Guilty Wives Novels & Stories

Chase rushed back from abroad to stabilize the situation. Skye didn't die as the doctors had saved him. But Old Mr. Chase, doting on his grandson, paid to have both Skye and Eira declared mentally unfit and committed to the capital's most infamous psychiatric hospital. Eira had once been perfectly sound, but I could not forgive what she'd done to our child. After discovering I could manifest a presence, I drifted into her room night after night, haunting her, tormenting her. I kept her awake and steeped in fear until she truly lost her mind. When she was lucid, she remembered our past happiness and regretted it all. When she wasn't, she remembered only her urge to torture a man named Skye.

We held a press conference two weeks later. Midtown hotel. Conference room packed with reporters. I stood at the podium. Rachel beside me. Sienna holding Sofia in the front row. My hands were shaking. I gripped the sides of the podium to steady them. "My name is Aria Winters. Three months ago, I discovered my husband was a bigamist. An abuser. A criminal. He drugged me for two years without my knowledge. Controlled every aspect of my life. Nearly destroyed me."

Without thinking about the desperate measures I might have to take, or the mistakes I have already made, I replied immediately, “Yes!” “I will be your contract wife and so be it!” After I replied, everything was blurry. I was losing myself and I had no control. I couldn’t help it, I saw myself falling to the width of the mansion floor. Everywhere was pitch dark. Was this the end? I didn’t understand what was going on, but I was deeply sorry for Valerie. Even when she did him badly at some point, I had no right to cross the lines of getting married to her ex-fiancé.

Marcus had made a statement, weeping on camera, and a month later remarried the daughter of a rival. The private detective went missing at the end. Everyone knew that these women had not simply died—they had been broken, manipulated, erased. And always, it was their husbands that shadowed their endings. Power that suffocated rather than protected. She wondered where she stood now. Married to Lucian, brought to the estate, mocked by the media, and caught in a game she barely understood. Was she a pawn? A player? Or a potential addition to the long, bloodied ledger of wives lost to power?

"So, we're supposed to take out the wives?" I almost rolled my eyes at his stupidity and slapped the back of his head hard enough to make him scared of me, “No, genius. Those women are just as deadly as their husbands. They’re not your target—they're practically trained to kill. One wrong move, and they'll drop you faster than you can blink.”

Because even now, as her husband pleaded for closeness, her thoughts were elsewhere—drawn to another man who had no right to occupy her. So she whispered, barely audible: “Okay. We’ll try.” August exhaled, relief softening his face. He leaned closer, kissed her forehead tenderly, and pulled her into his arms. She let him, stiff at first, then slowly relaxing into the embrace—not out of love, but out of guilt. Her eyes stayed open long after his closed. And in the darkness, Ethan’s shadow lingered, mocking her resolve.

I had never clicked on anything like two men against one woman, or two women against one man. See, my husband and I had been together since forever, and I can confidently tell you neither of us had ever cheated. We were in love, and honestly, he was the best partner ever. So silly things like threesomes never even crossed our minds. With how jealous he could get, he would be absolutely heartbroken if I ever even mentioned something like that. “Hello, sweetheart.” I actually jumped and looked toward the bedroom door. Despite the voice being female, I still instantly panicked that my husband had somehow returned and caught me. I relaxed when I realized the voice was coming from the computer sp

Her thighs instinctively tightened, eliciting a teasing chuckle from Killian. She no longer knew what she should feel. Her emotions were no longer hers. Scarlett's death, the pain of betrayal she witnessed in her eyes when she pulled the trigger, the hurried memories of all the murders these men committed to own her. The guilt weighing heavily on her conscience due to the bloodshed. The extreme measures these men took to cage her. She trembled with fear.

“I apologize on Charles’s behalf.” “Who are you? Please, lift your head.” “I’m fine like this,” the woman insisted. “Please, forgive him.” Elara sighed. “But you’re making me uncomfortable. Please, lift your head.” Reluctantly, the woman obeyed and raised her head. “Who are you?” Elara asked again. “I’m Charles’s wife,” the woman whispered. “You’re... Charles’s wife?” Elara repeated, stunned. “Yes. I’m truly ashamed,” the woman muttered, guilt heavy in her eyes. Elara wondered why she carried that guilt when it was her husband, not her, who had framed Elara.

he shouted, fury flashing in his eyes. Kevin looked equally hostile. At that moment, all I could think about was putting an end to these two. There was no room for words. I swung my fist again, but this time, Mark caught my punch. "Jason, if you keep this up, I won't hold back." Mark squeezed my fist while narrowing his eyes, a cold glint flashing in them. "How dare you mess around with my wife! I'm gonna kill you!" I struggled against his grip, my face twisted in frustration.