Todos os capítulos de The Wife He Couldn't Erase : Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

Lyara: I’d been on my feet since 3 pm, chopping, stirring, baking. My hands were raw from scrubbing the same spot on the counter for the third time. Five years of marriage, and I still tried to make everything perfect for him. Today was supposed to be different. Today was supposed to be good. I pulled the pregnancy test from my pocket again. Two pink lines. Faint, but there. My hands trembled so hard I nearly dropped it. Four months. I’d been keeping it secret, waiting for our fifth anniversary. I pictured Adrian’s face when I told him. The way his cold, grey eyes would soften. The way he’d finally look at me like I wasn’t just the quiet wife he tolerated. The door opened with a sharp click. I jumped, shoving the test back into my apron pocket. “Adrian? You’re early—” He wasn’t alone. “Father? Claire?” Adrian stood in the doorway with his father, Harold Cross, and his younger sister, Claire. Harold’s tailored suit looked like it cost more than my car. Claire’s designer heels c

Lyara: The sun was too bright. 10:17 am, and the city was already burning with heat and noise. I sat on the curb across from the bus stop, phone clutched in my hand like it might disappear if I let go. Seven hours. Seven hours since I’d heard those two men behind the dumpster. Seven hours since I recorded them talking about dumping a body at Ashworth Heights and framing Victor Ashworth. Choose yourself, Lyara. For once in your life, choose yourself. The last time I chose someone else, I ended up with nothing. No home. No husband. No mother. Just a positive pregnancy test and $200 to my name. So why am I still thinking about helping Victor Ashworth? I stared down at my phone. The screen glared back at me. Evidence that could ruin me or save a billionaire. My thumb hovered over the delete button. Delete it. Delete it now before you talk yourself into doing something stupid. If I kept the video and went to the police, they’d ask questions. Who am I? Where did I get this? Why w

Lyara: Seven days since I handed Ethan Ashworth the video and walked out of Ashworth Villa without looking back. Seven days of pretending my hands didn’t shake every time my phone buzzed. Seven days of telling myself I made the right choice when I refused to go to the police station or meet Chairman Victor. He didn’t need me. I need this job. I need to stay invisible. The video is gone from my phone now. I’d transferred it to Ethan in the villa driveway. “Let me take you to the station,” Ethan had said, his ice-blue eyes locked on me like I might disappear. “The chairman would definitely want to thank you personally.” “I’m not the hero here,” I whispered, stepping back. “And I don’t want to be the scapegoat when this blows up.” He didn’t let it go. He tried. Please. Just your name. Just your contact. I refused. Every time. “Don’t look for me,” I told him finally, my voice cracking. “If they find me, they’ll find a way to pin it on me. I have a baby to protect.” Ethan star

Ethan: The VIP wing was silent and sterile, all polished marble and soft lighting, nothing like the chaotic, antiseptic stench and frantic footsteps of the ER we’d just left. We stopped outside Grandpa’s room. My hand hovered over the door handle. Cold metal under my palm. “What if he hates me for this?” I whispered. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. Heather’s eyes met mine for two seconds. Then she looked down again. “He could never hate you, sir. Not for trying.” I took a breath and pushed the door open. The room was quiet except for the steady beep of the monitor. Grandpa lay propped up on pillows, an oxygen tube under his nose, face gaunt but eyes sharp. He saw me, and his face lit up. A bright, real smile. Despite the sickness etched into his skin, despite the pallor and the exhaustion, his smile reached his eyes. “Ethan,” he said, voice rough but warm. He spread his arms. I froze. Grandpa had never done that. Not once in 24 years. Affection from him came in c

Lyara: Light hit my eyes first. Harsh, white, light. I blinked against it, my head pounding like I’d been hit with a brick. The antiseptic smell filled my nose, and the faint beep of a monitor told me exactly where I was before my brain caught up. Hospital. Ethan’s face flashed in my mind: pale, terrified, carrying me through the ER doors. “Ethan?” My voice came out rough, barely above a whisper. The door opened at the same moment, and a woman stepped in. Early twenties, sharp blazer, folder clutched to her chest like armour. Her eyes flicked up to mine for half a second before dropping to the floor. “Who are you?” I asked, pushing myself up on my elbows. The movement made my stomach cramp, and I hissed through my teeth. The woman stopped, straightening her shoulders. When she smiled, it was warm, respectful, and practised. “I’m Heather Vale. Ethan’s secretary.” “Where’s Ethan?” I asked immediately. “He might be here soon.” She said. Her voice was calm, steady. Too s