Swapping a Broken Heart for a New Start novel Chapter 19

Camila Davis’s face, already pale from feeling sick, turned completely white as she took in the scene before her.

She’d always known Jordan Smith didn’t love her. But right now, they were still married. Maybe she could’ve looked the other way if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. But even knowing she was right there, Jordan just went ahead, holding Sandra Taylor so openly, so shamelessly.

The two of them—this was just cruel.

No one else in the private dining room noticed Camila standing in the doorway.

But Jordan did.

He clearly hadn’t expected Camila to come back at that moment. His expression shifted, just for a split second, before he put the mask back on.

He made no move to step away from Sandra. In fact, he sounded downright caring as he asked, “You alright? Can you stand?”

Sandra clutched her forehead, giggling a little, “Yeah, I’m fine...”

But her face was flushed, her steps wobbly, and she leaned into Jordan, almost collapsing against his chest.

Jordan didn’t seem annoyed at all. He just supported her shoulders, his voice indulgent, “You’re drunk. I’ll take you home.”

He grabbed Sandra’s purse and coat, straightened his suit, and told the group, “Dinner’s over for tonight, folks.”

No one dared protest. They all hurried to stand, mumbling things like, “Of course, Mr. Smith, have a good night.”

Jordan nodded and guided Sandra out.

Camila was still standing right outside the door.

As they walked past her, Sandra suddenly stopped and murmured, “Jordan, maybe I should just go home by myself. You should take Camila back—she had a few drinks tonight, too...”

She wore an expression of sweet concern, totally fake.

Jordan shot Camila a brief glance. “She only had one glass. She’ll be fine. Besides, you’re the one who can barely stand. If anything happened to you, Uncle Taylor would have my head.”

He didn’t say another word to Camila. Jordan led Sandra away, brushing right past his wife.

Camila, though, caught the look Sandra threw her—a sly, satisfied smile, like she’d just won a contest. There was nothing drunk about her at all.

Camila’s hands clenched into fists, but she didn’t try to stop them. What would be the point? Jordan had made it clear. She was always on her own.

There was that time, months ago, when she’d been forced to drink at a client dinner for her own job. She’d called Jordan to pick her up. He didn’t come—just sent a driver.

His work was always more important than her safety.

If he’d cared even a little, Sandra Taylor would never have dared challenge her like this.

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