His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 531

Jonathan couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret.

But it wasn’t about letting Niamh hit him. That wasn’t it at all.

What bothered him was the sinking suspicion that, in Niamh’s eyes now, his looks might be his only redeeming feature. And if she messed up his face, he’d lose even that fragile advantage.

Niamh, for her part, kept her word and let Jonathan inside.

The apartment was small, the atmosphere heavy—almost suffocating.

She didn’t avoid him, but her expression was so dark, Jonathan’s chest tightened with anxiety.

“You went to city hall?”

“I did.”

Niamh’s clipped reply was loaded with anger, sharp enough to sting.

Jonathan rubbed his thumb against his forefinger, wrestling with how he could possibly explain any of this to her.

From the very start, divorce had never been part of his plan.

He knew Niamh loved him, once.

Staying married had been his way of leaving a door open for her, a safety net in case she ever regretted leaving—especially after tasting the harshness of the world outside.

But now, to his utter shock...

He was the one filled with regret.

That door he’d left open for her had become his own lifeline.

He gazed at Niamh, his eyes warm and bright, brimming with emotion.

He used to think Niamh was like a kite in his hand—he could let her drift as far as she wanted, confident he could always reel her back in whenever he pleased.

But those were words he couldn’t say to her. If he did, they’d only give her another reason to resent him. Yet if he kept silent, she’d likely misunderstand him in an even worse way.

Niamh grabbed a bottle of cold mineral water from the fridge.

Jonathan frowned immediately.

“You know that’s not good for your stomach, drinking cold water like that.”

Her hand paused mid-air, but then she stubbornly gulped down half the bottle, right in front of him.

Jonathan’s frown deepened.

The chill of the water snapped her out of her tipsiness, clearing her head.

“I don’t want the shares.”

Jonathan shook his head.

“Then what do you want?”

“You.”

Suddenly, Jonathan stepped in, bracing his arms on either side of her against the wall, trapping her in the circle of his strong arms.

Niamh’s back pressed against the cool wall; in front of her, Jonathan was so close she could feel the heat radiating from him.

Behind her, the wall was icy. In front, Jonathan’s breath was warm and ragged.

She caught a faint, crisp scent rising from him—something cold and clean, hovering between natural musk and cologne.

Jonathan’s eyes locked onto hers with the intensity of a predator, fierce and possessive, and yet beneath that hunger was a depth of tenderness and restraint.

Niamh was silent for a moment, then let out a cold laugh.

“You make it sound like you didn’t register the divorce at city hall just because you couldn’t bear to let me go.”

“I couldn’t bear it,” Jonathan said quietly. “I couldn’t bear to divorce you.”