The Villainess Needs a Hug (Ivy Windsor) novel Chapter 350

His medical expertise was second to none–he was known as a miracle worker in the field of surgery.

The surgeon who operated on Dale’s little niece was said to be a renowned specialist too, though he kept a low profile.

That fit Jamison’s description perfectly.

But the real question was, when did Jamison realize that she was Mrs. Smith?

And after he found out, why did he keep pretending not to know, carrying on their online chats behind a different screen name?

There was even a stretch when, under the alias “Dr. Handsome,” he flirted with her online–while also pursuing her in real life.

Playing two roles at once, what was he thinking? Was he testing her loyalty, her choices?

Her phone buzzed again.

Dale: Mrs. Smith, are you still there?

Ivy snapped back to reality. Sorry, I’ve got something to take care of. Let’s chat

later.

Dale: Oh, okay.

She set her phone down, her mind in a muddle.

She stared at the man still asleep in her bed, unsure how to face him once he woke

1. up.

Should she just confront him outright?

After a moment, Ivy dismissed the thought.

If Jamison wanted to pretend he didn’t know, she could play along. She’d see who could keep up the act longer–and who would slip first.

Why he was hiding things didn’t even matter anymore.

Whatever happened, she wasn’t the one getting the short end of the stick.

After all, when they got their marriage license, he’d handed over five million in cold,

hard cash.

Chapter 350

“Ivy…”

The quiet room was suddenly filled by his soft, groggy voice.

Ivy froze, then got up and walked over.

“You’re awake?” Her feelings were a tangled mess, and her tone came out cool.

Jamison had woken up, but his eyes were bleary, his energy drained.

“Could you get me some water?”

The fever had left him dehydrated; his throat was raw and burning.

Not feeling well, he didn’t notice the shift in Ivy’s mood or how distant she’d become.

“Sure,” she replied, heading to pour a glass of water. She even slipped in a straw–he’d find it easier to drink that way, lying down..

She knelt by his bedside, holding the cup and guiding the straw to his lips.

As Jamison gulped down the water, Ivy just watched him quietly, her thoughts still churning.

This man was sharp–calculating, even. Impossible to read.

She’d always prided herself on her smarts, but somehow he’d seen through her from the start, and she had no idea how she’d given herself away.

Jamison was so thirsty he drained the glass in no time. Ivy asked, her voice detached, “Want some more?”

“I’m good.” He let his face sink back into the pillow, though his gaze still followed her across the room. “What are you up to?”

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