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Chapter 8: Living With a Stranger
Data de publicação:
2026-09-02 17:14:45
Último capítulo
The Wife He Loves to Hate Chapter 11: The Marriage Rules
I discovered something very strange about my marriage that morning. Apparently, husbands and wives in this house didn't behave like a married couple. They behaved like polite, distant roommates who occasionally shared a hallway. I stood in the corridor, staring at two separate heavy mahogany doors. My bedroom. Liam’s bedroom. Right next to each other. Completely separate. I frowned, taking a step forward and knocking on his door. No answer. I knocked again, louder this time. "Lee?" The door swung open. Liam stood there, already impeccably dressed in his charcoal suit for work. He looked down at me, his eyes cool and neutral. "What?" "Why do we have separate bedrooms?" He stared at me for a beat, his eyebrows pulling together. "You’re asking me?" "Yes." "Abby, you’ve been sleeping in that room for years." "I don’t remember those years, Lee!" That shut him up immediately. His rigid expression softened for a brief, vulnerable fraction of a second. He looked at me—truly looke
The Wife He Loves to Hate Chapter 10: The Family Dinner
Dinner at the Montgomery mansion was surprisingly normal—at least for the first ten minutes. Charlotte sat right beside me, enthusiastically recounting a drama that had unfolded at her school. Apparently, one of her classmates had snuck a live frog into the classroom inside his lunchbox. "That sounds absolutely terrifying," I commented, taking a sip of my juice. "It wasn't!" Charlotte protested. "It was a frog, Charlotte. Cold, slimy, four legs." "It was cute, Mommy!" "Four legs!" Charlotte giggled, shaking her head at my dramatic reaction. Across the table, Liam shook his head in amusement. "Are you really afraid of frogs, Abby?" I glared at him. "I am not afraid of frogs." "You screamed your lungs out when you saw one in the garden once," he noted smoothly. I stared at him. "When?" "When we were kids." "That doesn't count!" "You climbed onto a metal folding chair." "I was protecting my life!" "From a tiny green toad?" "It could have been toxic!" Charlotte burst int
The Wife He Loves to Hate Chapter 9: Charlotte’s Pancake Disaster
I decided that if I wanted Charlotte to trust me, I needed to start somewhere. Breakfast seemed like a safe, low-risk entry point. How hard could pancakes be? Apparently, extremely hard. I stood in front of the high-tech stove, staring down at the pan in sheer disbelief. The first pancake was already a terrifying shade of midnight black. I poked it with a spatula. It made a solid, metallic clack sound—reminding me of someone knocking on a thick wooden door. "Okay... that’s not good." I flipped it anyway. The other side was somehow worse. I sighed and dropped it onto a porcelain plate. One down. I could still salvage this. The second scoop of batter went in. I turned down the heat. Too low. I cranked it up. Too high. Smoke began to curl gently toward the ceiling. "Why do you hate me?" I whispered to the pan, staring at it like it had personally betrayed my trust. Behind me, soft, tiny footsteps padded across the marble floor. I quickly straightened up, throwing the spatula over
The Wife He Loves to Hate Chapter 8: Living With a Stranger
I woke up the next morning in a bedroom that apparently belonged to me—at least according to everyone else in this giant mansion. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and walked into the walk-in closet across the room. I opened the first door. Shoes. Stiletto heels in every shade imaginable. I opened the second. Bags. Designer purses so expensive they looked like they needed their own personal bodyguards. "This is ridiculous," I muttered, picking up a pair of black heels with soles so high they looked like a public safety hazard. "Why would I buy these?" I checked the label, did a quick mental currency conversion, and realized I had apparently paid enough money for these shoes to feed a small family for three months. I put them back immediately, feeling personally offended by my future self. The next section was filled with dresses. Silk, satin, backless cuts, plunging necklines. Ten years ago, I owned jeans, sneakers, oversized hoodies, and approximately three dresses. Apparently, thirty-ye
The Wife He Loves to Hate Chapter 7: My Jealous Husband
The moment we left the restaurant, Liam didn’t say a single word. Not one. He opened the passenger door for me, waited until I stepped inside, and shut it with a firm click before walking around to the driver’s side. As he started the engine, I turned to look at him. He stared straight ahead at the road, his jaw set in a rigid line. I leaned in a little closer, searching his profile. Still nothing. A slow, playful smile spread across my face. Oh, this was going to be fun. “Were you jealous?” I asked, tilting my head. His hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel. “No.” “You definitely looked jealous.” “I was not.” “Then why did you come all the way there?” “Like I said before, I happened to be nearby.” I raised an eyebrow. “Really?” Silence. I turned my body toward him. “You drove forty minutes.” “I had a meeting.” “With whom?” “Someone.” “Very convincing, Mr. Montgomery.” Liam let out a heavy sigh, his grip on the wheel turning his knuckles white. I cover
The Wife He Loves to Hate Chapter 6: The Man from My Past
I stared at Edward Fox’s name on my screen for nearly five minutes before finally agreeing to meet him. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. In my memory, Edward was a quiet college student with cheap glasses and an oversized jacket—the brilliant, impoverished boy who always carried a stack of heavy textbooks. My father had funded his scholarship because he was so impressive. I remembered passing him in the university hallways. A polite nod. A brief exchange of pleasantries. Nothing more. Certainly nothing that explained why my husband looked like he wanted to murder him, or why Edward was texting me as if we were close. The restaurant was impeccably elegant, perched on the top floor of a skyscraper—the kind of place twenty-year-old me would only see in movies. I sat near the window, nervously sipping my water. Five minutes later, a man stepped through the entrance. I almost didn't recognize him. He was tall, impeccably dressed in an expensive dark suit, and carried himself with
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