Novel & Cerita Defiled Young Housewife

I needed a new challenge. I decided the challenge lived next door. We had lived next door to the pastor and his snooty wife for years. They had looked down their noses at us for years. Even after Mom sucked his cock and fucked his brains out -- in his church, no less -- he still looked down at us. He said the devil lived in our house. I decided it was time to knock him and his wife, Delores, down a couple of notches.

In a fit of rage, Rufus smashed a glass on the floor and demanded, "Speak! Did you cheat on Dad? If you don't tell the truth now, I'll beat it out of you!" Upon hearing this, Hilda cried in disbelief, "Rufus, I'm your mother!" "So what? Compared to Dad, you're nothing!" Rufus growled. Realizing she couldn't hide the truth any longer, Hilda broke down and sobbed inconsolably. She had no choice but to confess, "I—I picked up used sanitary pads from public restrooms… but I washed them! I washed them clean!" Rufus was stunned. He swayed on his feet and collapsed into a chair. He was too shocked to speak.

Anthea suddenly said, “Let’s go quickly, Ty. I think this beggar must be mad. Who knows what kind of sickness he has?” “Alright.” Just as I was about to leave, a woman with a weatherworn face rushed over and kicked the beggar. “I told you not to make so much noise! You’re like a rabid dog!” The woman looked very familiar. When I met her gaze, I asked in disbelief, “Florence?” It was no wonder that I was shocked. Florence was only thirty years old, but her face was wrinkled, and her hair was white. She was wearing threadbare clothes.

Taking one last look at this house steeped in irony, I realized that letting go could be that easy after all. Before I heard any nauseating sounds, I turned and left. They didn't need to find ways to drive me out. I had no intention of staying another second in this disgusting place. On the way to my parents' house, I pressed a hand to my forehead. I couldn't stop myself from replaying Monica's words, trying to figure out what she'd meant. During our four years in college, I'd never known her real background. She dressed modestly back then, so when I first dated her, I never had any such concerns. And because Dad's company was doing rather well, my standard of living had always been above av

Eleanor eyed her. "My son is born with a golden spoon, not silver, not bronze, and he isn't supposed to mingle with lowlife servants like you. He was brought up in a prestigious home, and only a woman from such a societal family status shall he be allowed to marry. I see you are a beautiful young lady, but don't be deceived, because Patrick carried you the other day when you got injured, to now think he likes you or wants you. You've mistaken his rare kindness, as you are only but his servant and his maid. Now get out and go prepare my bath, and be warned. We have 24-hour monitoring cameras that are watching whatever you're doing in this house. So don't think you can play smart and lie to me

“Why did you want to meet?” “Always so direct,” Aunt Margot tutted. Her voice was syrupy sweet, the same tone she’d used right before assigning me some degrading chore. “We’re family, dear. Can’t family have a civilized conversation?” “We stopped being family when you kicked me out at seventeen with nothing.” The smile on her face tightened. “You were provided for—” “I was your maid. Your slave. Don’t try rewrite history.” Silence. Uncle Richard’s smile faded into something harder.

" With a single sentence, my mate dismissed every sacrifice I had made for this household. He was tired of me, yet he still craved my cooking. No—because he thought I was the cheapest maid. A bitter laugh slipped past my lips as I pressed the pen down and signed my name. After Lucas left, I went to meet Ms. Murphy. On my way, I ran into Amy, who was watering the flowers in front of her house. She greeted me with her usual cheerfulness. "Mrs. Howl, did you and Mr. Howl fight? He stormed out this morning, looking furious. He'd even asked me for a sandwich."

It was a deliberate choice—meticulously designed to conceal the faint, fading crimson marks Jaxon had left on the sensitive skin of her shoulder the night before. She stared at her reflection. Outwardly, she looked exactly like the pristine, quiet wife Julian demanded for his social functions. But inwardly, the fragile, neglected woman who had spent years enduring this marriage was completely gone. The secret reality of the east wing had rewritten her soul. She was trapped, yes, but she was trapped inside a tactical perimeter designed to execute her husband’s financial ruin. "Elena! Where the hell are my cufflinks?" Julian’s voice barked from the bedroom, sharp, impatient, and entirely obliv