The Officer's Runaway Wife & Secret Son novel Chapter 271

The rain in Brighton City was relentless that night, only showing signs of letting up in the early hours of the morning.

Rhys returned from Everton. The SWAT team's mission had been temporarily suspended. He took a brief rest before heading to the hospital at daybreak.

The hospital room felt tight with unspoken tension.

His grandfather hadn't woken up yet, an oxygen tube still running to his nose. On the sofa on the other side of the bed, Mia sat with her arms crossed, her expression dark.

Sitting in the chair right next to the bed was someone else.

Margot held a fruit knife, peeling an apple.

The red peel formed a long, continuous strip, dangling in mid-air, looking as if it were about to snap at any moment.

Seeing Rhys, she raised her eyebrows slightly but made no move to stand. "Finished with work?"

Rhys didn't look at her. He walked straight to Mia. "Aunt Mia, why haven't you gone back to rest? I said I'd take the shift today."

"I'd love to go back," Mia sneered, her gaze sweeping unreservedly toward Margot. "But some people insist on staying here, playing the role of the devoted granddaughter-in-law, refusing to leave. If your grandfather wakes up and sees her camped out here, it’ll spike his blood pressure all over again.The barb was obvious, but Margot just smiled, unbothered.

"Aunt Mia, I'm just worried about Grandfather."

"Who is your aunt, and who is your grandfather?" Mia wasn't buying it. "Has your illness confused your brain, or do you think the Huntingtons have forgotten everything? The man lying in this bed is a Huntington. The people standing here are Huntingtons. Do you know what your last name is?"

Mia had never liked her, but since their finances were intertwined within Brighton City's elite circle, they inevitably crossed paths. In the past, out of respect for Rhys, she had maintained a surface-level politeness with Margot. But ever since learning the rough details behind Clara's miscarriage and divorce, Mia had stopped pretending to be nice to her or Veronica West.

Margot didn't retort. The long strip of apple peel finally snapped, falling to the floor with a soft plop.

Rhys walked to the foot of the bed, checked the vitals on the monitor to ensure his grandfather was stable, and then walked to the window to crack it open.

He looked straight through Margot as if she weren’t there.

The damp, post-rain air squeezed through the gap, hitting his face with a chill that cleared his groggy mind a little.

The old Margot had her schemes, but she had at least appeared fragile and harmless. But in recent years—perhaps because Rhys's distance had made her panic—she had become increasingly unpredictable, her words bordering on unhinged.

"But I've been sick for so many years, too."

Margot continued, her face expressionless as she pressed a hand to her chest. There was an ugly scar there from her surgery.

"I’ve lived on medication. I’ve had more surgeries than I can count. I didn't plan that car accident, yet I haven't blamed anyone."

Mia stood up in anger. "Since your accident, what has the Huntington family not provided? Which of your father's projects didn't get Huntington funding? How many years did Rhys take care of you? Your life matters, but so did the baby Clara was carrying!"

At the mention of the child, Margot's eyes flickered.

She sat up straighter, her gaze shifting between Mia and Rhys.

"Speaking of children... Aunt Mia, I went to The Royal Crest Hotel a couple of days ago and bumped into Clara."