His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 423

She could still remember that Valentine’s Day, when Elmer had driven her all the way to Coralis’ Nimbus Summit, perched on the 126th floor of Isabelline Tower.

That’s where she ran into Jonathan.

At the time, Niamh had naturally assumed Jonathan was there to spend Valentine’s Day with Marina.

But in reality, she never saw Marina at all that night.

Nor did she see Ramona.

Still, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, watching Jonathan appear at Ramona’s race today made her mind wander back to that dinner at Nimbus Summit.

Did Jonathan really invite Marina that day?

Or was it someone else…?

“Niamh… Niamh?”

She snapped back to the present, realizing only now that Preston had been calling her name.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You’re asking me? The race is over,” he replied, a little exasperated.

Niamh stood up, only to hear Preston ask again, “Should we go say hi to Jonathan?”

“Let’s not,” she answered, shaking her head.

Approaching Jonathan now would probably just bother him.

Standing beside her, Preston studied her face. Ever since Niamh had noticed Ramona might have been waving at Jonathan, she’d looked distracted, lost in thought. The feeling left a raw, uncomfortable scrape in Preston’s chest, like sandpaper against skin.

“Niamh… you don’t like Jonathan anymore, do you?”

She blinked, surprised by the abrupt question.

Her history with Jonathan… well, it could only be described as a tragic entanglement.

Loving him had brought her nothing but heartbreak.

She let out a quiet sigh.

Meanwhile, Jonathan was heading up the stairwell on the opposite side. The two of them passed through the bustling crowds without noticing each other.

Jonathan entered the lounge to wait for someone, his icy demeanor keeping everyone else at arm’s length.

“Sorry, did you wait long?”

A confident voice sounded behind him.

Jonathan turned and saw Ramona, now out of her racing suit.

It was the first time they’d officially met—not in a restaurant, not at some hotel, but here at the track.

She wore a sleek, slate-gray dress that hugged her figure in all the right places, a crimson wool coat draped casually over her arm. Her golden hair fell in loose, voluminous waves over her shoulders, and her skin looked almost porcelain-pale against the bold, sophisticated makeup she wore.

Jonathan couldn’t help staring at her face—though, for some reason, it made him think of Niamh.

Niamh, who never wore makeup like this—never anything so dramatic or mature.

Her look was always soft, always understated.