Swapping a Broken Heart for a New Start novel Chapter 241

Success or failure—it all comes down to this.

Please… let what’s inside not be as disappointing as I fear!

Sarah Brown couldn’t wait. She shoved the housekeeper ahead, jabbed the doorbell, and lowered her voice to a fake professional tone: “Hi, room service, we’re here to change your sheets…”

There was dead silence at first.

Then, after a moment, footsteps—slow and steady—echoed toward the door.

Someone paused on the other side. You could almost hear them staring through the peephole, sizing up whoever was outside.

Finally, the door creaked open. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong room. We didn’t order any room service.”

That voice. Camila Davis would recognize it anywhere.

Jordan Smith.

It really was him.

Sarah clocked it too, and seized her chance. She slammed her shoulder against the door, busting it open.

Jordan stumbled back a few steps, totally caught off guard by the sudden intrusion.

Once he regained his balance, he finally saw who was standing in his hotel room.

His face went pale. The man who was always so collected, who never let anything shake him, suddenly looked rattled. “You—what the hell are you doing here?”

Camila didn’t answer. She just stared at him.

He’d clearly just taken a shower—he was wearing a hotel bathrobe, hanging loose, half-open, showing off his chest. Which was, incidentally, covered in purple bruises and scratch marks.

And there were clothes scattered all over the floor.

On the bed, the sheets were twisted and messy. Sandra Taylor was in such a hurry to grab the covers she didn’t even get a chance to put her clothes back on. She wrapped herself up in the sheet, but it didn’t hide the hickeys and bite marks on her exposed skin.

Jordan just stood there, unable to get a single word out.

He’d clearly never imagined it would go down like this. For once, Mr. Always-in-Control was speechless, his mind short-circuiting.

Camila’s anger flared as her gaze shifted to Sandra on the bed.

Sandra tried to look scared, clutching the sheet, but there was something in her eyes—a smug little glint. She was enjoying this. Gloating, even.

Seriously?

That was the final straw. Camila had put up with Sandra’s scheming since the day she came back from London. She’d never been able to touch her before, but today? Sandra wasn’t going to wriggle out of this one.

Camila stormed across the room, grabbed a fistful of Sandra’s hair, and slapped her—hard—across the face.

“Oh, Sandra Taylor, aren’t you just the classiest? Always bragging about your fancy degrees and your time abroad, but here you are screwing someone else’s husband. Guess your Ivy League diploma didn’t teach you basic decency, huh?”

She yanked Sandra’s hair again, her voice shaking with rage. “What is it, Sandra? Not enough men in the world for you, so you have to steal mine? Hiding behind ‘work’ to justify sleeping with your coworker? Have you no shame at all?”