His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 39

Niamh's heart skipped a beat when she saw Jonathan.

He had a presence that was impossible to ignore; just by standing there, he managed to silence both Lana and Julian completely.

But the way Jonathan looked at her, it was obvious he wasn't here by chance. He hadn't come to mingle—he'd come for her.

He didn't say a word at first, just stared at her with such intensity that she felt as if his eyes were needles, pricking her nerves and making her uneasy.

"You had someone dig into my background…"

Jonathan finally spoke, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion.

Before Niamh could admit or deny it, he grabbed her arm and pulled her up from her seat.

Lana and Julian weren't about to just sit there and watch Jonathan drag her away.

"I don't want an audience when I'm talking to my wife," Jonathan shot back, shutting them down with a single sentence.

The two friends fell silent, unable to argue. As Jonathan strode ahead, pulling Niamh along with him, Lana and Julian struggled to keep up and soon fell behind.

He didn't let go, not even as they entered the elevator. His grip was ironclad, and no amount of struggling could break it.

Inside, Jonathan pressed the button for the 77th floor. Niamh knew that was where the hotel suites were.

She didn't ask what he wanted or where they were going. She doubted he'd answer anyway, and there was no point in wasting her breath.

It took a while for the elevator to reach the top floor. Jonathan swiped a keycard, opened the door, and all but pushed Niamh inside.

The suite was enormous—easily the most luxurious room in the Michelin Three Keys Hotel, the kind reserved for presidents and celebrities.

As soon as she stepped inside, Niamh sneezed. Jonathan's voice came from behind her.

"FY has notoriously high standards for their staff. How did you manage to get hired?"

She turned her head away, avoiding his scrutinizing gaze.

"I got the job the usual way. Applied, interviewed, got accepted."

Jonathan let out a short, humorless laugh.

She had no argument left. Against Jonathan's relentless logic, Niamh always came up short. Maybe he was right—maybe he'd never done anything wrong. Maybe the only one to blame was her, for falling for him so completely.

Her long nails dug into her palms, leaving angry red marks, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.

Noticing her red eyes and trembling frame, Jonathan let out a quiet sigh.

"I didn't come here to fight with you today…"

His gaze landed on her arm, where his grip had left a bright red mark on her pale skin. With a frown, he finally seemed to realize how hard he'd held her.

Without another word, he disappeared into the suite and returned a moment later holding an enormous bouquet of scarlet roses.

Now Niamh understood why she'd sneezed when she first walked in.

"If you went to the trouble of investigating me, then you should know I haven't cheated on you…"

Standing there with the roses, Jonathan looked every bit the picture of romance, but his sculpted features were set with a seriousness that left no room for doubt.