All Chapters of The Wife He Loves to Hate: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The first thing I heard was crying—a child's soft, desperate crying. Then it grew louder, accompanied by tiny hiccups that made my head ache.I slowly opened my eyes to a blue, clear, and bright sky. I blinked several times, trying to remember where I was. The last thing I remembered was falling, Liam screaming my name, and the ground disappearing beneath my feet before darkness swallowed me whole.But there was no pain.I lifted my head and froze. The forest was gone. Instead, I was lying on a patch of grass beside what looked like a small neighborhood park. My heart began beating faster. Where was the school? Where was Liam?"You're awake."I turned toward the voice. A little girl stood beside me, no more than six or seven years old. She had long brown hair, pale skin, and enormous eyes filled with tears, wearing a pink dress beneath a small white cardigan. The moment our eyes met, her face brightened."Mommy!" Before I could react, she ran toward me and wrapped both arms arou

The moment we arrived at the mansion, I barely had time to take in my surroundings. The heavy front doors swung open, and a woman in her forties hurried toward us. "Charlotte!" Charlotte immediately reached for her. The woman took the little girl from Liam's arms, looking her over with anxious eyes. "Are you all right, sweetheart? Did you eat?" After Charlotte nodded, the woman’s eyes flicked to me. For a brief second, her gaze held a flicker of hesitation before she quickly looked away. I caught it instantly—she seemed nervous around me, just like Charlotte had been at first. Liam handed his car keys to a staff member standing nearby. "Take Charlotte upstairs." "Yes, Mr. Montgomery." The nanny gently took Charlotte's hand. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you changed." Charlotte looked back over her shoulder. "Mommy..." I offered her a soft, reassuring smile. "It's okay." The moment Charlotte disappeared around the landing, Liam’s demeanor shifted entirely. "Come with

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

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

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