Forgotten Wife Novelas e Histórias

And he wasn’t the only person who would come for my throat and hers, if any of the photos and images got out. I was literally forced to apologize, and I still haven’t done it properly. “You are the worst type of man. A coward with nothing to his name. If your parents wanted too they could cut you out of their business because nothing you own is yours. You’ll be a loser with no wife, no money, and nobody who gives a fuck about you.” Her drink sloshes around in the small teacup she was holding on to tightly. Only a mad woman drinks whiskey in a teacup, and my wife is topping the charts of insanity.

I let her go and spent the coming years watching and enjoying what her time with me did to her. There was no light in her eyes, no flames in the words she spoke and no one seemed to give a shit…i found it funny and fulfilling, she stayed silent about it like it was a bad dream and i enjoyed watching her crumbled state trying to navigate through her pathetic existence. But she forgot me. She forgot everything, the light was back in her eyes and that bastard she married…i noticed how he looked at her, how the look in his eyes changed when she lost her memories.

For those who know that sometimes, the greatest kind of love isn’t loud or perfect. It’s the kind that stays. The kind that fights. The kind that waits. From my pen to your heart. Thank you for trusting me with your time, your tears, and your hope. Always writing for you ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Copyright & Disclaimer © Ernest Brooks. All rights reserved. The Billionaire’s Forgotten Wife is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and settings are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), real-life event

Meanwhile Ethan barely looked up from his phone as he loosened his tie. “Traffic was insane,” he muttered. I stared at him, waiting for him to say something. Surely he remembered. Surely. Vivian shifted awkwardly beside him as he slowly looked up. His gaze followed hers toward the dining room, and I watched realization dawn across his face. He looked like he genuinely forgot, and it made my stomach drop. A strange ringing filled my ears. Seven years. Seven years together and he forgot our anniversary. Again. Not the first time.

"The kind where you don't remember things." "Don't be smart with me," she snapped. "How much has he forgotten? Does he remember me? Us?" I pulled into the hotel's circular drive. "He remembers you. But he doesn't remember why you're here." That wasn't entirely true. He remembered her, but he seemed to remember her as ancient history, not as the woman he'd apparently been planning to replace his wife with. "This is insane," Sophia muttered as we got out of the car. "One little bump on the head and suddenly he's Ward Cleaver?"

“Ruin? The assets are returning to the primary holding. You are the sole heir to everything.” “You actually think I care about the assets?” I laughed—a short, raw, terrible sound. “I’m not interested in the money you were trying to use to control me. I’m interested in the truth. And I’m going to dismantle every single person who had a hand in the death of my wife. Every lawyer, every operative, every shareholder, and every damn family member.” I pointed a finger straight at Julian Vance.

“I don’t understand how she has a share of my husband’s wealth. She’s nothing but a gold-digging opportunist.” “Watch your language, Beatrice,” I blurted out, my voice dropping an octave. “Learn how to speak to my wife.” The room went still Legally, the paperwork said one thing. Emotionally, spiritually—every way that mattered—she had always been my wife. The law just hadn’t caught up yet. And we had been married before the accident stole her memories. And she might have signed those divorce papers in a moment of confusion, but I never did.

Then I added, "I forgot we're not divorced yet. You brought the papers, right? Perfect. I was about to take some time off anyway. Once we sign them, we can head to the courthouse and make it official." Her face went ice-cold. "Unblock me." "No." "Babe." Her voice softened. "I'm sorry. Please add me back." I rolled my eyes. "I don't even know your number." Her expression changed instantly. "You don't remember my number?" "No. So what?" She gripped my shoulders like she'd finally realized something was wrong. "You... How could you forget my number? You used to know it by heart." Damn it. My heart skipped. She noticed.

Grief with no right to exist for a stranger, for one night, for the girl who had hoped the world contained men who held women like that. He had found someone. He loved her the way I had spent eight years waiting to be loved. And here I stood. Roberta Riggs. Wife of Jace Riggs. Billionaire. Architect of his fortune—visible to no one. Trapped. Buried alive. Unhappily married to a man who had never once stood beside me in public. The stretcher disappeared through another set of doors. Brett followed without looking back. Then the gurney came back out.

She tapped the pen against her chin. “What was her name again?” My stomach tightened instantly. “Athena,” Dexter answered. My entire body froze. I slowly looked at him. He remembered. Dexter still remembered my name. Here I was thinking I had become another forgotten face from his past. “That’s her!” Mrs Cherry snapped her fingers. “Athena.” She smiled. “She was your friend, right?” she asked Dexter. “No, she wasn’t.” his expression was unreadable “Just a weird girl that invited me here.”