The House Wife Had Secret Identities (Niamh Rivers and Jonathan) novel Chapter 34

Niamh ignored Preston Winslow entirely, her gaze locked intently on Jonathan. He stared right back at her, unwavering.

That look in his eyes–cocky, rebellious, untouchable–it was exactly the same as the one he used to give her back at the Juvenile Rehabilitation Center.

Back then, when Niamh was just beginning to understand what it meant to fall in love, she had absolutely no defense against that gaze. The memory of her fluttering heart in those days was still vivid, no matter how much time had passed.

But now…

Niamh let out a weary sigh. “If you’re that embarrassed, just sign the divorce papers. Once we’re divorced, it won’t matter if I end up begging on the street or collecting bottles for spare change–it won’t have anything to do with you.”

At that, Preston Winslow, who’d been standing nearby with his arms crossed, rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t fall over. “Come on, could you be any more pathetic? Begging on the street, picking up bottles… Just hearing you say that is enough to make me sick. Poor Jonathan–he’s probably about to lose his lunch.”

Annoyed by Preston’s constant chatter, Jonathan gave him a shove, sending him off to join Marina and the others.

Jonathan took a step closer, his tall frame looming over Niamh so completely she almost felt swallowed up by his presence.

Behind her back, Niamh’s hands clenched together in a tight, nervous knot.

Normally, she would have backed away. But today, a strange surge of anger kept her rooted to the spot, though she couldn’t have said exactly what she was angry

about.

So she didn’t move.

Now the two of them stood face to face, so close that if not for the tension in their eyes and the stubborn set of their mouths, anyone passing by might have mistaken

this for an intimate moment.

Marina watched from the sidelines, anxiety gnawing at her. She was secretly glad Jonathan thought Niamh had embarrassed him–nothing would please her more than for Jonathan to detest Niamh. But the sight of the two standing so close, as if

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Jonathan might lean down and kiss Niamh at any second, made her stomach twist with jealousy.

She dug her nails into her evening gown, nearly tearing the fabric, but forced herself to stay quiet–she knew that if she spoke now, she’d only risk drawing Jonathan’s

ire.

For Niamh, the pressure of Jonathan’s nearness was almost suffocating. Her heart flipped in her chest, and a nervous sweat broke out along her brow and temples.

“So you’d rather beg on the street, collect bottles for change… than stay married to me?” Jonathan’s voice was low and calm, but something in his tone made Niamh

feel as if he was about to devour her.

She half–expected him to slap her. Of course, Jonathan had never raised a hand to her. He wasn’t the kind of man who hit women–Niamh was certain of that. No

matter how much he might have changed, no matter how much he might have stopped loving her, he’d never become that kind of monster.

The silence stretched on, the tension between them growing heavier by the second, until finally Jonathan’s lips curled in a slow, almost lazy smile, his eyes crinkling at

the corners.

“Even if you do end up begging on the street someday, I’ll still be your husband.”

A shiver ran down Niamh’s spine, a wave of goosebumps prickling her skin. There was no way to take Jonathan’s words as a declaration of love–he certainly hadn’t meant them that way. If anything, it made Niamh more sure than ever that Jonathan was deliberately refusing to let her go. He didn’t love but he wouldn’t

set her free either.

”

She wanted to argue, to fight for the divorce, but just then Jonathan’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, then strode out of the hall, already speaking briskly

about business.

As soon as he left, Niamh felt all the tension drain from her body, leaving her exhausted and slightly dizzy

Nearby, Lily and Olive exchanged a look. Sensing that Marina’s spirits had sunk because of Jonathan and Niamh’s obvious connection, they prepared to swoop in and throw a few insults Niamh’s way–anything to cheer up Marina.

But before they could approach, a uniformed employee hurried over, breathless.

“Excuse me, are you Miss Rivers?”

Niamh nodded, watching as the employee handed her something.