His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 639

Stared down by Jonathan's intense gaze, Niamh instinctively pulled away from his grasp.

“You and Lana are different…”

“How are we different?”

“Lana and I share so many precious memories that are hard to let go of…”

“And we don’t have anything between us?”

Jonathan’s question involuntarily brought an image to Niamh's mind: Jonathan from his time at the Juvenile Rehabilitation Center.

That young, boyish face overlapped with the mature, masculine one before her.

Did she and Jonathan have precious, unforgettable memories?

Of course they did…

“But you don’t remember…”

“What?” Jonathan didn’t understand what she was talking about. “What don’t I remember?”

Niamh didn't answer the question.

“Lana hurt me once, unintentionally… but you hurt me countless times, and you did it on purpose.”

A roar filled Jonathan’s ears.

“That’s the biggest difference between you and Lana… I’d rather give her another chance than ever give one to you.”

A look of grim finality surfaced in Niamh’s hazy, drunken eyes.

Her words were like a bucket of ice water, chilling Jonathan to the bone.

He fell silent for a long time before ordering a whiskey and downing it in one go.

Niamh, too, felt a surge of irritation, though she couldn't pinpoint its source.

She ordered another drink for herself, a vodka, but Jonathan snatched it from her hand just as she took the first sip.

Her face was flushed, and she was sweating, a light-headed, floating sensation taking over. She thought she wasn't drunk. She also thought she was walking in a straight line, even if her feet felt like they were treading on clouds.

In reality, Niamh’s path was a drunken serpentine, weaving more erratically than a winding road.

From the moment she left the bar, she hadn't taken a single steady step. After just a few feet, her entire body pitched forward.

Jonathan lunged and caught the teetering Niamh in his arms.

The heavy scent of alcohol wafted from her, mingling with the smell of liquor on him.

“I’m not drunk… Don’t touch me…”

Jonathan looked down at the woman in his arms. She was muttering defiant words, yet her eyes were already squeezed shut. Her heavy eyelids refused to lift, only her long lashes fluttered like the delicate, trembling feathers of a frightened fledgling. Her once-pale cheeks were a tempting shade of red, as if brushed repeatedly with blush. Her lips, slightly parted and exhaling the scent of alcohol, looked like freshly washed cherries still glistening with water droplets.

Jonathan could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Perhaps due to the alcohol, his body was also sweating, his temperature surprisingly high.

Jonathan carried the completely wasted Niamh out of the bar. Prescott was sitting in the driver's seat of the space-gray Koenigsegg. He was startled when he saw Jonathan emerge carrying Niamh, then quickly realized she was drunk.