The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 722

Gwyneth fell silent.

Just over two weeks ago, when they first arrived, he had been so happy, excitedly planning their future life in Starfall City.

Now, in such a short time, all of it had turned to ash.

They were strangers living under the same roof.

When Gwyneth went into the bathroom to shower, she locked the door behind her.

She wasn't even sure what she was guarding against, but sharing a room with Hawthorne seemed to have triggered a defensive instinct, as if he were an intruder poised to invade her personal space.

Through the frosted glass, Hawthorne could vaguely make out the silhouette of a stunning woman.

Yet, with his mind heavy with troubles, he felt not a flicker of desire.

When Gwyneth came out, water droplets still clinging to her hair, she was wearing a conservative pajama set that covered her from neck to toe, having ignored the sexy lingerie she had bought earlier.

Hawthorne understood her message.

He walked toward her, and she watched him warily, like he was a thief.

Without a word, he picked up the hairdryer from the counter. "Your hair is wet. Dry it before you go to bed."

Gwyneth reached for it, but Hawthorne held it high above his head, just out of her reach. "I'll help you."

"No, thank you," she said, her voice cold and firm, but Hawthorne paid her no mind. "I'm just drying your hair, not touching you."

He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her to face away from him.

She was no match for his strength, and she didn't want to argue with him late at night.

The staff in the house had been hired by the patriarch and were notoriously gossipy.

If they fought tonight, her great-granduncle would know by morning.

Resigned, Gwyneth stood silently before the mirror and let him dry her hair.

Hawthorne finally lost his composure and grabbed her arm. "We don't have to do this. I'll take the sofa. You sleep in the bed."

He took the bedding from her hands before she could protest and laid it out on the sofa himself.

"Cover yourself properly tonight. You don't want to catch a cold."

With that, Hawthorne grabbed a change of clothes and left the room.

When he returned, he was already in his pajamas, and Gwyneth realized he must have showered in another room.

She didn't need to ask why.

As he had walked out earlier, she had noticed he was visibly aroused.

A faint blush crept up her neck.

Hawthorne glanced at her, his expression unreadable as he said, "I'm a normal man. I can't be expected to be indifferent when sharing a room with a woman."