His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 66

As soon as Marina disappeared into Jonathan's office, Niamh lost interest in eavesdropping. She didn't want it to look like she cared too much.

Did she care?

Of course she did.

Forcing herself to act indifferent, Niamh returned to her desk and tried to focus on work.

She'd barely settled in when Preston Winslow emerged from the office. Niamh guessed he didn't want to play the third wheel between Jonathan and Marina.

"Homewrecker."

Preston's voice was casual but sharp as he passed her desk.

Niamh's gaze flicked up, cool and unbothered. "If anyone's a homewrecker, it's Marina."

Preston had been halfway down the hall but spun back at that. He planted both hands on her desk and leaned in, looming over her with the kind of natural intimidation that came from years of getting his way.

Back when Niamh spent most of her days at home, busy with pots and pans, she'd only vaguely known Jonathan's friends. She'd assumed they barely knew her, too.

Now she understood—Preston genuinely disliked her.

"The one who's not loved is the real homewrecker," he shot back, voice icy.

But Niamh just smiled, bright and unfazed. "No, Preston. The one who doesn't get the ring is the real homewrecker."

Preston jabbed a finger in her direction, frustration simmering. "Let's see how long you keep that attitude."

When he finally stalked off, Niamh slumped in her chair.

Now, as she slipped into the familiar rhythm of sketching, Niamh's mind drifted from whatever Jonathan and Marina might be doing behind those closed blinds. Not that she'd really forgotten. She just forced herself not to care.

Lunch break crept up before she realized it. Marina sauntered out of Jonathan's office, deliberately leaving the top buttons of her blouse undone.

She stopped short, seeing Niamh slumped over her desk, fast asleep, a half-finished design resting at her elbow.

When Jonathan finally emerged, the office was empty except for Niamh, still dozing, clearly exhausted.

A small smile played on his lips—the kind of smile that always seemed to say things he'd never bother to put into words. Right now, if he could speak his mind, he'd probably tease, "First day on the job and you're already wiped out?"

Prescott returned just then, hesitating awkwardly when he saw Jonathan standing by Niamh's desk.

"Prescott…" Jonathan called out as he brushed past him, voice low and casual, "You've got the AC cranked up way too high."