The House Wife Had Secret Identities (Niamh Rivers and Jonathan) novel Chapter 191

Niamh staggered, convinced for a split second that Jonathan was about to push her off the roof. Her skin went cold with fear.

But Jonathan caught her in time, pulling her firmly into his arms.

She stared at him, wide–eyed, heart pounding.

Jonathan always wore some expensive cologne, a scent she’d grown familiar with over the years.

Tonight, he’d changed it.

This one was sharper, like glacial meltwater–crisp and biting, with an undercurrent of something dark and dangerous.

Niamh knew her heart wasn’t racing because of the embrace.

It was the aftershock, the adrenaline of fear not yet faded.

Jonathan held her tight, both of them still teetering on the edge of the rooftop. One wrong move, one misstep, and they’d both topple eighty stories down to the street, nothing left but broken bodies.

Niamh didn’t dare move a muscle. She let him hold her, tense as a statue.

The wind picked up, cold and insistent.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

“Is this what you wanted?”

Jonathan’s voice was icy, as if his words could frost the air.

Niamh didn’t answer.

“A messy divorce, lawsuits, The Thomas Group’s stock in free fall, someone’s forced to the edge-”

Before he could finish, Niamh shoved him away.

Jonathan felt the jolt in his chest, but his reflexes kicked in–he caught her wrist, refusing to let her slip.

Anyone watching would think they both had a death wish, grappling at the edge like this. But it was Jonathan’s accusation that made Niamh furious.

“What would I gain from driving one of your employees to suicide? If I wanted to

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force anyone off this roof, it’d be you, not them.”

She glared at him, bristling like an angry cat. Jonathan Just shrugged and grinned.

“Is that just anger talking? Or do you mean it?”

“Every word.”

The way Jonathan’s grin widened told Niamh he didn’t buy it.

“It doesn’t matter what you intended, or who leaked what. The second you and I went to court, this was inevitable. Niamh, the guy who jumped today–Jared–he’s Prescott’s cousin…”

Niamh’s eyes went wide.

“He was saved, thank God. But he wasn’t the only casualty–layoffs, pay cuts, demotions… The Thomas Group falls apart, and it’s not just you and me. It’s families, people’s lives. Have you thought about that?”

“So what are you trying to say? That all this is my fault?”

“Can’t we just… not get divorced?”

For the first time, Jonathan’s voice was soft. Not cold, not commanding–almost pleading. For a moment, Niamh wondered if she was imagining it.

The evening breeze swirled between them, stealing away any lingering warmth.

Niamh clenched her fists.

There was a time she never imagined things would come to this with Jonathan. The day she married him, it never even crossed her mind.

“From the moment Marina came back from abroad, from the day I lost the baby… you should’ve known. There’s no saving this marriage.”

Niamh looked at him, at the man in front of her–older, more striking than she

remembered.

Maybe she was the one who’d made the mistake.

She’d fallen too hard, clung too tightly to childhood promises, first love, the sweetness and hope of it all.

Even now, she still couldn’t shake off the memory of the reckless boy who once stood up for her in that youth detention center, the idealized image refusing to shatter.

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But the girl she’d been back then was long gone from Jonathan’s memory.

“We can get divorced,” Jonathan said, his voice returning to its usual chill, snapping Niamh back to the present. “But not now. And not in court.”

“If you hadn’t demanded three billion from me, I wouldn’t have been forced into this

corner.”