The House Wife Had Secret Identities (Niamh Rivers and Jonathan) novel Chapter 227

17.02

Chapter 227

Peter and Preston Winslow left the hospital room one after another, with Preston practically dragging Lana out behind him.

Now, only Jonathan and Niamh remained.

The room felt much emptier.

“Jonathan, about Lana–she didn’t mean-‘

“Let me guess,” Jonathan cut her off. “You and Lana both think I never visited you. That I haven’t paid a cent of your medical bills. Is that it?”

He didn’t bother waiting for her to finish, too eager to get his point across.

Niamh caught the edge in his voice, as if he’d been wrongly accused. Maybe Lana had jumped to conclusions. But Niamh didn’t want to make assumptions of her own. She’d learned the hard way that wishful thinking only led to disappointment:

“I don’t know,” she admitted honestly.

Jonathan gave a short, dry laugh that sounded more like resignation than

amusement.

“The doctors say you’re recovering well, except for your leg. There’s no reason for you to stay here any longer, so I’ve arranged for you to transfer.”

Niamh’s eyes widened. “Transfer? To where?”

“A new rehabilitation center just opened.”

“I don’t want to go. I can recover at home,” Niamh protested. It wasn’t that she had anything against rehab clinics–she just couldn’t stand the thought of being sent somewhere Jonathan had chosen for her, without asking.

Jonathan didn’t argue. He’d already spoken to the doctors, who told him that Niamh’s left leg needed professional rehab using proper equipment–she’d recover faster and with less risk of complications. He could have told her all that, but when the words were on his lips, he changed course.

“The sooner you get better, the sooner we can finalize the divorce. And you’ll be ready for Luminous Divas Fashion Week.”

That got Niamh’s attention. Reluctantly, she agreed to the transfer that very day.

It was obvious to her that Jonathan was eager to get the divorce over

with–probably because things with Marina were getting serious.

1/2

17.23

TerraVita Recovery Center.

The place had just opened, a total transformation from the old convalescent home it had replaced. The center boasted cutting–edge medical technology and aimed to be a world–class facility.

Niamh was their very first–and so far, only–patient.

The place was beautiful, with every amenity you could imagine. The medical equipment was state–of–the–art, but the rooms felt more like suites in a modern European manor than anything clinical.

It was private, too–no unauthorized visitors allowed.

When Niamh moved in, she packed everything she’d need: her sketchbooks, jewelry–making tools, and of course, the divorce papers.

She’d already signed all three copies of the agreement, but Jonathan still hadn’t. She’d originally planned to bring the documents to City Hall and have him sign them on the spot–before everything went sideways.

Now, the papers sat on her nightstand, ready for Jonathan whenever he showed up. Only doctors and nurses came into her room, and she doubted any of them would care about her divorce.

Night fell over Aldenville, neon lights flickering, the city alive with its usual excess.

A handful of people filtered out of The Concordia Grand, laughing and chatting in little groups.

Marina was among them. She’d come for a high school reunion–Aldenville’s top prep school, no less. Jonathan and Preston Winslow were both conspicuously absent.

There was a reason: Michael Burton was back home after years abroad. The reunion was really just a welcome party for him.

And wherever Michael was, Jonathan was never invited.

“Anyone up for round two?” Michael asked, but only looked at Marina as he spoke.

Through the gold–rimmed glasses perched on his nose, Marina caught the lazy, mischievous glint in his eyes.

212