Not Your Trophy Wife Novels & Stories

"Why do you care? Why do you ask like you care? After all, I'm only a trophy wife you need." Trophy wife. That was a new thing. I rolled her words in my head for a moment. Well, her words stung, but I pushed aside the guilt. "That's not important right now. What's important is what you know about Ethan." She threw her hands in the air, breaking into a brittle laugh. " I don't even trust what I know. Nathan told me...but can I even trust Nathan?" "Nathan? Your ex?" I repeated, surprised.

She asked. "Yes, you will be seeing me soon". We spoke for a while again, where she talked about her new job, her dinner dates with my father, my father's new job, and every other thing that has been happening to them. Hearing her speak made me happy and satisfied, it gave me hope that at least the sacrifice I was making wasn't for nothing. When we ended the call, I felt so sad, it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. And tears swelled in my eyes again. Most were as a result of how much I miss them and the others were as a result of the lies I told and how lonely I felt in such a big house. My husband wasn't a great man neither was he caring or loving towards me. My life was

How was your day? -Same as usual. -He licked his fingers. When are you going to let me out? -You already go out every day in the woods or wherever you want to go.... -You know what I mean," he mumbled. I want to get off the property, see things. -No." His answer was clear. "You're not leaving here unless I tell you otherwise. -I really am a stupid trophy wife. -He shook his head, "Don't tell me I don't look like that, because that's what I've been since I married you.

Introduction The youngest billionaire in town with looks of Adonis and everything at his feet desired just one thing more in life. His perfect match. He wished for a wife whose beauty would turn heads, a smile which would lighten up his world and figure which would curve perfectly under his fingers. A beauty who spoke with etiquette and made him proud. But he got her A mediocre girl with average looks, fierce personality and no curves. Outspoken and downright rude. She was everything he didn't want his wife to be like.

There was no point in wasting her breath. "Haven't you learned to be content with what you've got, Mia? What else do you want?" In Timothy's eyes, Mia was nothing but a woman who'd married him for his money. Mia gave up. She said bluntly, "All I want is to be a trophy wife that spends all your money. Look at those other trophy wives—they either go shopping or have high tea and spa days. "After marrying you, the kitchen is where I've spent most of my time, and the furthest I've gone is the market. I've spent three years as your wife, yet getting kicked to the curb is all I've gotten. You've wasted three years of my life!

Being called a trophy wife in her late forties made sure the pride thing was solidly switched on. Then she looked down at the pecker in Carl's hand. It had grown into a full-fledged cock worthy of Adonis! It was thick and straight and long, and had a pair of pronounced veins that snaked their way along its length. It was capped by a fat knob that was partially covered by his uncut foreskin. She loved playing with and sucking an uncut cock and hadn't done it since college. The last and final switch, with good and faithful wife on one side and vengeful-nympho-slut-wife on the other was thrown and she lowered herself to her knees.

Shouldn’t a husband protect? But he didn’t. He never had. And I realized then—I wasn’t his wife. I was his trophy. His proof of dominance. His breathing, bleeding possession. I said nothing. Just stood there and let the shame sink into my bones. We rode to the reception in silence. The ballroom was already filling when we arrived. Crystal chandeliers cast soft gold light across the marble floor. Their mates wore gowns like mine, jewels flashing on their throats, and smiles painted on their lips. A picture of perfection.

I nod my head slowly in realization of my place beside Enzo, I was just a trophy wife, nothing more, nothing less. “Good night Enzo”

Just walked away from that table, from those people, from the sight of my husband treating another woman like his partner. The bathroom was empty. I locked myself in a stall and tried to breathe. This was my life. This was what I’d agreed to when I married Adrian. Trophy wife. Beautiful accessory. Woman who smiled and stayed quiet while her husband built his empire with someone else. My phone buzzed. Clara. **Clara:** *How’s it going?* **Me:** *Terrible. He’s treating Vivian like she’s his wife and I’m the mistress.* **Clara:** *Want me to come get you?*

Spoiled her rotten with a sky-high suite in Seavora, designer everything. However, she wouldn't even let him touch her—no hugs, no kisses. She floated around like a queen, decked out in five-figure outfits, nose in the air like, "I'm not some side chick." Nathan? Ate it up. This was Act Three of his tragic little drama. Act One? I was the trophy wife. Had no clue Sophie was even real. I clung to him like a happy idiot, snapping selfies. He posted a grid of pics. I was glued to my screen—waiting, refreshing.