Niamh Rivers frowned, her tone firm as she shot back, “An ex-husband is nothing compared to a true friend.”
Her words were crisp and decisive, but the flicker of guilt and inner conflict in her eyes did not escape Michael Burton’s notice.
Michael let out a cold chuckle, pouring himself another glass of whiskey over ice.
“You were never good enough for Jonathan Thomas. Divorce was a blessing in disguise for you.”
“I don’t need to be judged by someone I only met today.”
“Suit yourself.”
Michael downed his drink, then drove Niamh back to the TerraVita Recovery Center.
Niamh had assumed he wouldn’t bother getting out of the car, but to her surprise, Michael stepped out and walked her all the way to the entrance.
“I’m leaving now, but I have a parting gift for you.”
His narrow eyes crinkled into half-moons, and there was an almost gentlemanly warmth to his smile.
“I don’t need any gifts from you.”
Niamh was no longer fooled by Michael’s charming façade.
He waggled a finger. “I insist. When I want to give a gift, you’ll take it.”
Before she could react, he kicked away Niamh’s cane.
She crashed to the ground with a painful thud.
Michael burst out laughing, doubling over at the sight.
“Now that’s an elegant pose. Tell me—surprised by your gift? Did I catch you off guard?”
He crouched down, his gaze locking with Niamh’s furious eyes. The smile faded from his face.
“If you ever dare to compete with Marina for a man again, or try to take what isn’t yours, next time, I’ll make sure you get a far nastier gift—maybe your own eyes in a box.”
With that, Michael straightened up and strode out of the TerraVita Recovery Center, the picture of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, his silhouette deceptively refined.
Niamh managed to stand only with the help of a nurse.
She’d hated the idea of staying in this place, but after tonight, she figured she could live with it—as long as the state-of-the-art rehab equipment helped her leg heal faster.
—
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