The Cold Husband Novels & Stories

“H-husband, why are you like this? That’s not, please listen to me. I am saying what’s on my mind so we can get our deal done. So please don’t be mad…” Vailan crookedly arced up the corners of his lips, “Our deal done? I know that my suggestion was something hard for us, however must you be heartless and tell me exactly how you feel about me? Between us, who is more heartless and colder?” “Husband, would you rather I tell you a lie?”

I ask. He steps toward me instead of answering. One step, then tell and three. My breath shallows despite myself. “I want to understand,” he says softly, eyes locked on mine, “when exactly my wife decided to start treating me like a stranger.” I hold his gaze. “When exactly did my husband start treating me like a transaction?” There it is. His expression darkens slightly, but not with anger. He just smiled. “You’ve been cold,” he says. What's funny man?

a high pitched female voice cried out. I looked up to see an older couple racing up to us. I immediately recognized Mr. Armani and guessed that the woman must be his wife. Her glossy black hair was disheveled and her eyes filled with tears. They both were dressed in silk pajamas, although she held a designer scarf to her shoulders. They looked like they had rushed out in the middle of their nighttime routine. Their eyes were both bloodshot, like they had been crying loads. I slowly lifted my head up from Derek’s shoulder, my brows furrowing in confusion.

three months ago. Our marriage was like a well-acted movie, perfect on the outside, empty on the inside. Cipher D’Amato, billionaire, tech mogul, and coldest man alive. To the world, we were the perfect couple. In reality, I was just his shadow. I pushed the door into his study softly, and there he was as usual, his head over the desk surrounded by documents and folders, while his glowing tablet was still warm to his hand. His curly, dark hair covered his forehead. Even in his sleep, his jaw was still strained as if something was making him angry in his dream.

His movement was gentle, unlike his behavior the past few days. “There are many things you don’t know, Helga.” His voice lowered, almost a whisper. “And you’re not ready to know them.” Helga held her breath. A storm brewed inside her, a mix of fear, anger, and a curiosity she couldn’t suppress. “I’m not a doll you can order around at will. I’m a human being. I—” Zean suddenly stood. His cold demeanor returned in full force, like a door slammed shut. “But starting tonight, you are my wife. The wife of a mafia. So be prepared.”

His voice is bitter and a touch frightened “Yes, he wants his money. I told him I’d get it somehow. I just needed a bit of time, but he had his men grab me and hold me down on a smelly pool table. You don’t know how terrified I was. He came close to breaking my hands with a fucking hammer.” At that strange, surreal moment, I feel no love in my heart for my husband. He seems like a stranger. Someone I never knew. Someone who just smashed my wonderful life into a thousand pieces. “Why didn’t he, then?” He looks down at the table and his hands become fists. “Because …” That coldness in my heart grows. “Because what, Nigel?” Tears crawl down his cheeks. “Because he wants you.”

“You need to warm up. It’s very cold, and you risk catching a cold after this. You could have asked any of my men. Or me. It was crazy, and risky. Not only because you exposed yourself to the cold, but because you went out. The men outside have orders to shoot anyone who crosses the line.” I stared at him, a thread of courage emerging from despair. Even in me, your wife? The phrase hung in the air. He stared at me, and something lit up in the depths of his gray eyes. “I like hearing you say ‘your wife’,” his voice came out husky, his gaze fixed on my lips in a way I could only describe as… sensual. A dangerous heat rose up my neck, and I lowered my face, embarrassed and confused. — Well, tha

The way that had no performance in it whatsoever. She felt the weight of it settle across her shoulders like something physical. Julian stepped behind her and touched her back — light, proprietary, the touch of a man confirming what’s his. “You’re going to make a wonderful wife,” he said softly. “And I am going to be the best husband to you. I won’t make you cry. I won’t make you suffer. I promise you that.” She heard the words. She knew they were the right words. The words she had needed to hear — once, a long time ago, from someone else entirely, in a life that had gone differently.

I had a feeling there was another woman somewhere because countless times I had heard him discussing ever so sweetly on a phone to a woman but when I did interrogate him, I would end up with a slap or an insult. Twined tears trickled down my cheeks the more I pondered on my marraige. Was this even a marraige? I suddenly became claustrophobic and goosebumps raided my skin. As if on cue, I heard the clicking sound of the door being opened and I swiftly pivoted my face to its direction. Holding my stare, I jerked once we set our eyes upon each other. There he stood, my cold and mysterious husband. He was dressed in his white signature shirt and black trousers. It was partially unbuttoned to rev

Nathan, who was one of them, was also clapping his hands with all his might. Wiping away her tears, Hilda proceeded, "I believe each and every one of you are curious about who my husband is and are wondering whether it's true that he is an old and unattractive coal boss. Right now, I can tell you that my husband is a young and handsome man. He is also the kindest and best man I have ever met in my life! He is at the scene today, but I couldn't announce his identity because I don't think I deserve it!"