His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 1

Niamh Rivers had been married for three years, and tonight was the first time she'd ever switched on the computer in Jonathan Thomas's study.

If it weren't for an urgent request—an important document Jonathan needed her to send—she might have gone her whole life without seeing the spreadsheet now open before her.

Every folder on Jonathan's computer was labeled in a language she couldn't read, but it was clear from a glance that they all held company projects.

Except for one. This folder was named with just two letters: MT.

Driven by a simple curiosity, Niamh double-clicked it.

Inside, there was a single Excel file titled—Revenge.

Niamh had grown up in a single-parent home. Her mother was in and out of hospitals, and by any measure, marrying the heir to The Thomas Group was a leap she'd never dared dream of.

Their story had started like something out of a romance novel—and for a while, it actually played out that way.

Jonathan had been in a car accident. The driver fled the scene, and it was Niamh who carried him to the hospital, who saved his life.

Then, out of nowhere, Jonathan appeared at the gates of her university.

It was Valentine's Day. He stood there with a bouquet of 999 blush-pink roses and confessed his love to her.

That year, the price of roses had skyrocketed, and Valentine's Day made them even rarer. A bouquet like that cost a small fortune. The entire campus was talking about it.

Niamh adored those roses, carefully arranging them on her nightstand—despite her flower allergy, which eventually sent her to the hospital.

But she never told Jonathan. So, every time they met, he brought her another bouquet of pink roses.

Before she could even graduate, Niamh had already married Jonathan and settled into life as a homemaker.

Jonathan was always busy, and he needed someone to take care of the house, someone completely devoted.

Her mother-in-law often reminded her that Jonathan had a sensitive stomach, that home-cooked meals were better for him, that a maid could never replace a wife's care, that a woman's duty was to run the household and raise children, and so on, and so on.

So, Niamh spent her days cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, and spent her nights fulfilling her wifely duties. Their lives barely intersected.

Now, this spreadsheet felt like a window into Jonathan's world. Niamh opened it, and rows of photographs popped up.

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