The Abandoned Wife Book の小説・ストーリー

Yes, because he made her believe in a future where she would never feel abandoned again. And for a while, the promise felt real. But now, three years into their marriage, that promise was cracking. She pressed her palms over her face, trembling. She thought of the girl she had been, nineteen and broken on the asphalt, and the man who had saved her. He had lifted her from blood and pain into a new life. And now he was asking her to bleed again, in a way that no wound could ever truly heal. Emelia still pressing her palms against her temples, fighting back tears. She could still hear August’s words, broken and desperate.

I had to give her credit; she was reckless, but sometimes, she got lucky. That was the most important thing. The fools had swallowed her story whole, Conrad chief among them. He had turned against Abigail completely, letting his rage blind him to the truth. No one even questioned how convenient it all was, how perfectly Abigail had been painted as the villain. It was almost laughable. But what mattered most was that Conrad's wife was no longer a problem. Not only had she lost her husband’s favor, but she had lost her own child as well. A tragic accident, everyone would say. A fitting punishment, I thought. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

The head of security stepped forward and said, "Mr. Collins, I'm afraid your wife's body is missing." "What do you mean she's missing?'" I yelled at them because I didn't understand what they were saying. I paid them to look after my wife! I thought she would be safe here, but I was wrong! "Damn! Can someone tell me what happened to her?!" My eyes blazed at them one by one with the intent to kill them with my glare. I simply cannot take the reality that this is another piece of terrible news! My life with Abby was perfect for a few months, and now, here we are again!

“I’ve just come from one of the orphanages sponsored by the royal pack, and I’d like to know about your relationship with Abigail,” I opened the conversation and went straight to the point. “Abigail…” she murmured. “The orphanage director told me you once came to adopt a boy but changed your mind and saw me at the playground with Abigail,” I tried to jog her memory. “Yes…” she let out a sigh and began telling me of what happened back then. “Many years ago, my husband, a member of one of the mafia gangs, fell in love with me at first sight and even went so far as to reject his mate, forcing me to marry him,” she said.

Abigail blurts out, the smile on face morphing into a blush. “I thought you are his wife??” Stephanie asked looking confused. “Ugh, you don’t get it!” Abigail frowned. Stephanie stared at her friend still confused, then realization hit her… “Ohhh, you mean he referred to you as his wife wife. Not just some contract wife??” “Yes!! Now you get it.” Abigail claps her hand excitedly, jumping on the couch. “And that’s why you are so happy?” “Yeah, of course. What’s there not to be happy about??”

I couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. I gently replaced her hand with mine, helped her rise to her feet, then without much thought, pulled her to sit on my lap. She flinched, startled by the sudden action, and a small smirk crept across my face. “Why do you look so frightened, dear wife?” I asked teasingly. Then a voice broke through the moment. “You all—who is this man? You’re such a filthy whore, Agatha!” It was him. Her ex. The same man who had just abandoned her for her sister.

I don't want to see that hatred that I witnessed on Marquis's face. I would rather stay away from her than see her hating me... Hah!!! Reality is unbelievable. I still can't digest the matter that I was abandoned by my husband on the first night. There is nothing to hold or to rely on. Living like a stray with no support. No roof when it storms, No blanket when it snows. Ahead of my life, I have only myself. The unbreakable wall ahead of me I have to break it to move on. Let myself bleed out with every wound I am getting now, to get my happiness. I no longer want to be locked in the cruel illusion of so-called family love.

All he could do was sit on the throne, have feasts, and whore around—not a king, a nobody. Abigail. She was more than ten years younger than her husband and went out of her way to take care of herself. She had thick black hair, a rat-like face, even if a pretty one, a thin figure—but with all the necessary curves—and wore a magnificent blue dress the same color as her eyes. Inside, however, she was a venomous slut, like a parasitic ivy that attached itself to a person, draining them of their strength, and enveloping them in its deadly embrace—a sundew, a flytrap. Both stared at me with different expressions on their faces.

"Putting him up? What do you think this is — a homeless shelter? Get him out of my house!" I didn't move. "This house? I put down most of the down payment. I've paid most of the mortgage. I get half the say in who stays here." "If I say he stays, he stays. If you don't like it, you're welcome to leave." Preston stared at me like I'd slapped him. "Chloe. You're telling me to get out? For a stranger?" I laughed in his face. "When you wrecked my gallery for Vivian, did you remember I was your wife?"

"I want you to act as a loving husband before them and let me witness the absolute regret carved on their faces as they come to meet me and comprehend that they can no longer touch me and my life, even if they begged to." "They need to learn that I am no longer their thing to recreate and act just the way they wish. The person they knew was long dead, and now the woman they come to meet is an unstoppable storm she has caught inside her chest for them alone." "Now, this Abigail has set firm boundaries for everyone, and I make myself off-limits to their influence." "They need to know, now, I am the wealthiest man's wife, Mrs Abigail Byron Gilbert, not that poor woman who can be fooled easily.