and leaned against her suitcase, exhaustion weighing her down. Finding this place hadn't been easy—not when she hadn't visited in years. Abigail hadn't answered her calls, and checking into a hotel wasn't an option. Not because she couldn't afford it, but because Abby would never allow it.
As she raised her hand to knock again, the door flew open revealing Abigail's familiar frame. "Hey cuz! Missed your call—was making my famous chili." Abby moved in for a hug but froze when she spotted the luggage at Jane's feet. "Whoa, packing light for an apocalypse or something?"
When Jane didn't laugh, Abby's smile faded. She grabbed Jane's arm, pulling her inside while dragging the bags with her free hand.
Thirty minutes later, Jane cradled a steaming mug of cocoa on the couch. "I can't thank you enough for this, Abby. Really."
Abigail sighed, rubbing Jane's shoulder. "Wish I could do more than just give you a roof, babe."
Jane's smile didn't reach her eyes as she stood. "I should... freshen up." She set the mug down carefully. "I mean it though—I won't overstay my welcome."
"Stay forever for all I care," Abby insisted. Jane blew her a kiss before disappearing upstairs.
That evening, Abigail found Jane face-down on the guest bed. "Get up, Jannie. You can't let that bastard turn you into a hermit." When Jane groaned, Abby yanked the comforter off. "Jane Roberts Dreame, I swear to God—"
"Ugh, fine!" Jane sat up, dark circles under her eyes. "I don't even know where to go."
Abby's grin turned wicked. "Leave that to me."
An hour later, Jane nursed her second whiskey at a dimly lit bar, glaring at laughing patrons. "Fake smiles, every damn one of them," she muttered, taking a swig just as a shadow fell across her stool.
"Jane Roberts?"
She squinted at the handsome stranger. "Do I know you?"
Ignoring her question, he slid onto the adjacent stool like he owned the place—which, as she'd soon learn, he actually did.
"Let's talk about what I can do for you," he said smoothly.
Jane scoffed. Designer suit, cocky smirk—typical rich boy. "I don't chat with stalkers."
His grin widened. "I prefer 'admirer.' For instance, I know you're Marcus Dreame's wife."
Ice shot through her veins. She stood abruptly. "Creep."
When she tried to leave, his hand shot out. "Take this." He pressed a business card into her palm. "For when you're ready."
Jane snatched it with a glare. "Not happening." She stormed out, unaware her purse remained on the bar.
Caleb Lockwood watched her go, then smirked at the forgotten bag. "Looks like we'll be seeing each other sooner than you think." His phone rang as he moved to follow her. "Caleb Lockwood speaking."
As she raised her hand to knock again, the door flew open revealing Abigail's familiar frame. "Hey cuz! Missed your call—was making my famous chili." Abby moved in for a hug but froze when she spotted the luggage at Jane's feet. "Whoa, packing light for an apocalypse or something?"
When Jane didn't laugh, Abby's smile faded. She grabbed Jane's arm, pulling her inside while dragging the bags with her free hand.
Thirty minutes later, Jane cradled a steaming mug of cocoa on the couch. "I can't thank you enough for this, Abby. Really."
Abigail sighed, rubbing Jane's shoulder. "Wish I could do more than just give you a roof, babe."
Jane's smile didn't reach her eyes as she stood. "I should... freshen up." She set the mug down carefully. "I mean it though—I won't overstay my welcome."
"Stay forever for all I care," Abby insisted. Jane blew her a kiss before disappearing upstairs.
That evening, Abigail found Jane face-down on the guest bed. "Get up, Jannie. You can't let that bastard turn you into a hermit." When Jane groaned, Abby yanked the comforter off. "Jane Roberts Dreame, I swear to God—"
"Ugh, fine!" Jane sat up, dark circles under her eyes. "I don't even know where to go."
Abby's grin turned wicked. "Leave that to me."
An hour later, Jane nursed her second whiskey at a dimly lit bar, glaring at laughing patrons. "Fake smiles, every damn one of them," she muttered, taking a swig just as a shadow fell across her stool.
"Jane Roberts?"
She squinted at the handsome stranger. "Do I know you?"
Ignoring her question, he slid onto the adjacent stool like he owned the place—which, as she'd soon learn, he actually did.
"Let's talk about what I can do for you," he said smoothly.
Jane scoffed. Designer suit, cocky smirk—typical rich boy. "I don't chat with stalkers."
His grin widened. "I prefer 'admirer.' For instance, I know you're Marcus Dreame's wife."
Ice shot through her veins. She stood abruptly. "Creep."
When she tried to leave, his hand shot out. "Take this." He pressed a business card into her palm. "For when you're ready."
Jane snatched it with a glare. "Not happening." She stormed out, unaware her purse remained on the bar.
Caleb Lockwood watched her go, then smirked at the forgotten bag. "Looks like we'll be seeing each other sooner than you think." His phone rang as he moved to follow her. "Caleb Lockwood speaking."
End of The Day I Stopped Being the Nice Wife Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to The Day I Stopped Being the Nice Wife book page.