I was the prime example of an understanding wife. The Supporting wife. The loving wife. The faithful wife. The trusting wife. I did everything. I gave my husband everything. Ten years of my life. My inheritance. My heart. And in the end, he repaid me with a suprise second family. He repaid me with A mistress and A daughter. That was the result of everything I ever gave him. But Here’s the thing—my husband thinks I’m stupid. He thinks I’m a fool, blinded by love. He mistook my loyalty for weakness. But he doesn’t know me. He underestimated the things I would do. He underestimated the thin line between love and hate. He underestimated me. And now, I crave revenge. He’s about to find out—revenge is a dish best served…with a glass of champagne to celebrate.
View MoreOne of the things I was a hundred per cent sure about was that my husband loved me. I was certain—how could he not? What was there not to love? Ever since I met him ten years ago, back when we were still at university, he had always shown me—always proved to me—just how much he loved me.
He built his company from nothing, shaping it into what it is today. Being his number one supporter of course, after my father passed away, since Ryan and I were already married, I transferred all my properties into his company, I let him handle everything so we could achieve what we have now... The Bennett Incorporation was built by my husband, Ryan Bennett. I was the happiest woman—no, the happiest wife—in the world. Since Ryan was always busy running the company, we decided to wait before having children. We agreed to hold off until we had reached a point where he could step back, let others lead, and have time for me, his wife, and our future children. So whenever he came home late, had to travel, or I didn’t see him for a week—I didn’t worry. I loved him. I trusted him. He would call me now and then. We had video calls. He surprised me with gifts. He gave me everything. Anything I wanted—I just had to ask, and it was mine. He loved me. I was sure of it. I was happy. I was a happy, married woman. I was the happiest woman in the world. That’s why it was a no-brainer. After staying a whole month at our vacation house—with Ryan only visiting once—I decided to surprise him by coming home. He hadn’t been coming back lately, and when he did, it was always late. He felt bad about it, so he suggested I go relax by the beach, at our vacation home. But he hadn't come to see me since—and I missed him. I wanted to see him. I wanted to spend time with him. I wanted to make love to him. I missed my husband. Sure, he called all the time—video calls, messages—but I needed more. I needed him. So, without telling him anything, I decided to surprise him. I knew I was the best wife in the world—this would make him happy. I didn’t use our jet because I knew it would alert him. I booked a first-class ticket back home. No one was at the airport to receive me, of course—no one knew I was coming back home. I was giddy the entire way, thinking about Ryan’s reaction when he saw me. I grabbed a taxi straight from the airport to our house. When we arrived, I had to enter the password at the gate since the system didn’t recognize the car. I didn’t know if Ryan was home, and asking him to open the gate would ruin the surprise. The taxi pulled in. The driver helped me unload my bags onto the front step. I paid him—gave him a huge tip—then turned to open the front door and walked into my home, the house I shared with my husband. Only… it didn’t feel like my house. It was the same house—but it had changed. Someone had redecorated. And it wasn’t just the décor. As I took a few more steps into the house, I began to notice paintings—portraits of a woman I didn’t know. A woman I had never met. Was she a celebrity? An artist? Who was she? Then I saw pictures of a little girl. She was beautiful. And she looked a lot like... But before my mind could finish that thought, I suddenly heard a voice. “Hello? Hello?” I turned around—and there she was. The woman from the paintings. The woman from the photographs. Standing right there in my house. I froze, completely confused. Did Ryan sell the house? I asked myself. But why would he do that without telling me? The woman’s voice broke through my thoughts again. “Hello? Excuse me, how did you get into my house? And who are you?” My mouth went dry. I stumbled over my words. “I... I’m sorry. My name is... My name is Monique Morford.” The woman seemed to catch her breath the moment she heard my name. I could feel the shift in her demeanour. I kept talking, trying to explain. “Maybe you know my husband—Ryan Bennett. Maybe he sold you the house. I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m just confused. I’ve been away, and I just came back, and this used to be our home. But now you’re here, and you’re saying it’s your house... I’m... I’m kind of confused. I should call him.” The woman was just about to say something when a little girl ran down the stairs. It was the same girl I had seen in the pictures around the house. She rushed toward the woman, shouting, “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”—laughing hysterically. The woman bent down