Defiled Housewife Novels & Stories

When did Violetta get that smart? How dare she use the internal compliance network to defend another man. For months, she sat at the edge of my dinner parties, quiet, compliant, and beautifully invisible, nodding politely while my associates discussed multi-million-dollar asset liquidation. She was supposed to be a broken pawn, isolated and desperate after walking out on our marriage. Instead, she is operating like a master, destroying a highly sophisticated, multi-million-dollar operational trap in less than one business hour just to keep Caleb's pathetic street-level family business breathing.

She was four years younger than me and a single mother. I felt sorry for her. Besides, she charged only half the usual market rate, so I hired her without hesitation. Over the years, I treated her like a little sister. Whenever I had anything extra, I thought of her first, and I always made sure her daughter got a share of whatever Ezra had. And now, her name was on the deed to a 3,200-square-foot villa. Meanwhile, the three of us—her employers—were living in a cramped, old apartment.

As memories of our marriage played in my mind, I couldn’t help but sneer. “Regret? Why would I regret this?” For now, all I had to do was wait for those ten days to pass. That evening, when I returned home from work, I found the house transformed. Roses filled every corner. Candles, arranged in the shape of a heart, flickered in the middle of the living room. The sofa was a mess, with petals littering the floor. The candles had clearly been burning for a while. Tyler leaned halfway over the upstairs railing when he saw me enter.

"Yes, you were. You were living paycheck to paycheck, wearing the same three outfits to work, eating ramen for dinner every night. And I saved you. I gave you this house, these clothes, this life. And this is how you repay me? By being a constant disappointment?" The tears were flowing freely now, and I couldn't stop them. "I've tried to be a good wife to you. I cook your meals, I clean the house, I work full-time to help with the bills.." "And you do it all wrong!" He shouted, making me jump. "The food is always too bland or too spicy, the house is never clean enough, and don't even get me started on how you embarrass me in front of my friends and colleagues." "How do I embarrass you?" I as

“I’m not going anywhere. This is my house. I’ve lived here for years. You think you can just walk in and kick me out like some maid?” I didn’t raise my voice. “I just did. Get out.” Delia’s voice went high and shrill. “You’re crazy. Julian, are you really going to let this bitch talk to me like this? Tell her this is our house! Tell her she has no right!” Julian rubbed his face but said nothing. I looked at Delia. “You really think this is your house? You’ve been playing wife for how long now? Sleeping in my bed, using my things, acting like you belong here. It’s pathetic.”

Elena knew it was hers before she reached the stairs. The apron hung from Clara’s bedroom door, limp and black and soaked through, dripping steadily onto the polished floorboards. Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound seemed too loud in the huge house. Only an hour ago, that apron had been tied around Elena’s waist while she wiped coffee rings from a diner counter and pretended not to panic about her mother’s hospital bill. She remembered taking it off. Remembered leaving it behind the bar.

It was a feeling she couldn't explain, a feeling that whispered something was coming, something that would test their marriage in ways neither of them could imagine. She didn't know that somewhere else in New York, a woman named Sophia Reed was about to step into their lives. She didn't know that once Sophia did, her world, the one she had built with her own hands, her own heart, and her own sacrifices, would never be whole again.

She placed a protective hand against her protruding belly and smiled sadly she wished with all her heart that things were different and it pained her to think that she wouldn't be able to give her child a complete family but at the same time she was determined to not let her child lack anything, so When she got the call one night a week ago that she'd got a job cleaning at one of the most opulent neighbourhoods in Victoria Island, Vivian had been too ecstatic to sleep and despite having worked here for a week now she was still wowed by the sight. The living room was spacious with comfy cushions, a huge plasma TV was bolted to the wall. There were no family photos except for a few paintings.

“Don’t you often find that position filled by a woman? It explains why you wouldn’t have time to focus on housecleaning.” “That and Hilda claimed years ago I could burn water and so I got banned from working in the main house’s kitchens.” “Who’s Hilda?” “She’s the chief cook and housekeeper at the p… main house. If you need anything for everyday living, you talk to her. She gets it all cleared away for accounting and such.” “Wait, you pool money together? Don’t you have your own money?”

Johnson's dress. "You worthless filth! Can't you even handle a bowl properly?" Mrs. Jane seethed, her rage escalating. "It seems you're in dire need of a good beating. Don't think for a moment that I won't kick you to death!" Her relentless assault on my defenseless body began, her kicks mercilessly raining down upon me. Trembling and quivering, I continued to mutter apologies, but Mrs. Jane paid no heed to my pleas. Her friends, cruelly amused by the spectacle, joined in with laughter, their mocking voices adding to my anguish. Overwhelmed, I closed my eyes, allowing silent tears to stream down my face.