His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 77

Niamh really didn't want to shower first.

She was always on her guard around Jonathan.

Here at Thomas Manor, if Jonathan truly intended to do something to her, even for her grandfather's sake, she'd have a hard time resisting.

She remembered the last time Jonathan had forced himself on her; she had fought him with everything she had, but in the end, it hadn't made a difference.

Jonathan was typing away at his laptop. When he noticed Niamh still hadn't moved, he glanced up, his eyes meeting hers.

For a split second, Niamh felt as if he could read her every thought.

Jonathan smiled—an unusual sight, as his cold eyes softened, curving into a sly, dangerous crescent.

Before Niamh could say a word, he stood and strode into the bathroom first.

The sound of running water echoed from behind the door, and Niamh finally let out a sigh of relief.

Jonathan took much longer in the shower than usual. By the time she finished sketching an entire design draft, he still hadn't come out.

And now, there wasn't even the sound of water. It was quiet—almost as if no one was in there at all.

A flicker of worry crept in. Had Jonathan slipped and passed out? But knowing him, that hardly seemed possible.

"Jonathan?" she called softly, approaching the bathroom door. She knocked. "Are you alright?"

Silence.

She turned the handle; the door wasn't locked. Niamh pulled it open.

Jonathan's tall frame blocked the doorway, stopping her in her tracks. She nearly collided with his bare chest.

He was fresh from the shower, a towel slung low around his hips, water still dripping from his hair. His chiseled abs caught the light, radiating masculine strength, while the damp strands of hair gave him an undeniable sensuality.

Niamh froze in place.

Jonathan, too, seemed surprised to find her standing there.

"Worried about me already?" he teased, voice low.

When she finally changed into her pajamas—a silky white camisole set, trimmed with delicate lace at the neckline—she felt awkward. Whether it was her grandfather's instructions or the housekeeper's idea, the outfit was far more revealing than she would have chosen herself.

Thankfully, Jonathan was already in bed, turned away from her.

It was well past midnight, and Niamh was exhausted. She slipped into the opposite side of the bed.

The bed was large. Though they shared it, there was a comfortable distance between them—neither touched the other.

She turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

Jonathan's breathing was deep and steady; he was clearly asleep. But even after such a long day, Niamh found herself wide awake, staring into the night.

She was only woken the next morning by her own alarm. When she opened her eyes, she felt drained, barely rested.

Jonathan woke up too—she wasn't sure if the alarm had disturbed him as well.

Back when things were different, she would always set the alarm, get up first, prepare breakfast, press Jonathan's suit, shine his shoes, and only then wake him gently.