His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 340

“Who do you think you are? You’re bankrupt, and you still act like you own the place? Listen up—everything in this studio belongs to our bank now. If I say you can have something, then you can. Otherwise, don’t even think about it.”

Darius shot Niamh a vicious glare, then turned to Marina with a greasy, ingratiating smile.

“Here, take these. Sell them for scrap if you want.”

Marina feigned gratitude, her voice syrupy sweet as she thanked Darius. Without a trace of shame, she stuffed every design sketch—finished, half-done, all of them—into her briefcase, sweeping up the last traces of Niamh’s work.

That was the end. Niamh’s studio was officially finished. The court came and sealed the doors, red tape marking the death of everything she’d built with her own hands.

She watched, stone-faced, lips pressed tight, as it all slipped away. Her chest ached, sharp and deep, but she didn’t cry.

Lana, though, couldn’t help it—her eyes turned red, stinging with angry tears.

Marina, Lily, and Olive were all still there, and Lana refused to let them see her break down. She dabbed her eyes quickly with a tissue before a single tear could fall.

The three of them—Marina, Lily, Olive—were grinning, practically giddy at Niamh’s misfortune.

They left Pinnacle Tower together, their laughter echoing in the hallway.

Outside, parked by the curb, a royal blue Bentley stood out like a jewel.

The window slid down, drawing everyone’s attention to Jonathan in the driver’s seat.

“Marina, you really are lucky, aren’t you? Mr. Thomas himself came to pick you up!”

“Oh, please. Marina’s about to be Mrs. Thomas, future queen of the Thomas Group. Of course he dotes on her—everyone knows he’s obsessed.”

“You’re so right!”

Lily and Olive kept up the chorus, feeding off each other.

Lana was fuming. But the truth was, Jonathan and Niamh were divorced. Jonathan could parade around with Marina all he wanted; Lana had no right to say a word.

Jonathan didn’t like that smile. Not one bit.

“Lana, what do you want for lunch?” Niamh turned and asked, as if the world hadn’t just ended.

Lana stared at her, bewildered. Niamh’s studio had just been seized, and Marina had rubbed salt in the wound—how could she even think about eating?

“How about barbecue at Haven Eatery? My treat,” Niamh said, breaking into a radiant smile.

The name “Haven Eatery” made Jonathan’s stomach twist on reflex.

“Nia, are you really okay?” Lana whispered, looping her arm through Niamh’s, worried she was forcing herself to be cheerful.

“Studios, husbands—sometimes you have to let go of the old to make room for the new,” Niamh replied softly. She hadn’t meant for Jonathan to hear, but he did.

“Jonathan? Jonathan, are you all right?” Marina called from the passenger seat, but Jonathan didn’t answer. His handsome face only grew darker, clouded and unreadable.