Michael studied the sharp angles of Jonathan’s profile. There was no mistaking it—Jonathan was dead serious.
“Alright then… But if you ever regret divorcing Niamh, you’re not allowed to go after her again.”
—
Nocturne Royal Jewels Studio.
The moment Niamh arrived at work, she noticed the odd looks Natalie and Sophia were giving her.
Quentin was curious too, but compared to the burning gossip fire in the girls’ eyes, he kept himself in check.
Niamh knew exactly what Natalie and Sophia wanted to ask.
If she were just Jonathan’s wife, there wouldn’t be much to gossip about. But she’d never once let it slip, and on top of that, Jonathan had always—subtly or not—helped her rival, Marina.
The tangled mess between her, Jonathan, and Marina was exactly what drew Natalie and Sophia in.
Still, she was their boss; unless she brought it up herself, neither of them would dare to ask outright.
Frankly, Niamh would rather her team focus on their work than waste time on privileged love triangles.
Just then, a man in a cheap suit—sleazy, balding, and oozing desperation—knocked on the office door.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Niamh. Does she work here?”
He’d called her out by name; Niamh stood up.
“…Bagot Rivers?”
She stared at the man’s face, stunned.
“Hey now, is that any way to speak? Call me Uncle.”
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: His Housewife Had Secret Identities