slightly and said firmly, “I told you not to run on the stairs. You might fall and hurt yourself. Please stop running—we’ve already talked about this.” The little girl giggled and replied, “It’s not me! It’s Daddy! He’s chasing me!” The woman gave her a look—a mix of sternness and love. It was only for a moment, but it was clear how much she adored her daughter. The little girl looked about three or four—no older than five. I smiled at their interaction, even as my confusion still lingered. I reached into my bag, pulled out my phone, and was just about to call Ryan. Then, a voice sounded from the top of the stairs. “Rianna! Rianna! Where are you?” The little girl burst into even more laughter, spinning in place. But that voice… it sounded exactly like Ryan. Why would Ryan be here? It didn’t make sense. I instinctively took a step forward. The room went quiet, all eyes turning toward the sound as someone began descending. And then I saw him. Ryan. Coming down the stairs. My body went cold. I couldn’t move. What is Ryan doing here? If he didn’t sell the house… this woman… this child… it couldn’t be. No. I couldn’t think like that. Ryan wouldn’t—he couldn’t—do that. There had to be some kind of explanation. Maybe it was Ryan’s twin. Yes, I was being ridiculous. That had to be it. But then Ryan—his double, his twin, whoever he was—finally looked at me. Because until that moment, all his attention had been on the woman and the little girl, he'd looked at them with love and tenderness. He hadn’t seen me yet. But then… his eyes landed on me. He stopped. Froze. His expression changed. He recognized me. And that’s when I knew—it was Ryan. My husband. My trusting, faithful, perfect husband. Time seemed to stand still as Ryan and I stared at each other. But he was the first to recover. He continued descending the stairs, looking calm and composed, as if nothing was amiss. I stood frozen in place, watching him, with no idea what was happening. Just as he reached the last step, the little girl ran to him and wrapped her arms around his legs. “Daddy! Daddy! You didn’t catch me! You didn’t catch me—I won!” Ryan picked her up effortlessly, smiling down at her as he kissed her cheek. “Yes, you did, sweetheart. You’re a winner.” The little girl giggled and squealed, wriggling until he placed her down. Then she bolted off, her laughter echoing as she ran toward the kitchen, or what used to be the kitchen. The woman called after her, “No running, Rianna! No running in the house!” But the little girl just laughed louder. That’s when I saw her. Maria. She stepped out of the kitchen, the woman who used to be my maid. She started to say, “Madam, there is—” but the words died on her lips when her eyes landed on me. She froze. Her mouth parted, stunned. “Mrs. Bennett, you’re home…” she whispered. And then, nothing. No more Ryan’s voice cut through the silence. “Go back to the kitchen, Maria.” Maria flinched. Then turned and practically ran back to where she came from. There was no mistaking it anymore. This was my husband. That was his daughter. This woman..... who is she? And this house—this house that was mine—was it still mine? Was I dreaming? What the hell is happening here?I decided to tell him the truth."I don’t know."He looks at me, and I can see the disappointment in his eyes. He doesn’t try to hide it. I guess it wasn’t the answer he wanted.But even though I don't want to lie to him, also, it’s not like we’re together.“Look, Marcus,” I begin, reaching for something I don’t even have the words for. But he doesn’t let me finish my sentence. And maybe that’s for the best, because honestly, I have no idea what I was about to say.His mouth finds mine before I can form another word, rough, angry, aching. There’s no tenderness in it, just frustration and possession. And something else. Something almost like desperation.My breath catches as he pulls me closer, his hands firm on my waist like he’s trying to anchor me to this moment, to him, like if he lets go, I’ll drift straight into the arms of someone else. Into Ryan’s arms. And I want to tell him he’s wrong. That this....this tension, this fire, this madness is only his. But I can’t speak. Not when
I pulled away from him and crawled onto the bed. It felt like I lay on a cloud as I got settled on my back. It smelled like him: warm whiskey, sandalwood, and an unnamable scent I associated with sweet temptation and danger.While holding my stare, he slipped his pants off, and my cheeks grew warmer. He still wore black boxer briefs underneath. I swallowed as I glanced at his erection that strained through the fabric. Anticipation thrummed to life between my legs. He was so hard, and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.My body was still high on an orgasm, but as this man watched me, while he walked around the bed with darkness in his gaze, my pulse began to tremble in my throat. Goose bumps spread across my skin. My stomach tightened, and a noise of surprise escaped me when he grabbed my ankle and jerked me to the side of the bed.He grasped my thighs, parted them, and then let out a low curse. His gaze flicked to my face, hardening. “Are you going to fuck him when you get back?”
