My Statue Husband Novels & Stories

My disappointment was probably written all over my face, because he held me tight and said tenderly, “I’ll try not to go overseas as much after those kids settle in. Once I start staying at home more, I’m sure we’ll have our own baby soon. Believe me.” Staring at his familiar features, I remembered how he had hugged me just like this, promising me he would come back soon… right before his flight to Switzerland. He had come back, but his heart remained in the Alps. “Alright.” I forced a smile and watched him rush away. Since the New York administrative system did not contain any records of our marriage, that meant the marriage certificate we obtained in Vegas had no effect. That saved me the

PIPPA I don’t know if I’ve ever seen something so beautiful that it took my breath away. I’m speechless, allowing my finger to gently run over the carved curves of the statue. It’s of a couple, but only from their waist up. They clutch one another so delicately, so fiercely, that it’s obvious they’re in love. You look at them and it seems like something is trying to keep them apart, but they’re clinging to each other so tightly, like they won’t let anything come between them. The way her back arches, it appears as if some outside force you can’t see is pulling her from him.

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.

“You’ve given that man three years of your light, Evelyn. Let Paris be the place you remember who you were before him.” Before Khalid. Before the whirlwind romance at the Met Gala, before I’d quietly closed my design studio to become the wife who understood his late nights and global ambitions. Before Natasha returned and I became furniture in my own marriage. I looked across the studio to the small desk where my laptop sat. The manuscript file was open. *The Husband I Once Loved*. The title still made my stomach clench. Khalid had read the first seventy pages last night. The confrontation that followed had been brutal—his hurt, my exhaustion, the way his voice cracked when he asked if I rea

"Open up! You have the guts to do bad things but don't have the guts to open the door?! "Look, everyone! This is the animal living in unit 2801! He harassed my daughter who just turned twenty! What a scumbag! "If you won’t come out, I’ll kill myself at your door!" The noise was giving me a headache. I put down the hot towel I was holding and looked at my husband, Chris Gomez, who was lying on the physiotherapy bed and hooked up to a breathing machine. Though he could not speak, his eyes were full of worry. He seemed to have heard the commotion outside and was trying hard to turn his head.

“Hello, husband.” The voice was distorted, but Julian recognized the cruelty beneath it. Alexander Sterling. Julian closed his eyes. “You have her.” “I have something you want.” “If you've touched her—” “Save your threats. You're standing in an abandoned hospital with a gunshot wound that hasn't healed properly. I have your wife, and you have exactly fifty-eight minutes to decide whether she lives.” Julian looked at the photograph again. “Let me speak to her.” A pause followed. Then he heard a faint sound.

4K followers. Gala dinners. Champagne on a terrace. A rooftop in Cannes, a Pandora premiere, a velvet banquette at Le Bernardin. In every photo, the same blond woman with the same sunglasses, captioned in the same breathless voice. So grateful to be this man's wife. #FounderWifeEnergy #Blessed. My husband's account had liked every single one.

Lynette Kensington's rules took effect on the second day of our marriage. "Your monthly spending is capped at 2,000 dollars. For any single purchase over 100 dollars, photograph the receipt and send it to me for approval. It's not that I'm cheap. I'm helping you learn how to budget. You've never had any discipline with money," she claimed. I thought she had a point. So for three years, buying a single jacket meant budgeting for half the month, and replacing a pair of contact lenses meant waiting for her approval. Then, last month, I found a supplementary card statement tucked inside the pocket of her trench coat. The cardholder was Jayden Scott, her Administrative Director. The transact

“Is she ready now? She should start coming out.” The mean lady answered. “Yes she is ready.” They started walking and I followed behind them like a prisoner going to her execution. We reached the place where the ceremony would happen. It was a small gathering. Not too many people but not too few either. When I saw my so-called husband my stomach turned. His name was Edgar. He was so ugly. His face was full of wrinkles. His teeth were yellow and broken. His skin looked rough and unclean. I felt like vomiting. How could anyone look like that?

“Because I have no intention of divorcing you, Isabella. Ever. You're my wife, and that's exactly what you'll remain until I decide otherwise.” The certainty with which he said it sent a cold sensation spreading from her stomach and slowly rising through her chest. Isabella studied him, searching for some indication that he was speaking out of wounded pride, that this was simply the reaction of a man who'd just been exposed in front of his mother and sister, but she found none. Thomas was serious. And as though that weren't bewildering enough, he sat back down and picked up his glass. “Now serve dessert. My mother and sister are in the mood for something sweet.”