Fake Wife Novels & Stories

"This marriage is fake!" Everyone gasps, and Adam pulls me close to him. Someone pushes a microphone towards the waitress, and she gives the journalist a big, fake smile. "Adam Owens is a fraud, and you shouldn't believe his lies. I'm his real wife, and I want what's mine!" She snarled. "That's right, everyone. I'm his real wife." Nina Dobrev. The gold digging waitress who married Adam in Vegas and as she calls herself; his real wife, or realish at least.

His hand brushed against mine intentionally, a lingering, scorching touch that made my fingers tremble. Kian flashed Julian a tight, corporate smile, but the moment my husband blinked, Kian’s gaze dropped straight to my high velvet collar, eyes flashing darkly. Cassian smirked openly. His tattooed fingers clamped tightly around the wine stem, his eyes pinning my lips with a predatory, shameless hunger. They were playing the game perfectly. We all pretended we had never met. We all pretended last night never happened. And as I stepped back, my heart hammering against my ribs, I desperately prayed to whatever god was listening that it would stay that way forever.

Since then, the youngest heir to the Vuitton tech fortune released a follow-up video—in clothes this time—apologizing, no doubt attempting to mend ties with the Bass family, whom the Vuittons invest heavily into. Good luck with that. In the video, she—or should I say her lawyer—explains the dangerous prevalence of artificial intelligence and deepfakes, painting Priscella as an innocent victim of some extortionate hacker, who has yet to be unveiled. Let me be the first to say, no one's believing that, Miss Vuitton. Not me, not my readers and especially not tycoons on Silicon Avenue. All of us know the truth... Those pixels were realer than every one of your "orgasms."

She wasn't me—her face was different, harder—but from a distance, the resemblance was enough. "I just want to say," the fake Elena said, her voice carrying over the crowd, "that everything Natasha Winters said is true. I had no idea the baby I'm carrying was created through fraud. I had no idea Calloway Sterling manipulated my fertility treatment. And now I'm trapped in a marriage I never truly consented to." No. No, no, no. "That's not me!" I shouted at the screen. "That's not—" But the reporters didn't know that. They were eating it up, cameras flashing, microphones thrust forward.

"Fifty million dollars so far. I've been covering it up by falsifying financial reports and paying off auditors." No. No no no no. "I've also been having an affair with Dave Harrison," the fake me continued. "We've been together for over a year. My marriage to Ethan Ashford is a sham. I married him for his money and his connections. I never loved him." The video ended. The screens went black. The ballroom erupted into complete chaos. People shouting. Cameras flashing. Reporters yelling questions. I stood at the podium, completely frozen. My mind couldn't process what was happening.

"There's more." My stomach clenched. "What else?" "The pregnancy she announced. The one she claimed to have miscarried." He slid a medical record across the table. "There was no pregnancy, Miss Winfred. The medical records are fabricated. She was never pregnant." The restaurant wobbled sideways. I gripped the table harder, trying to anchor myself to something solid. "The pregnancy was fake?" The words barely made it past my throat. "The entire thing. The announcement, the miscarriage, all of it. Theater designed to trap your ex-husband into marriage."

EUDORA ON HIS BEHALF TO PLEASE SIGN THE DIVORCE PAPERS. My grip on the phone turned hard enough that my knuckles hurt. A fake pregnancy? A forged result? A miscarriage I supposedly staged? A womb I supposedly used as part of some twisted manipulation? And now I was the one “refusing” divorce papers? “What the fuck did I just read?”

“No, I had to pretend I was hurt. I forced myself to think of something sad so I could cry. It would’ve been way too suspicious if I’d just walked out of your office after seeing you with your mistress like nothing had happened. Don’t you think? People might start gossiping that our marriage isn’t real—or worse, that we’re about to divorce.” "You were faking it?" he roars, his eyes blazing. “Y-yes. Did you seriously think I was upset? I’ve told you before, and I’ll say it again—our marriage is fake. So if you want to have one—or ten—mistresses, go ahead. I just would’ve preferred it not happen at the office. I don’t love being the office joke. And honestly, I wish it hadn’t been Sarah. But I

As his fake contracted wife who doomed their hopes into ashes. Tbc….

I silently swore that I wouldn't let that person off the hook, even if I had to turn into a ghost and haunt them for the rest of their lives. "Her panic looks genuine. Did someone actually impersonate her?" "Oh my God! Is someone using her as a scapegoat? Maybe the impersonator was the one who fooled around with the man. And now, the real one is forced to bear the consequences of their actions." "But how can someone fake a marriage? The man looked sick when he was going through her phone just now. He must have seen something devastating." "This is getting really interesting. Who's the one who transmigrated into this world? Her or the other woman? We have to keep watching to find out the trut