The House Wife Had Secret Identities (Niamh Rivers and Jonathan) novel Chapter 337

Lana’s words left Niamh with a storm of tangled emotions.

She could feel it now–she’d been set up, plain and simple.

Every trending headline, every swarm of online trolls–she was always their sole

target.

Apart from The Thomas Group, which had publicly and swiftly distanced itself from her, the others–Michael’s Burton Global Education, Julian’s Neville Corporation, even Peter’s FY–had all suffered collateral damage from the scandal.

After everything blew up, only Peter reached out to her. Julian and Michael vanished without a word.

Niamh didn’t blame them. With the scandal at its peak, staying silent was probably the smartest way to let the outrage die down.

Still, it stung. No one had stepped forward to clear her name. The only one to make a public statement was The Thomas Group, and all they did was sever ties with her. So, naturally, the internet’s fury and malice landed squarely on her shoulders.

“Nia, you’re not thinking of doing anything drastic, are you?” Lana blurted, draining her beer and giving Niamh’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

These days, stories of people driven to depression or even suicide by online harassment were all too common.

Those keyboard warriors could destroy lives with just a few strokes, never caring to know the full story. The truth didn’t matter to them at all.

They got their entertainment, and when the outrage faded, they just moved on–meanwhile, the person at the center of it all was left picking up the pieces.

“Don’t worry, I can handle it,” Niamh managed, forcing a faint smile.

This time, though, the fallout was massive. Her own studio was feeling the

pressure.

“Oh, by the way–did you and Jonathan really split up? The Thomas Group put out a statement and everything.” Lana’s eyes were sharp, zeroing in on what she cared about most./

Niamh nodded. “Yeah, it’s over.”

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She remembered she still needed to get the divorce papers certified at the embassy–only then would it be legally recognized in Aldonia.

After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up her phone and dialed Jonathan.

At that moment, Jonathan was at Haven Eatery, grilling skewers over an open

flame.

Barbecue was perfect for a cold winter night–though spicy food was the last thing Jonathan’s stomach could handle.

“Jonathan, you really don’t have to force yourself. If you don’t want barbecue, I can go somewhere else with you,” Marina said, feigning concern as she handed him a piece of grilled meat.

The place was authentic–Jonathan had come here with her before and ended up in the ER with stomach pain.

But Marina loved the food, and tonight she’d deliberately chosen this spot. Sure, there was a mild broth option, but the spicy one dominated–and it was easy for

the two to mix.

She knew if Jonathan agreed to eat here, it was for her sake, not for the food.

It was just dinner, but to Marina, it was proof–Jonathan would do anything for her.

“I’m fine. As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters,” Jonathan replied, voice steady.

His stomach was starting to ache again.

Prescott hadn’t brought his medication since yesterday–Jonathan knew full well those pills were something Niamh had prepared herself, and there was only a week’s supply left.

He reached for his phone out of habit. When he saw Niamh’s name on the screen, a faint, sardonic smile tugged at his lips.

“Hello?”

“Jonathan, it’s me… Niamh…”

Before she could finish, Jonathan let out a dry, mocking laugh, as if he’d been expecting her call all along..

“Regretting the divorce already?”

Marina, who’d been enjoying her food, froze mid–bite. She instantly realized who

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was on the other end of the line.

Jonathan knew exactly what Niamh was up against. The online attacks were the least of it–after losing her reputation, the massive compensation claims coming her way were what could finally break her.

“Since you’re my ex–wife, I could give you The Thomas Group’s dividends in advance–if you ask nicely,” Jonathan said, his smile tinged with something almost wicked.

The silence on the line stretched on and on.

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