Mr Melendez Your Wife Wants Divorce Long Ago novel Chapter 347

**Her Spark Ignites Tonight**
**By J.S. Caldwell**
**Chapter 347**

Blaire let out a snort of laughter, a sound that echoed through the rain-soaked air, and then, in a spontaneous gesture, he shrugged off his jacket. With a flourish, he draped it over Arabella’s head, creating a makeshift shield against the downpour.

Meanwhile, Jayceon stood there, momentarily frozen in disbelief, the umbrella clutched tightly in his hand. He watched as Arabella, with a spark of determination, kept close to Blaire’s side, their hurried strides leading them toward the waiting car.

Not far off, another luxury vehicle glided to a stop, its sleek design glinting under the streetlights. The butler from the Melendez mansion stepped out, his demeanor as polished as the car itself. Approaching Jayceon with a respectful nod, he delivered the message with an air of urgency, “Young Master, Sir wishes for you to return to the mansion at once!”

Jayceon, his expression impassive, shifted his gaze away from the scene unfolding before him and turned toward the car, each step heavy with reluctance.

Inside the confines of Blaire’s sports car, the atmosphere was charged with concern. Arabella, her brow furrowed, leaned closer and asked once more, “Are you absolutely certain you’re not hurt?”

Blaire flashed a playful grin, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I know he’s a formidable fighter. Trust me, I didn’t engage him in a real fight. I merely toyed with him.”

Arabella let out a sigh of relief, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

Yet, her voice took on a serious tone as she reminded him, “Blaire, we are in Zelmere’s territory. This is his domain. Even the leaders of the Eight Great Families must tread carefully around him. We fight when we have the upper hand, and retreat when we don’t. Please, don’t confront him directly.”

Blaire’s expression darkened, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I just can’t wrap my head around it. How can he continue to linger around you as if nothing ever happened after he hurt you and ended your marriage?”

Arabella’s response was tinged with resignation. “Because he’s a scumbag, plain and simple.”

An hour later, at the imposing Melendez mansion, Jayceon stepped into the living room, the atmosphere thick with tension that seemed to hang in the air like a heavy fog.

Seated in the main chair, his grandfather wore a stern expression that could cut glass, while his father’s face was twisted with barely contained fury. His mother’s brows were knitted tightly together, and his sister sat nearby, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, a picture of anguish.

Jayceon inhaled deeply, steeling himself as he approached the imposing figures of his grandfather and father.

His grandfather’s voice, cold and unwelcoming, sliced through the silence. “What is this? You think you’ve grown up enough to ignore our calls?”

Jayceon met his grandfather’s gaze directly, his tone unwavering. “Grandfather, did you summon me for something of importance at this late hour?”

Sir turned his sharp gaze toward Conrad, his son, as if seeking validation for the impending confrontation.

Conrad took a moment, gathering his thoughts. “We’re doing this for your future and your sister’s,” he began, but before he could elaborate, Jayceon interjected.

“Dad, Kim and I will make our own decisions regarding marriage,” he asserted, his voice steady.

As he stepped into the night, the weight of his family’s expectations bore down on him, and he began to understand why Arabella had loathed visiting the family estate. Why she had harbored such disdain for this family.

Later that evening, at the Empire Club, the atmosphere was starkly different.

Samuel pushed open the door to their private room, the sharp scent of alcohol hitting him like a wall. His expression soured as he surveyed the scene.

He cleared away the unopened bottles cluttering the coffee table before settling down next to Jayceon, who appeared to be lost in thought.

Samuel studied Jayceon for a moment, concern etched on his face. “Kim filled me in on everything. You can’t stop this, even if you disagree,” he said, his voice low.

Jayceon was sprawled on the sofa, dressed in tailored black pants and a crisp white shirt, his suit jacket and tie carelessly tossed aside, a testament to his disheveled state of mind.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, the weariness evident in the bloodshot eyes that stared into the distance. “No one gets to dictate who I marry,” he replied, his voice a quiet storm of determination.

Samuel locked eyes with him, a hint of disbelief creeping into his expression. “You’re not actually considering getting back together with Arabella, are you?”

Jayceon’s silence was heavy, and Samuel couldn’t help but let out a resigned sigh, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.