The President's Accidental Wife novel Chapter 198
Summary for Chapter 198: The President's Accidental Wife
What Happens in Chapter 198 – From the Book The President's Accidental Wife
Dive into Chapter 198, a pivotal chapter in The President's Accidental Wife, written by Floria. This section features emotional turning points, key character decisions, and the kind of storytelling that defines great Billionaires fiction.
Mark forced his fist on the steering wheel and said in a deep, gloomy voice. "When will you be normal again?"
"I am normal now," Summer said flatly.
Damn it! How he wished he could ravage her and rip that damn expression off her face.
He turned the steering wheel to the left and looked at her. "Let us talk tonight," he said, spelling out the words.
Summer ignored him and looked out of the window listlessly. She did not think there was anything to talk about between them.
Just then, a cell phone rang and Mark picked up his. It was Harry, his assistant. "Mr. Valentine, the meeting started half an hour ago. When will you be back?"
"Halt the meeting for half an hour," he ordered in a deep voice, and then hung up.
Earlier, when the meeting first started, he saw his assistant hid a newspaper behind him, and the principal of the school called at the same time. His secretary asked if he would like to answer it.
There was only one reason for the principal to call him, and that reason was Summer.
Fearing that something might happen to Summer, he answered the phone, not expecting that the principal asked about Yvette.
He was puzzled, and then the principal explained that it was Yvette who called him in the afternoon, saying that Summer was unwell and asked for a leave of absence.
Things became clear to him when he associated it with that newspaper.
He immediately left the meeting and drove back to the Valentine mansion.
During the class in the afternoon, she noticed that the seat in the last row by the windows was vacant. That seat belonged to Jazz.
Thinking about what happened at noon, she could not help worrying about him.
The last two rows were usually vacant. But today, several female students, all unfamiliar faces, were sitting there.
She frowned in suspicion. The principal never told her that there would be transfer students this semester.
"You don’t seem to be a student in my class," she asked one of them.
"I am from Class Ten," the girl replied, blinking her eyes.
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