Unmasking Mrs. Newton's Secret Identities novel Chapter 1816

"Clover, you understand better than anyone the huge shift it takes to go from being a pampered little princess to becoming an independent woman and a mother. But you made it through, and you did it with grace. You're strong, and you're lucky too because you crossed paths with me.

"But as for your Mommy… I'm not sure she's as fortunate. So, whenever she finds herself lost, you have to stay by her side. Don't let her go through what you did. Understand?" Taylor spoke earnestly.

With her tongue lolling out, Clover panted and glanced around, completely oblivious to him.

"You little rascal!" Taylor huffed, grabbing her head and turning it to face him.

He squished her cheeks as he grumbled, "Just because you're feeling better, do you think you can act like you don't know me? Have you forgotten who's been taking care of you, feeding you, and cleaning up after you this whole time?"

Clover snorted, her tail wagging even faster.

Despite her defiant attitude, Taylor couldn't help but laugh. He pulled her close and rocked her gently, a smile tugging at his lips. "You're just like her—always going against me!"

"How's Clover doing today?"

Just then, Abigail's voice echoed from the doorway.

Taylor's eyes snapped open in surprise. He quickly let go of Clover and stood up, bowing his head as he stepped aside. "Ms. Fitzgerald, you're here."

"Yes," Abigail replied softly, stepping into the room.

She crouched beside the bed, gently stroking Clover's head. "Clover, did you miss Mommy?"

In stark contrast to her behavior with Taylor, Clover was incredibly attentive to Abigail. She eagerly nuzzled Abigail's hand, the very picture of loyalty and affection.

A pang of jealousy shot through Taylor's chest, but as he noticed the exhaustion in Abigail's eyes, his concern swiftly overshadowed the feeling.

"Clover's been very well-behaved and cooperative with the treatment. But Ms. Fitzgerald… you look exhausted. Is everything alright?"

Before Abigail responded, she let out a deep sigh.

…

Back in the hotel room, Jenson slipped off his jacket, preparing for a shower.

Without a word, Germaine took the jacket from him. She casually draped it over her arm as she headed toward the bedroom to hang it up.

A tailored jacket like that was delicate; even the slightest wrinkle could ruin it, turning a piece worth tens of thousands into something practically worthless.

After a bit of searching, Germaine finally found the right hanger for the suit. As she shook out the jacket, a business card slipped from the pocket, landing at her feet.

Bending down, she picked it up and took a closer look—it was Alice Thatcher's business card.

Just then, Jenson burst into the room, shirtless. "Hey, babe, have you seen my underwear?"