My Statue Husband Novels & Stories

Kevin looked at him, overwhelmed and incredulous at what his cousin had just confessed. “I can’t believe it, Pablo! I think Jimena should leave you; you’re trash. I love you, Pablo, because you’re my cousin; but you’re the worst.” He shook his head with a disappointed expression. “Jimena is your wife, the mother of your child, and you’re putting her in the same place as that unscrupulous floozy. Because let me tell you, dear cousin, a woman who respects herself doesn’t make advances on or kiss a married man. Think carefully about what you’re going to do, because if you choose her, a bitter life awaits you.”

At that moment, it felt as though my heart was being ripped apart. "Your husband is calling you. Do you want to answer it?" The policeman's voice pulled me back to reality. I looked down and stared at my phone screen, at the word "Hubby."

he said with a smile. "All right." "This is for you." He said I was in love. I wanted to ask, I wanted to know what was my fault for him, was he even in love with our marriage, or was it a feeling? He noticed I was worried when the husband was staring at him when he wasn't looking. "You know, if you keep staring at me, I'll be like, fall in love with me even more if we are already married." He said in a joke. My brows squeezed in confusion. "What do you mean? I wasn't staring."

It wasn't until dawn that the locked door was pushed open. My husband, Theodore Cloud, pulled me into his arms. As he leaned closer, a whiff of faint floral perfume drifted to my nose. "Izzy, I only ended up sleeping in her room because I really couldn't shake her off. But don't worry. No matter what happens between her and me, you will always be my one and only wife," Theodore said, as if explaining himself to me while trying to salvage his dignity.

Making sacrifices for love. I might still have had doubts, but they all vanished when I walked into the house and laid eyes on my husband. Upbeat music played from the stereo, and he was humming as he finished preparing our special dinner. Marcus was tall, sculpted, attractive, with a roguish smile that melted me every time. “Love? How long have you been standing there staring at me, you perv?” he teased, making me laugh. “What? Can’t I admire my hot husband anymore?” I asked as I approached, a smirk on my lips.

The man looks at Max, “We didn’t get any information on your wife for the auction. Lisa has a moment, if we hurry, we can get the form all filled out for the auctioneer to read.” Max puts an arm around my waist and kisses the side of my head before telling the man, “Mr. Brahm, I cannot auction off my wife. We have only been married for a few months and have yet to spend an evening apart. Perhaps next year.” “Nonsense, it is tradition. Besides, it is for a good cause,” The man replies. He signals to a woman speaking to another couple near us. “This is my wife, Lisa. Darling, this is Mrs. Sturgis,” He says.

“Exactly! You dared to bring a woman like this home? Have you been possessed?” “Divorce! Yvonne must divorce him!” Daisy wailed loudly while Philip Carter, my father-in-law, remained silent with a dark expression. His pipe struck the table with a thunderous clatter. Charles kept his head down, and his fists were clenched tight. He did not dare to argue. I listened to the commotion from my room. This was only the beginning. Michelle, your journey of “returning to the primitive” had only just started.

My father always has his way with me but I also do not have any other option than to make it work, we are legally married of course. I headed to where my husband was, got down on my knees to beg him, but he never even raised his head to look at me. “ You are begging me now right? What if I had died? We are only married for a day and you planned to kill me,your plan and that of your family will not work, you will hear from my lawyer”.

“My husband calls me love.” He hummed. “Your husband…” “Yes. My cheating, piece of shit husband.” “Ah. Now I see what the large problem is.” I was about to have another shot, but he stopped me, placing his hand on mine. I turned to him with my teeth bared, ready to curse him out when he leaned down, getting so close to me, I could smell his expensive cologne and feel his warmth, and whispered, “Your husband is a damn fool, letting a work of art like you slip through his fingers.”

Something about therapy, regular sleep, actual meals, and the crushing weight of revenge finally lifting off his shoulders has apparently turned my husband into a walking Greek statue. I'm staring. Openly. Shamelessly, too. He catches me in the mirror, mid-rep, and smirks, that slow, lazy, predatory smirk that still makes my thighs clench even when I'm the size of a small planet. "Enjoying the view, squirrel?" he asks, his voice low and rough from exertion. I fan myself dramatically with one hand. "I'm eight months pregnant and hormonal. Of course I'm enjoying the view. You're basically p**n with a heartbeat right now."