His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 89

She'd been played for a fool.

Niamh turned to leave, but Preston Winslow blocked her path.

"Hey, you're already here—why rush off?" he drawled, grinning.

From the side, the guy who'd lost a bet to Preston chimed in, his voice thick with alcohol.

"Exactly! The moment you heard Jonathan was wasted, you came running. If I'd known you'd back out this easily, I never would've bet with Preston."

Niamh barely knew the guy—Zachary, was it?

"Told you Jonathan's got that irresistible charm," Zachary crowed, elbowing Preston. "Women throw themselves at him—especially this old has-been."

Preston gave Niamh a long, mocking look as he spoke. The lighting in the VIP lounge was dim, but he could still see the anger burning on her face.

Earlier that evening, after dinner with Marina, Jonathan had gotten a call from Preston. They'd ended up here, at The Gatsby Club.

Zachary, knowing Niamh and Jonathan were in the middle of a messy divorce, decided to make her the butt of his jokes. Halfway through his whiskey, he'd bet Preston that Preston couldn't get Niamh to show up. Loser had to down the entire whiskey tower in front of them.

"Sit down already," Preston slurred, tugging her toward the couch. "Nobody asked you to stand in the corner."

Niamh jerked her arm free, glaring at him.

Preston clicked his tongue. "Come on, admit it. You still care about Jonathan—so why pretend you're above it all? If you're going to make a fool of yourself, might as well go all the way, right, guys?"

The whole room erupted, laughter bouncing off the walls.

Jonathan quietly stubbed out his cigarette, glancing over at Niamh. The mix of humiliation and fury on her face vaguely amused him.

"As you can see, I'm not drunk. You can leave now," he said, his voice cool and clipped.

Another round of boozy laughter broke out.

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