Libro La Esposa Olvidada Novels & Stories

Toying with a dagger out of nowhere, Lynne said offhandedly, “Ray, she’s a cheater. Sheh did you dirty. Should I carve her for you? Krystal’s knees buckled, and she knelt before me. “Ray, we’ve been married for seven years. Think of what we once meant to each other…” I kicked her down. “Don’t talk to me about feelings. Seven years of marriage, yet you stood by as your father struck me, and your lover humiliated me.” She hung her head low in shame. “Ray, I made a mistake. I wanted a child so badly that I believed his lies. It won’t happen again… “Ray, the family legacy rests on my shoulders. I needed an heir. Surely, you can see where I’m coming from.”

“You’re not… you’re not talking about me and Leilani, are you?” Lorenzo’s lips curved into something sharp. “You’re far too impatient, Jonathan. I’m not done with my story.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “The husband, in his arrogance, thought it wise to discard the woman who had given him everything. So he did. And do you know who was waiting for her that night? Who trailed the cab she cried in?” Jonathan shot to his feet, hands slamming onto the desk. “You…!” Lorenzo’s gaze never wavered. He remained calm, “You pushed your wife right into my hands, Jonathan.” His voice softened, almost a whisper. “Wife? No. Your ex-wife.”

As we approached a group of individuals standing near the arrival gate, my eyes fixated on the figure standing in the center. My breath caught in my throat, and my steps faltered as recognition dawned upon me. It was Ignacio, my Spanish husband, whom I had left behind in Spain under the pretense of starting a fashion line in New York. Cullen, unaware of the connection between Ignacio and me, approached him with a welcoming smile. "Ignacio, meet my wife, Brielle," he introduced, his voice filled with pride and affection. My heart raced, and I felt a knot tightening in the pit of my stomach. Ignacio's bewildered expression mirrored my own confusion and disbelief.

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"I didn't dump you. I was mad, alright, but I—" "Don't lie," I said to him, my tone steadying. "You shamed me. You let your mistress talk down to me the moment she had a chance. You treated me lower than your maid. Gawddd! Callum, I was your wife not a plaything. We were married five years, there were other couples who were married longer with no kids but they did not try to kill their wives because their 'mistress' had an emergency. You shoved me when I begged for help.. You told me to stop faking it. That night, I lost everything." For an instant, there was guilt in his eyes. He was looking down at the ground, like he couldn't possibly look at me. "I… I didn't mean to—"

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 events, or experiences is purely coin

, I said under my breath as I scampered off to the library, hoping that it was opened for me to do my search. It was so crazy that I had totally forgotten about how the book got missing. Was I beginning to get so lost in thoughts of Kayla that it now affected my memories? I had no idea of what to think at this point. I could only hope that it didn’t fall into the wrong hands. If whosoever it is knows that I was reading the book, they would definitely have an idea of what was going on. The book talked about getting mated to more than one person. That was the perfect answer to my question, right until it disappeared.

Gabriel slept on the couch. On Friday morning, Celina woke with a heavy heart. The day was overcast, mirroring her mood. It was the eve of Thor and Isabela’s wedding, and anxiety was eating away at her. Lying in bed, she stared at the ceiling, questioning Thor’s choices—why he had erased memories of his late wife and child to be with her, only to now be marrying someone else. Trying to shake the thoughts away, she grabbed her phone and checked her emails. Her breath caught when she opened one from the publishing house. She read it once. Twice. A third time—until it finally sank in: her manuscript had been accepted.

I remembered desperately trying to save our marriage, ready to apologize for things that weren't even my fault and begging him to talk to me. The memory made me laugh bitterly. How pathetic I must have looked. How desperately I had clung to someone who couldn't wait to let me go. A sharp cramp suddenly twisted through my stomach. I immediately placed a hand over my belly. “Baby...” I whispered softly and gently rubbed my stomach until the cramp slowly eased. I looked around the house, and it suddenly felt suffocating. It no longer felt like a home anymore. It was a cage filled with painful memories.

She had worked late into the night that day, rubbing her hands raw with blisters. As I applied ointment to her palms, I scolded her for being foolish. She had only smiled and said, “If my husband and child want something, I’ll make sure they have it.” We had been so good then. We met in college. She had been a poor student with nothing to her name, and I had been the son of the wealthiest family in Rivershire.