His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 420

“Didn’t you order any takeout for yourself?”

Niamh noticed that Jonathan’s hospital room was completely devoid of food.

Jonathan’s sharp gaze fell on the large, three-tiered lunch carrier in Niamh’s hands.

“I thought you cooked something for me,” he said, his voice cool and distant.

Niamh was taken aback, glancing awkwardly at the lunchbox she was holding.

“This? Oh—this isn’t for you.”

“Then who’s it for?”

There was no mistaking the interrogative edge in Jonathan’s tone.

Niamh frowned.

“Who I made it for doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t have anything to do with me?”

Jonathan tried to sit up, but the pain from his stitches stopped him cold.

Worried he’d tear his wound, Niamh hurried to fetch a doctor. The doctor sternly reminded Jonathan to rest properly and not get worked up.

Jonathan lay back down, looking utterly defeated, as if life had lost all meaning.

Niamh never imagined a meal she’d cooked herself could upset Jonathan this much. He’d eaten her cooking every day before and never seemed especially fond of it.

“…Just go.”

Jonathan’s words came so abruptly, they caught Niamh off guard.

“There’s no need for you to come tomorrow, either.”

Niamh blinked, feeling as though she’d just been fired by her own patient.

Without saying a word, she left Jonathan’s room.

Before leaving the hospital, she stopped by the chief physician’s office to check on Jonathan’s recovery.

Word got around that Jonathan had hired another caregiver, and Preston, curious, decided to visit.

He found Jonathan looking like someone owed him a fortune.

“So, are you the one looking after Jonathan now?”

“No way! I’m completely useless at that kind of thing. Marina’s there with him.”

Niamh’s eyes flickered. From the start, Jonathan never should have asked her; Marina was the obvious choice.

But she could guess Jonathan’s reasoning. He’d never want Marina to handle something so tedious and exhausting. As for her—well, Jonathan had always treated her more like a housekeeper than a friend.

Niamh gave a silent, bitter chuckle.

“Oh, by the way, Niamh—mid-next month, can you save a day or two for me?”

Preston’s question piqued her interest.

“What for?”

“There’s a car race in Coralis. Want to come with me?”

“Coralis?” Niamh’s lashes lifted in curiosity.

“Yeah. I heard there’s some up-and-coming racer there—supposed to be amazing, and a woman, too. Oh, and get this—she shares your last name. Quinn.”