I brushed a hand across his neck and into the thick hair at his nape. He let out a quiet, tense breath. A heady warmth poured off his chest, and I absorbed it like an addict. My fingers laced through the soft strands, gripping a handful like I’d done every day.Feather-light, his hands skimmed up the backs of my thighs, and my pulse sparked like crackles in a fire. My breasts were bare beneath my towel, heavy and tight so close to his face. He only had to move his head to put his mouth on them, to relieve them of this pressure.His fingers grew firmer on my thighs, gripping the flesh, caressing it. Something tugged on my stomach from the inside as the fiery heat of his palms burned through my skin. Every squeeze sent a thrum between my legs, settling into an empty ache. My breaths came out ragged and shallow while he remained silent, as though what he was doing deserved his full concentrationMy stomach tightened as his hands inched beneath my cotton shorts, teasing the curve of my ch
I blinked. “Wait....what? Take them with me? To the Bennetts?”“Yes,” he said simply.“Marcus,” I scoffed. “They haven’t seen me in years. And you want me to just show up and say, ‘Hey, want to come back with me to my house where my charming husband stole everything from me and might potentially be dangerous?’ Come on. Nobody’s going to agree to that.”“Monique,” he said firmly, “if you want this plan to work, it has to include a few trusted people. You don’t have to tell your aunt or your cousin anything. Not unless your life is actually in danger, which, right now, it isn’t. We’re talking about backup. Presence. Witnesses.”I sighed, unsure, but listening.“Let’s just go there, what do you have to lose from the little trip?” he continued. “You see them. Spend two days with them. Get to know them again. Catch-up. Reconnect. Then you invite them to visit your home... tell them it’s for your family to meet each other, nothing more. Ask them to stay a few days or weeks. They’ll go back
Having come up with the plan, it was now just three days until the day we had agreed I would go back to the Bennetts, to Ryan, to my husband.I was in the bedroom, thinking Marcus was downstairs in his office. He had taken a few calls earlier, and I’d been too tired to do anything else, so I stayed back, relaxing. I was just coming from the bathroom, towel drying my hair, when the door opened and Marcus walked in.He looked tense.“I didn’t want to tell you this before,” he began, standing in the doorway, “because I didn’t want to startle you… or make you nervous.”I frowned, confused. He hadn’t even greeted me with a kiss properly. “I don’t understand,” I said. “What are you saying?”“Come. Sit down,” he said, stepping forward and gently taking my hand. He guided me toward the bed, helping me sit at the edge. His touch was steady, but something in his eyes said otherwise.“It’s about your plan,” he said.My frown deepened. “What about it?”“I’m not saying I don’t trust it. Or that I
I looked at him, a strange tightness growing in my chest. “Is he dead too?” I asked quietly. “Did he die before the two of you could make up?”Marcus blinked. His eyes widened slightly in surprise. And then....he laughed. Not a laugh of joy, but one filled with disbelief, maybe even a little bitterness.“After what he did?” he said, still shaking his head. “He deserted me and my mother. When I was old enough to really see what was going on, I saw the way he treated her, like she was nothing. And then he just left.”His expression hardened.“And even when my mom died… even when her family started arguing about who’d take me in, and someone, someone actually reached out to him to tell him she was dead. Gone and he didn’t even come to the funeral. He didn’t even acknowledge that he had a son.”He looked at me then, eyes sharp. “And you really think we could ever make up?”I didn’t know what to say. So I asked the only thing I could: “Is he still alive?”“Very much alive,” Marcus said, hi
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