His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 92

This wasn't Lana's place.

Nor was it her own apartment.

But the ornate ceiling above her wasn't unfamiliar.

That crystal chandelier—it was her mother-in-law's choice.

She was at Jade Peak Pavilion.

The place she and Jonathan had once called their marital home.

For a moment, Niamh struggled to process what she was seeing.

She glanced under the covers.

She wasn't wearing a thing.

"You threw up all over yourself. I got rid of your clothes."

Jonathan's voice came from the master bedroom doorway. At the sound of him, Niamh jolted upright, heart pounding.

His eyes were as dark as ink. Jonathan stepped inside and handed her a set of pajamas.

Niamh slipped on the pajamas underneath the covers, which made Jonathan give a cold little laugh.

"Afraid I'll look?"

She didn't answer, and Jonathan chuckled again, amusement tinged with mockery.

She had no idea how she'd ended up here.

Had Jonathan brought her back?

He'd said she'd thrown up on herself—she remembered that, vaguely.

But now her skin didn't smell of anything unpleasant. In fact, there was a faint scent of peppermint body wash.

Jonathan liked peppermint, so she always bought that kind.

Did that mean Jonathan had bathed her after she passed out drunk?

After all, unlike Thomas Manor, Jade Peak Pavilion didn't have any staff.

Niamh's cheeks flushed hot. She felt like she had a thousand questions for Jonathan, but whenever she tried to speak, the words wouldn't come.

In the end, it was Jonathan who broke the silence.

"Do you know who the guy was—the one you hit with the wine bottle?"

Niamh stiffened. She hadn't had a chance to explain what happened, but if Jonathan knew about it already, there was no hiding the details—he'd find out everything if he wanted to.

Apparently, for Marina, Jonathan was willing to change anything.

The day blurred by, the glass façade of The Thomas Group's headquarters glowing gold in the setting sun.

As she wrapped up her work, something felt off.

Jonathan hadn't left his office once all afternoon. He hadn't even called for coffee.

That wasn't like him at all. Niamh drifted closer, peering through the frosted glass—his office was empty.

"Mr. Thomas?" she called from outside the door.

No answer.

"Mr. Thomas? Are you in there?"

She knocked, sharp and urgent.

Still nothing. The silence inside was absolute, unsettling.

A wave of unease swept over her.

Without thinking, Niamh pushed the door open.