Husbando Meaning Novels & Stories

I have some kind of irritation with the word 'husband'. I gave up about Harsh, for whom I'm crying, whom I met a few days ago. I don't know what he feels for me. He is going to marry someone, he has his own life. The HR, Richie rich person, he can do as he wants. If he really loves me, he could break his wedding, at least he can share his feelings. He cared for me, it was genuine. If I was at his place, I'll do the same as he did.

He explained. “And I am not telling this to you for just this but to whoever the girl that will become your bride. Do you understand me?'' Dad's words of wisdom never fail to teach me good stuff. "Do not worry father, I'll try my best to fulfill all my obligations as a husband." "They may be obligations but do not forget to not make your marriage a mere bond of responsibilities. It's a sacred bond and you should respect that. " "I understand this much, Father." I said sincerely.

That was what he aimed for; put her to sleep then return to his resting corner. "Married; to a good and understanding husband, have a good job; I've always wanted to be a nurse. To save lives. Have a small cozy home, I personally don't like big houses, and four kids, two boys, and two girls," she whispered with her eyes closed. He had totally forgotten about that. "How do you define a good husband?" "Someone who strives to make ends meet, Cherishes his family, and motivates his spouse when she feels like giving up."

he said. The words hit me like a slap. “You… what?” I asked, confused and he laughed. “Relax, Livia. I didn’t give her details but I made sure she understood that unlike her pathetic excuse for a husband, I actually enjoy my wife.” Hayden blurted out. My stomach dropped. “Hayden…” my voice came out strained, “our marriage isn’t a weapon,” I said. “Oh, but it is,” he replied smoothly as his hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer again.

"This is Alpha Huntergrove, your husband-to-be." "Husband.” He corrected with a lopsided grin before raising a brow at me, “Isn't that right, wife?” There was minute of silence that felt much longer as my brain continuously struggled to process exactly what his words were supposed to mean. And when they finally clicked, all I could get out was the only thought that was making rounds in my head. "What the actual f....!”

That word—'pregnant'—burned through me like fire all over again. Staring at him, my eyes were full of hate. I snapped, "What's it got to do with YOU?" He grabbed my shoulders, shaking me hard. "You're my WIFE! And you went behind my back—had a baby with my UNCLE? What was I to you?" I just stared, stunned. Thought I couldn't feel worse, thought I was already shattered. But somehow, Matthew always found a new way to crush me.

He stood up sharply, his gaze piercing. “You don’t need to worry about your mother,” he said firmly. “And I do have the right to forbid you—because I’m your husband.” He sat back down, poured himself a glass of water, and took a slow sip. Those last words—I’m your husband—hit Isabella harder than she expected. Her heart gave a strange, uneasy flutter. ‘But… isn’t this marriage only temporary?’ she thought bitterly. Then why did those words sound so real? “But, Max… aren’t we—”

Looking at Blake's deathly pale face, my heart ached so badly I could barely breathe. He was the only one in this family who treated me like family. Three years ago, I married into the Warren family with my autistic son, Asher Harper. My mother-in-law had never liked it when I brought Asher along, and everyone in the Warren family treated us like we were invisible. Only Blake, who was just five years old at the time, ran over to Asher on his little legs and shoved his favorite action figure into his hands.

Lucas and I have been married for three years, we've had a happy marriage, but I've noticed that for the past few weeks something seems to be different about him. He used to be a loving and caring man who always makes me smile. He is that man who can hardly take his eyes off of me, that's why my mother-in-law always tempted him not to come home to them, and that temptation was also one of the reasons for speeding up our marriage.

Her husband, Stefano, followed suit, a charming smile etched across his face as they made their way to the entrance of the office. As he firmly grasped her waist, she winced imperceptibly, the grip more possessive than affectionate. Stefano’s eyes sparkled with a veneer of playfulness, but she could sense the underlying demand in his words. "Start acting like my whore wife," he whispered into her ear, the command hanging in the air like a heavy mist. These words were no strangers to her; they had become a haunting refrain in the symphony of their marriage. Each time he uttered them, it sent a shiver down her spine, a stark reminder of the facade she was forced to maintain.