From His Wife to His Uncle's Wife novel Chapter 277

To Eleanor, Peter Clarkson getting married barely registered as a blip on her radar. It was just another piece of gossip, nothing more.

Not that anyone seemed willing to believe she didn’t care.

Jessie Goff caught her outside the office, blocking her path with all the determination of someone on a mission. Eleanor sighed and led her into a coffee shop, glancing at her watch. “You’ve got three minutes. Go.”

Jessie slid an invitation across the table. “I’m getting married.”

“It’s tomorrow,” she added, as if that fact might somehow carry weight.

Eleanor let out a sharp laugh. “So what? You think I’m going to send a gift to my ex-husband and his side chick?”

Jessie smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “Eleanor, I know you hate us. I know you don’t like me, and you think I stole Peter. But did it ever cross your mind that you were just standing in for me all along?”

She leaned in, voice dripping with smugness. “I’m replacing you. There won’t be a trace of you left in that house. Even Olga will forget you. Still, I hope you’ll be happy. I’d love your blessing.”

Eleanor clapped slowly, the sound echoing her sarcasm. “Wow. Jessie, you really are something. Always playing the victim and the villain at the same time. Impressive.”

She lifted her coffee, took a measured sip, then smiled sweetly. Without warning, she tossed the lukewarm contents straight at Jessie.

“Oops. My bad. I’m not interested in your trashy wedding.”

Eleanor stood and straightened her jacket. “But still, I wish you both the best. Honestly. A cheater and his new girl? Perfect match. Hope you last forever.”

She didn’t even glance back as she walked away, leaving Jessie sputtering and soaked.

Jessie had strutted in hoping to show off, but now she looked like a drowned cat. She screeched, furious, and glared at the curious onlookers who were already whispering.

“What are you staring at?”

Red-faced, she grabbed her things and bolted, probably wishing she could disappear.

...

Meanwhile, at The Clarkson Estate, Max was halfway through dinner when George summoned him into the study.

“About tomorrow’s wedding,” George said, his tone heavy, “keep it low-key. Don’t make a mess of things.”

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