Niamh had to admit, she almost admired how, even now, Marina couldn’t resist using Jonathan as a weapon against her.
Marina had expected, after her little jab, to see some flicker of pain or suppressed emotion in Niamh’s gaze. Since Niamh had cut off her financial lifeline, the least Marina could do was try to make her suffer in return.
But Niamh’s expression didn’t change at all. If anything, she smiled.
“If Jonathan really loved you that much, do you think I could’ve so easily stripped you of your privileges?”
Niamh’s words were deliberate, giving Marina a taste of her own medicine. Whether Jonathan was simply unaware of what had happened, or knew and still did
nothing–Niamh couldn’t say.
What she didn’t expect was for Marina’s eyes to suddenly fill with angry tears. Marina shrieked, “This is all your fault, you wretched woman! If it weren’t for you, Jonathan would never ignore me!”
Marina raised her hand, aiming a slap at Niamh, but Niamh was faster. Her own slap landed with a sharp crack, turning half of Marina’s face bright red.
Marina was stunned, her ears ringing from the blow and her cheek burning. She collapsed to the floor, clutching her face, sobbing as if the world itself had wronged her.
At the hospital, Jonathan should have been discharged days ago, but he kept finding reasons to stay.
Niamh hadn’t come to visit. At first, he thought maybe she just didn’t know. So he’d made sure his assistant, Prescott, spread the news of his “serious stomach condition” far and wide, fully expecting that word would reach her. He fig l if he lingered in the hospital long enough, she’d eventually show up.
It wasn’t until Preston slipped up in conversation one day that Jonathan discovered the truth: Niamh had known all along that he was hospitalized. She just hadn’t bothered to come.
She was avoiding him on purpose.
1/2
20:29
“Mr. Thomas, your stomach will heal better at home,” the hospital director told him. “Try to avoid stress, stay away from spicy food, and get plenty of rest–no more late nights…”
Jonathan heard the message loud and clear. The director wanted him to vacate the VIP suite. And honestly, Jonathan was tired of the sterile hospital air, tired of pretending there was a reason to stay.
As he was signing his discharge papers, his phone suddenly rang. When he saw the name on the caller ID, for the first time in days, his tired eyes lit up.
At the boutique, Marina had been crying for nearly half an hour when she finally heard the door open.
“Jonathan!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms.
Jonathan stiffened. He glanced up, looking straight at Niamh.
She stood in the center of the shop in a smart blue suit, her hair swept up, exuding calm professionalism from head to toe. Her eyes met his, cool and composed.
Something about her gaze unnerved him. Her eyes were strikingly beautiful, but for the first time, Jonathan found himself unable to meet them.
“Take her with you, please. Don’t keep Vivian from running her business,” Niamh said, her tone as distant as her gaze.
Suddenly, Jonathan wondered–had he always spoken to Niamh this way? Calm, detached, as if nothing could touch him?
“Jonathan…” Marina whimpered, her voice trembling. She was still clinging to Jonathan’s chest, sobbing, but he hadn’t responded at all.
Only when she called his name again did Jonathan finally look down at her. Her makeup was a mess, both eyes swollen, and one cheek was visibly red and puffy–a clear slap mark.
Jonathan frowned and looked up at Niamh, his eyes darkening. “Did you hit her?”
“Yes, I did,” Niamh replied, her voice unwavering.
Jonathan’s frown deepened, new lines creasing his brow.
