When His Perfect Mask Shattered I Awoke (Anneliese and Zacharias) novel Chapter 570

Anneliese's patience finally detonated.

Her eyes flew open as she hissed, "Are you done?"

Jonathan didn't flinch—if anything, his brows lifted with theatrical innocence. "Honey, I'm freezing."

She nearly laughed from disbelief. "I left you a whole blanket. Right there. For you."

He blinked at her, genuinely—or very professionally—confused. "A blanket? I must have missed it."

A deep, murderous silence followed. He honestly expected me to swallow that lie? He'd thrown the thing into exile himself, and the evidence was literally lying on the floor like a crime scene exhibit.

Yet, he delivered that nonsense with the ease of a man reciting the weather forecast. "Make room," he murmured, not requesting permission so much as announcing an invasion.

Before she could tighten her defensive cocoon, he slid close, pressing a chilled jaw into the warm curve of her neck.

Anneliese didn't speak. She just buried herself deeper in the quilt, a silent riot of defiance.

He ignored it entirely. Instead, he upped the assault, gently biting the tip of her nose as though marking territory. "Come on, honey. I don't share a bed with my wife and then sleep under different blankets like we're strangers."

She almost yelped. At this rate, he was going to leave a set of dental evidence right on her face. Tomorrow she'd show up in front of Nishay with suspicious bite marks, and the old woman would absolutely combust.

And Anneliese was tired—too tired to keep fighting. Exhaustion and self-preservation teamed up, and eventually she surrendered, loosening the cocoon she'd been clinging to.

"Such a well-behaved little treasure." His voice curled with satisfaction before it ever reached a smile. A quick kiss landed on her mouth, nothing demanding—just a claim stamped in passing—then he peeled open the covers and slipped straight into the soft warmth that still smelled like her.

Warm sheets, her scent, her body close enough to touch. That, apparently, was all the triumph he needed. With the lights cut to darkness, he settled down without trying to conquer new territory, his palm landing on her back in slow, lulling strokes.

"Close your eyes," he murmured. "Rest."

Anneliese obeyed in appearance only. Her lashes lowered, but her whole body stayed tight, every muscle wired awake.

Jonathan sensed it instantly. The stiffness, the way she braced like she might bolt if she could. His hand slid down until he caught one of hers, folding her fingers into his warm grip, his thumb stroking gently as if coaxing memories out of her skin.

His voice dropped low in the dark. "So… there's truly nothing left in that head of yours about me?" His words didn't come out angry, but they dragged a bruised ego behind them. He wasn't exactly wallpaper, after all.

…

Back then, Anneliese had already been old enough to keep memories instead of letting them evaporate. Children at ten didn't live with blank minds, and they'd crossed paths more than once. Yet she stared at him now like he was a stranger pulled from a crowd.

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