Todos os capítulos de The Invisible Wife: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 7

My husband told me he had no money to save my father's life. But he just spent a fortune on a fireworks display for his ex-girlfriend. I stood in the doorway of Julian's home office, my hands trembling as I held up the gold-embossed invitation. "A welcome home gala for Isabella," I read aloud, my voice hollow. "Fireworks over the harbor. Champagne fountains. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?" Julian didn't even look up from his laptop. He sat behind his massive mahogany desk, looking every inch the untouchable billionaire CEO. "It's a business expense, Clara," he said, his tone clipped. "Isabella's father is a major investor. We need to make a good impression." "A business expense," I repeated, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Three weeks ago, I was on my knees in this exact room, begging you for a fraction of that money to pay for my father's heart surgery. You told me the company was broke. You told me you had nothing to spare." Julian finally looked up. His dark eyes w

I was standing in the middle of Damien Thorne's private art studio, staring at a blank canvas, when my phone buzzed. It had been six hours since I walked out of Julian's mansion. Damien had given me an entire wing of his estate, with high ceilings, perfect natural light, and every art supply I could ever dream of. His staff had carried my single suitcase upstairs without a word, as if women fleeing billionaires arrived every day. I had already changed into jeans and a paint-splattered shirt. For the first time in five years, I felt like I could breathe.The wedding ring was still on my finger. I twisted it off and set it on the glass table beside my phone. It left a pale band of skin, a stripe of five years. Then the phone buzzed again, and I looked at the caller ID.Julian. Fourteen missed calls, and now a fifteenth.I stared at the screen as it shuddered against the glass. I should have ignored it. But a dark, vindictive part of me wanted to hear what he sounded like when I wasn't t

My father had cut the headline out of the newspaper and taped it to his breakfast tray. He had drawn a mustache on Julian's photograph."Dad." I set my bag down as the guard Damien had assigned closed the door behind me. "You're not supposed to be reading the news.""I'm not supposed to be doing a lot of things." He patted the bed. His voice was thin, but his eyes were sharp, clear for the first time in months. "Sit. Tell me which part is true.""None of it.""Good. Then tell me the part that isn't in the paper."I sat. For five years, I had told him only that I was happy. He had believed it because he wanted to, and I had let him. "The money for your surgery," I said. "It wasn't Julian's. I asked, and he said no."My father's hand stilled on the blanket."I sold a painting. A big one. I thought, finally, someone sees it." My throat tightened. "It was Julian. He bought it through a shell company and handed it to another woman to sign."The heart monitor ticked, steady, steady, as if h

Julian didn't let go of me when the last firework faded. "Car," he said into my ear, his smile fixed for the photographers. "You're coming home.""The deal was one night.""The deal was that you'd be my wife." His grip tightened above my elbow. "Richard Crane spent ten minutes whispering at you. I want to know what he said.""Ask him."He walked me toward the black sedan at the curb, brisk and affectionate, a husband escorting a fragile woman to safety. "Mrs. Vance! Are you going home?" a reporter called."Give her room to breathe," Julian told them gently, and squeezed until my fingers went numb.A shadow fell across his shoulder. Two men in dark suits, quiet as furniture. "Mrs. Vance," said the taller one. "Mr. Thorne's car is ready."Julian's smile cracked at one corner. "Thorne's dogs.""We prefer 'staff,' sir.""She's my wife.""And she has her own legs," said the shorter man.I slid my arm free. Julian's fingers left four pale marks that would be purple by morning. "Good night,