His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 568

After all, Niamh was only meeting with the Quinns because they wanted her out of the picture so Ramona could become Mrs. Thomas. It was all about Jonathan. Prescott didn't think there was anything worth investigating, but an order was an order.

He watched as Niamh, after giving Hayes and Carlotta a piece of her mind, stormed back to her white BMW 3 Series and sped off.

"Should we follow her, sir?" Prescott asked.

Jonathan's deep-set eyes tracked the disappearing car.

Niamh drove fast, fueled by a simmering rage. She had thought she was finally putting certain things behind her, but fate just had to drag the Quinns back into her life.

Trying to distract herself, she scanned the streets. Suddenly, she spotted Preston Winslow standing in the middle of a crowd. It was getting dark, and the group looked like they were setting up for a street race.

Slowing down, Niamh pulled over to the curb, her attention now fixed on Preston. "Don't tell me he's actually going to race here."

As if on cue, her phone rang. It was him.

"Preston?"

"Niamh! You'll never guess where I am…"

She watched him through her windshield, phone pressed to his ear. "You're in Coralis."

"Damn! How'd you know?"

Niamh suppressed a laugh as Preston continued, undeterred. "Okay, but you'll never guess what I'm doing in Coralis!"

"You're about to get into a street race."

A few minutes later, Ramona crossed the finish line with a decisive victory.

"Tch!" Preston clicked his tongue in frustration. He'd been practicing hard lately and had hoped he might get lucky and beat her for once.

The surrounding crowd was mostly made up of Ramona's racing fans. As the “Speed Queen” of Coralis, she was a regular at both official and unofficial events, clearly thriving on the thrill and the attention.

Preston climbed out of his car, looking utterly dejected. "Alright, you're good. I know when I'm beat. Name your price."

Before the race, Preston had boasted that if he lost, Ramona could ask him to do anything she wanted.

Ramona strutted over to him. She wore a bright red t-shirt, a black leather skirt, and colorful thigh-highs, with a cascade of waist-length, golden blonde waves. She looked less like an heiress and more like a rebel with a cause. She met his gaze and smiled brightly.

"I want your shares in The Winslow Group. All of them."