Not Your Trophy Wife Novels & Stories

I looked around and saw that everyone had gone back to whatever it was they were doing, no one, not even one person seemed to notice my reaction or even take note of what Tracy had said. That statement had a lot of underlying meanings and I would be dumb to not understand what she meant. She was indirectly saying I was a trophy wife that did not have anything going on for herself, another way of saying that I was a leech who just wanted to sit and have her husband provide for her in this modern age. Maybe no one else got it, but I did and I made a strong resolution to get a job that would have me leaving the house everyday to avoid her words seeming true to everyone else.

Her frown intensified. "Oh, it's not a big deal." He nodded his head and chuckled sarcastically. "You're a married woman for crying out loud. You even fed him, acted all lovey-dovey. And, I definitely heard the yogurt man when he called you guys an adorable couple." He confessed. The yogurt man had called them an adorable couple but they just laughed at him, not feeling the need to explain the truth to him. She never would have imagined that he heard the man.

I received compliments from my husband's friends while Theron let the wind carry his mind away. I used to choose between two dreams. I told myself that if I am not lucky enough to have a good husband, I will become a nun. Sad to say I got married without warning and he has not been a good husband to me. I smiled. I put my attention back to the reality. This is just the beginning of me pretending to be a trophy wife tonight. I still have talents to show. I'm going to show Theron's friends that my husband is at the top and it's hard for them to reach it.

A deal he’d sign to get more money. “Ms Morris. All those words of your beauty don’t do you any justice. You are exquisitely gorgeous.” Stefan cheekily pecked my hand. My skin tingled with uneasiness. “My pleasure,” I mumbled low enough for him to hear me. Gently, he lowered his gaze upon me, his eyes traversing my form. I could sense a glimmer of admiration as they beheld the dazzling, resplendent dress that gracefully adorned my silhouette. It fed the essence of his masculinity, affirming his conquest of my hand in marriage. Yet, within me, an ember of disdain flickered, for I resented the notion of becoming nothing more than a mere trophy wife in his eyes. The opulent gems weighing upon m

I said crisply, “I’m not here to play trophy wife.” He continued to smile for the benefit of the stylists, who were busy pretending to ignore the fight. I wasn’t fooled by the grin frozen on his face. It had hardened, and his jaw shifted, the muscles in his shoulders bunched tight. “You are here to be whatever I ask you to be. And if I ask you to be my trophy then that’s what you will be. We do both want this marriage,d on’t we Lila?” The threat was implicit and he made it very clear, icy fingers wrapped around my heart. I couldn’t fuck this up because of my pride, I needed him my son's life depended on ir. And I certainly wasn’t going to lose it over something as trivial as a hair trim and

I stared, but he cut me off. “Enough of this,” he growled. “You know, if I were you, I would remember your place, Cassandra.” His voice was stern, threatening. “YOU were the one who insisted on marrying ME. You saw dollar signs right from the start. My mother was right about you. She’s always been right. You’re a trophy wife. Nothing more. You want my money? Go ahead! Spend my money. Go to Greece, or France, or Bora Bora. Clear your head. Just stop being so dramatic.” I trembled with rage. Trophy wife? The sheer audacity! I’d married Jordyn out of love, not for his money. How dare he? I was just about to tell him this when a hand reached over and took my phone.

“What reason?” “You were so desperate to get married to me, that you didn’t even read the terms of this marriage. You couldn’t even see what was right under your nose. All you’ve done for the amount of time we’ve been married is cook, and clean and repeat. You’re either buried in a pot of soup, or face down with some gardening.” “Daniel, what?” Naya gasped, her voice cracking. “You were so busy being the perfect housewife. This…” He gestured between himself and Chloe. “Has been going on for years, and under your nose and you had no idea. But I have a solution for you, don't worry.”

“I don’t even know how we would do this. I mean, would we just send out a memo to rich dudes and tell them I’m looking for a husband? What would they get out of that?” “For one, rich men all the want the same thing—a trophy wife. They want a beautiful woman who will give them beautiful children. You’re are stunning, Sofia. Even by model standards, you’re flawless.” “Well…thanks.”

PREMISE: Everyone calls me a trophy wife. They’re not wrong—I married rich, I look good in designer heels, and I play my part. But behind the mansion doors and glass wine goblets, I’m starving for real touch. Not empty praise or hollow affection but some sweat, heat, hands. Then comes Jace—my personal trainer. Younger, dangerous and sin carved into muscle. I shouldn’t want him. But he’s the first to see what my husband never did—I don’t want to be admired…

"Everything?" He shot her a deadly look, those green eyes darkened like a storm. “Did I stutter?" Valeria shook her head. “Absolutely not, I'll do that right away.” Valeria turned to leave. "What's your husband's name?” He suddenly asked, making her stop in her tracks. She turned slowly and stared at him, confused. Then it hit her. The only thing she knows about her mystery husband is that his grandmother calls him Treasure, but there is no way she's telling him that.