When His Perfect Mask Shattered I Awoke (Anneliese) novel Chapter 567

Jessica didn't notice anything wrong at first. The more she rambled, however, the more the scene twisted into focus. Jonathan's eyes weren't gloomy at all. Not wounded. Not insecure. In fact, there was a sharp gleam in his eyes, like someone who had just fished up valuable intel.

Her expression cooled, eyes narrowing into slits. "So that was all a performance, Mr. Fullbuster? Fishing for information, were you?"

Since the mask had already been ripped off, he didn't bother scrambling to fix it. He practically shrugged with pride. "Your generosity is appreciated, Ms. Sweeting,"

She nearly choked on pure regret. Why on earth had I wasted sympathy on a corporate shark? Too late to stuff the secrets back into the vault—the man had pried every last detail out of her like she was handing out coupons.

Annoyed, she spun around, muttering to herself. If she'd known he was this calculating, she would've zipped her mouth shut. With acting skills like that, he didn't even need her help—Anneliese wouldn't stand a chance against him in a battle of emotional strategy even if Jessica never said a word.

Before Jessica could escape completely, Jonathan called after her, voice calm but carrying the weight of a promise. "Consider this a debt, Ms. Sweeting. If the day ever comes when you need a hand, I won't turn you down."

A favor from Jonathan was rarer than a discount on Wall Street—nobody passed that up. Her steps halted as the value of that promise sank in. Free advantages didn't fall from the sky often; she'd be a fool to kick this one away.

She pivoted, meeting his gaze with a slow, measured nod. "Fine. I'll hold you to it."

Nishay rested in deep, unshaken slumber, her breathing quiet and steady. Maisie's assistant remained alert at her bedside like a silent sentry, so attentive that Anneliese had no place to intervene.

There was nothing for her to do but wait. When she was told there'd be no waking until morning, she slipped out, careful not to disturb the room's fragile calm.

When she returned to the master suite, she found it half-lit and silent. Jonathan wasn't inside. Only the rush of water behind the bathroom door suggested life in the quiet space.

She grabbed a pillow and the blanket, tucking them under her arms, and headed for the door. She'd barely gone a few steps when the sound of running water abruptly stopped. Her pace quickened, heart thumping, but before she could slip out, a deep, gravelly voice cut through the room. "Where do you think you're going?"

She froze, refusing to turn around. "I'm crashing with Jess tonight. Just gonna talk for a bit."

The sound of wet footsteps closed in, deliberate. She forced herself forward, yanking on the doorknob as if ignoring him would make him disappear. But it didn't. A wet, warm hand pressed against the door, blocking her escape.

The steam hit her next, wrapping the room in heat, followed by the sharp, clean scent of minty soap and shower water that seemed to swirl directly from him, pressing in from every side.

"Darling… planning to move out on me? And what happens after that?" The words barely registered before her skin prickled—the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck sent a shiver down her spine.

Before she could even finish, a sharp click cut through the air. Jonathan's hand had threaded past her waist and snapped the lock into place, shutting her in.

The bedroom was flooded with bright light, every corner illuminated. His feet were bare, planted firmly on the floor. Water droplets clung to every ridge of his sculpted muscles, catching the light as they traced down his taut form.

And he didn't flinch, didn't even attempt modesty—legs apart, standing there as casually as if being completely exposed was the most natural thing in the world.

Even with their past intimacy, nothing had ever hit Anneliese like this. Seeing him so exposed, so undeniable—it stole the air from her lungs. Her face flamed instantly, heat rushing to her ears.

She couldn't help but suspect he was deliberately teasing her, testing her resolve with a kind of mischievous charm she had no defense against.

"My wife's trying to escape. Do you think I had time to throw on clothes?" Jonathan watched her struggle behind her hands, ears flushed scarlet, and didn't seem even a little embarrassed.

"I said, put something on! I won't leave this room!" she stammered, panic mingling with indignation.

He let a crooked smile curl his lips. "Why so tense? You've seen this before."

"Enough!" she barked, flailing upward to press her palm over his mouth, desperate to silence him.