His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 609

In the capital city of Coralis, Jonathan’s dark grey Koenigsegg wound its way up the mountain road, heading toward the location Ramona had sent him. The entire area was private land. Like Aldonia, land in Coralis could be privately owned, and Jonathan knew that the whole of Mount Roc, where he was now, belonged to the Quinn family.

He scanned the road ahead, looking for a familiar car—the imperial blue Bentley that now belonged to Niamh. He had wondered if she would call him. As her assistant and driver, he would have been the logical choice to drive her to Coralis for the party. But the call never came, and he hadn’t reached out to her either. His intuition told him that Niamh’s connection to the Quinn family was something she was keeping hidden.

When he reached his destination, he immediately spotted a white BMW 3 Series parked in the lot. Niamh was really here, but she hadn’t come in his old car.

Jonathan’s sharp brows furrowed. It seemed Niamh only drove his former car when she was attending events as the CEO of The Thomas Group. Was she not only disgusted with him, but with his possessions as well? He sighed, got out of his car, and began searching for her.

The only building on Mount Roc was the private residence of Ramona’s grandfather. Jameson Quinn, the oil tycoon of Coralis, had used his monopoly to steadily expand his influence, eventually becoming the most powerful capitalist behind the country's throne. He was Hayes Quinn’s father and Ramona’s grandfather.

For a man of his stature's 70th birthday, Jonathan had expected a bustling scene, with a stream of dignitaries and celebrities arriving to pay their respects. To his surprise, the estate was eerily quiet, almost deserted. After presenting his invitation to the guard at the gate, he walked inside.

Jameson Quinn was Niamh’s biological grandfather, but as she faced him, her expression was cold, as if she were looking not at a relative, but an enemy.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Niamh extended her hand, palm up. Jameson remained motionless, his eyes fixed on her open palm. After a long, tense silence, he took something from a nearby table and handed it to her—a picture frame.

“Your fate has improved…” the old man’s raspy voice barely reached Niamh’s ears before she turned to leave. She had gotten what she came for; there was no reason to stay.