After being reborn, I make up my mind to stop chasing after my husband and daughter

Chapter 133

The move hit Tracy like a slap. Her eyes flashed crimson; she spun on her heel and herded the rest of the executives toward the elevator bank, jabbing the call button like it owed her money.

“Babe, put me down–I can walk,” I insisted, trying to sound brave.

Jared’s jaw stayed locked. “Quit the hero act. You’re hurt, so behave.”

“It’s really nothing. Only a quick stretch.” I’d never twisted anything to begin with.

“Mm.” Noncommittal, Classic Jared.

The next elevator dinged open. He carried me in. My cheeks went hot. This wasn’t a rom–com–getting bridal–carried through a Marriott felt ridiculous in real life.

“Let me stand. Just hold my arm,” I whispered, wriggling. He relented and lowered me gently, then anchored one big hand around my elbow,

I limped into the private dining room at half–speed, Jared glued to my side.

Tracy was out in the hallway, phone to her ear, voice sharp enough to slice bread. Couldn’t tell who was on the other end, but whoever it was, they were getting flambéed.

my head toward the noise. “Didn’t

back, shrugged. “Guess somebody pushed her

my stomach. Does he think I’m

in, cheeks still flushed. The second she spotted Jared, though, she swapped the scowl for a smile that could sell perfume–confident, silky, the kind

few seconds, her gaze flicked to Jared, wounded–puppy eyes on

with the detachment of a bored movie critic.

that lasts.

family tree had bigger branches than mine. But she was still shopping

wasn’t about to saddle herself with some fifty–year–old sugar daddy. She wanted the fairy tale, and Jared was Prince Charming with a

in her storybook? He’d already married me,

She might genuinely adore Yvonne. Last time around, she quietly terminated a pregnancy just so

adored his daughter, and she played the long game to stay in both

soaked in straight–up sexism. People still mutter about “carrying

Hachester, I figured that rumor about them not caring about sons was just a rumor. Then I had Yvonne,

blinked.

was little, he’d fly home