The Book The Paris Wife Novels & Stories

Even Feby can be a little relieved because the chances of meeting a known party are very small. This is where Feby is now. A cafe with a natural view that was so soothing to the eyes as if welcoming her who had just come from the city of Melati. However, that was not what interested her. Rather, it was the presence of a woman with her hair pulled back in a ponytail sitting behind her. She was the first companion in her husband's life who must have often made him jealous because Ares spent more time with her. “With ... Widya?” greeted Feby in a soft tone.

"Save it. Your chances with me are out the window. And so will your suitcase be, if you don’t walk out of this house. Right. Now." I stared at her, a dozen truths burning behind my tongue. Truths I couldn’t share. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and nodded. "Alright. I’ll go." "Good," she said curtly, and gave the suitcase a shove toward me. I bent to take it, my hands trembling. As I turned toward the stairs, I heard her behind me, already dialing her husband. "Harold? You’ll never believe this. I just arrived at our villa in Paris." There was a pause. "Yes, Paris. If you ever checked our shared calendar, you’d know…" She gave an exasperated sigh.

I feel so bad for her going through that twice. When I close the door, I lean my forehead against the frame. That life is not a possibility anymore. I need to move on and let Serena do the same. I don’t drink the tea I steep. I head back to the siting room. Somewhere in Paris, my wife is a woman the world just discovered. Somewhere, she is laughing with people who look at her and see what I saw when I first met her. What I, my lifestyle, all but snuffed out of her.

“You are right, my beautiful wife. I can drive any car I want, buy any house I want. No one can stop us now.” Her laugh tinkled like broken glass. “Then take me to Paris at month’s end. I want to walk beneath the Eiffel Tower, shop on the Champs-Élysées.” “Paris?” Luca smirked, full of drunken bravado. “Done. You can take whoever you want, buy whatever you want. Nothing is beyond our reach.” The couple’s arrogance turned heads—some envious, others contemptuous—but Luca noticed none of it. A waitress approached with the bill. Her voice was polite, her eyes betraying quiet pity.

I noticed that the comment section beneath the video completely blew up. "Oh, my goodness! You couldn't even make this stuff up if you tried!" "That woman's behavior is utterly despicable! She has a husband at home, yet she used their joint account to pay for a wedding with her side piece!" "That guy's got guts! Good for him!" "That side piece definitely knew she was married, right? How does he still have the nerve to buy gifts for the husband? That's so messed up!" "I hope that horrible woman gets exactly what's coming to her!"

“Is it acceptable for her to be giving your husband a footie under the table without her husband’s approval?” Paris sighed, “it’s fine. I’ll sort it out. Excuse me.” She paused to lean closer to Presley. “For the record, if you want to try on a woman, with or without my husband, let me know. I’ll give you a time which will make you forget dick exists, even the one he is packing.” Paris skipped away and settled in between the two men, her hand sliding down their chests and very boldly to their crotches. She made a point to whisper around the table and then the four were standing on their feet and heading for the exit. “They are so going to rage fuck,” Cruz whispered watching them.

Deleting the message now would do nothing. This isn't making any sense. “Don’t be selfish now, Isobelle. Let your kid meet his family. Plus, do you think Nikolai's family can let you board the flight somewhere to continue living your life knowing you are still married to their son? Not to mention, now that they know about their grandson?”

It was Mandy exiting his room with his laundry. "Mr. Wealth is in his studies, Mrs. Wealth," Mandy informed her. Paris nodded and went to his office. Her hand motioned to knock on the door. She paused before her hand touched the door. In the large home, they both shared Paris despised, she had to knock to see her husband as if she was one of his workers. She wasn't, she was his wife. She grabbed the doorknob, and her heart raced in her chest as she spin it. The door opened, and inside the study was very dim, but Paris could sense her husband was within his study, rummaging for a match to lit a candle.

Paris said with a chuckle. “Wait,” Torvald said but Paris ignored him. “I know where your wife is,” Torvald said, making Paris backtrack. “Six feet under the ground,” Paris said, thinking of the painful memory that Shysie caused 900 years ago when she killed his wife of a day. “Not necessary,” Torvald said, luring Paris in. “Speak,” Paris demanded, coming to a halt in front of Torvalds cell again. “Let me drink first,” Torvald requested.

Paris is outdoing himself tonight and it would have been special if I didn’t know the truth—that all this isn’t really about me but about Eva. I know he’s doing all these destressing activities because of what the doctor told him. Eva also told him about the dream that led to her waking up in pain, which made him feel even worse. Eva said she had a dream that she and Paris were having sex when she woke up in pain, and now Paris thinks that it’s all the pressure of trying to conceive. A waiter enters carrying some menus and hands them over to us before opening a bottle of champagne and pouring three glasses.