His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 163

After accepting her trophy, Niamh didn't remove her helmet until she reached the door of the locker room.

The women's and men's changing rooms were on opposite sides of the building. This late at night, she had the place to herself.

She strode in wearing her racing suit and emerged a few minutes later, back in her own clothes.

Racing wasn't just about the prize money; it was the one thing that let Niamh blow off steam. The adrenaline rush of pushing a car to its limits, the sheer thrill of nailing a hairpin turn, and the satisfaction that came with crossing the finish line first—just thinking about it made her grin long after the race was over.

By now, night had fallen completely.

Outside the international circuit, crowds who'd watched the race were trickling out. The parking lot gradually emptied, until not a soul was left.

But an Oriole-yellow Lamborghini stayed parked on the curb, unmoved.

Preston Winslow had been sitting inside for nearly half an hour.

He couldn't get the image out of his head: the moment at the locker room door when Katarina took off her helmet. His heart still hammered in his chest, thumping wildly as if it might burst.

"How could it be…?"

He muttered, baffled.

"How could Katarina… actually be Niamh?"

The next morning, Niamh didn't head to the office right away. Instead, she drove to Marisport.

There was a law firm in Marisport with a reputation: rumor had it that Flynn Sinclair, one of its partners, had never lost a divorce case.

Things hadn't panned out in Aldenville, so Niamh figured she might as well try her luck here.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Rivers—even for a consultation, you'll need to book in advance. Attorney Sinclair is fully booked until the start of next year."

"Until next year?" Niamh stared in disbelief.

Then again, these days, divorce cases kept every law firm in business. Clearly, there were plenty of people eager for a split and not having much luck with it.

"Niamh…" Quentin hesitated, tripping over the new familiarity. "I know you don't really like these social things, but… our studio's just getting started. Shouldn't we be, you know, a bit more proactive? Maybe I'm overstepping, but I want us to do well. If we upset Mr. Brown right off the bat, I'm just worried…"

He didn't need to finish. Niamh understood.

"…Alright. Call Mr. Brown for me—tell him I'll be there for the dinner, right on time."

As soon as she said it, Quentin's eyes lit up.

Maybe it was just the enthusiasm of his first real job that made him so invested.

Niamh gave a wry smile, thinking to herself: Surely Quentin's not worried the studio will go under before it's had a proper chance?

Quentin hurried back to his desk and, hiding behind his computer monitor, pulled out his phone to send a quick WhatsApp message.

Marina was driving when her phone buzzed with a new notification.

Waiting at a red light, she glanced down to see a message from Quentin—just two words: