His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 140

Marcus's eyes went wide, but he managed to keep his composure. He quickly reached out and shook Jonathan's hand.

"Mr. Thomas, it's a pleasure. I've heard so much about you."

Marcus knew who Jonathan was. What he didn't know was that Jonathan was Niamh's husband.

So…

Did Mr. Neville know about this?

That thought set Marcus's mind spinning.

If Julian didn't know, then all his efforts to win Niamh over had been for nothing.

But if Julian did know…

Then he was chasing a married woman?

And not just anyone's wife—Jonathan's.

This… was explosive.

Marcus wiped the nervous sweat from his brow.

Niamh, standing nearby, was surprised. In three years of marriage, this was the first time Jonathan had ever openly acknowledged her as his wife outside of situations where it was strictly necessary.

She couldn't shake the feeling that Jonathan was up to something.

Outside the bistro, Prescott watched as Jonathan pulled out a chair and took the seat right beside Niamh. The moment he saw that, Prescott knew there'd be no lunch today with Mr. Wallace.

Mr. Wallace wasn't anywhere near Jonathan's level, but Jonathan had promised to meet him for lunch. When they left the office, Jonathan still hadn't changed his mind.

But as soon as Jonathan spotted a white BMW 3 Series parked outside the restaurant, everything shifted.

Prescott watched him linger by the car for a moment, then walk inside.

Seeing Jonathan had no intention of leaving, Prescott immediately called Mr. Wallace to cancel their lunch plans.

Inside the restaurant, Marcus found a convenient excuse to slip away early. He needed to think about whether to tell Julian what he'd just learned. Plus, he had no interest in sitting through lunch with that kind of tension hanging in the air.

Niamh walked Marcus to the door, promising they'd reschedule.

"You've lost weight."

The words brushed past her ear, soft and fleeting. Niamh looked up to see Jonathan slicing his steak with effortless grace, every movement deliberate and refined—like something out of a painting.

She must have misheard him.

Jonathan couldn't possibly care about her.

And the fact that her heart skipped a beat at his casual concern was even more ridiculous.

By the time she'd nearly finished her meal, Jonathan finally spoke again.

"You're planning to start your own business?"

"Yeah…"

"Don't."

The knife and fork slipped from Niamh's fingers and clattered onto her plate.