His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 100

Jonathan didn't try to stop her.

As Niamh neared the exit, a sleek black Mercedes cruised past. Jonathan rolled down the window and called to her gently, "Thank you for making the medicine."

Her shoulders jerked at the sound of his voice.

She watched the car slip away, growing smaller until it vanished into the night.

Gradually, Niamh's footsteps slowed. She couldn't tell if it was the weight of her legs or the heaviness in her heart.

It was late—nearing eleven now. The city had gone quiet, and even the subway had stopped running.

Alone, Niamh hailed a cab, making sure to note the license plate as she climbed inside.

After a short while, the driver glanced in the rearview mirror and said, "Miss, do you know the black car behind us? Feels like it's been following for a while."

Niamh turned to look, catching only a vague glimpse of a dark sedan trailing them. But it definitely wasn't Jonathan's Mercedes.

"I don't know them…"

"That's odd," the driver replied, his tone uneasy. "I swear, it's been on our tail for blocks."

The driver's words set Niamh on edge.

She quickly called Lana, asking her to come downstairs and meet her when she arrived, then gave the driver a different address—Lana's apartment.

Forty minutes later, Lana appeared outside the building, scanning the street before pulling Niamh into a quick hug.

Lana craned her neck, peering around. "Looks clear to me. No sign of any creepy black car."

"Hope so. Thanks, Lana."

"If you thank me one more time, I'm going to be offended."

"Okay, no more. Hey, is there anything to eat at your place? I'm starving."

"Just some instant noodles."

"Or… could you order takeout? I'm craving sushi."

"Now you're just pushing your luck!"

The two of them laughed, bantering as they made their way upstairs.

Beneath the dim glow of the streetlights, a black sedan crept out from the shadows. A Volkswagen Passat.

Niamh set down her drawing tablet and glanced at her chattering colleagues. The women were more excited about Jonathan's new living arrangement than Niamh had ever been.

"Are you serious? Does that mean they're getting married?"

"Of course it's true! Manager Thornton's super close to Jayne, right? Jayne said she's already moved in with Mr. Thomas. Honestly, it won't be long before we're calling her Mrs. Thomas instead of Manager Thornton."

"Wait, shouldn't it be Ms. Thornton?"

"No, no, Mrs. Thomas is right!"

The cluster of women debated what to call Marina, voices overlapping in a tangle of excitement.

Niamh stood and walked over to the water cooler, filling a cup.

She was the real Mrs. Thomas.

But no one ever called her that.

She remembered Jonathan's words from last night—how he'd assured her that he still belonged to her. Yet here he was, sharing their home with Marina.

Standing by the water cooler, Niamh sipped her drink. The taste grew more bitter with every swallow, her stomach twisting painfully as the voices of her colleagues buzzed in the background.