The Last Housewife Novels & Stories

But every result I worked myself half to death for was always spoken by Sophie one step before me. The moment I settled on a score in my mind, Sophie would announce the exact same answer first. Once or twice could be luck. Sixteen straight wins made everyone shut up. The whole internet went insane. And I, the former prodigy who had never missed, became the biggest joke. People whispered that I couldn't even compare to a stepsister who had joined the family halfway through. I went from the dazzling heir of the Foster family to an abandoned son no one cared about. Only at the moment before my death did I finally learn the truth.

"Sometimes I wonder if you're even my daughter. How is your cousin so smart, and you're this stupid? Did the hospital mix you up at birth? "God, you're stupid." *** After dinner, Mom did the dishes. Then she picked up her phone and called my smartwatch. But my watch had shattered in the crash. "It's off." She gritted her teeth, a vein pulsing at her temple. "She did it on purpose. Turned it off just to make me worry. She's getting back at me."

Then I leaned toward the microphone and spoke softly. "Good evening, everyone. My name is Quentin Thompson. I'm Ms. Hemsley's legal husband. We've been married for ten years, and we have a three-year-old son together. And I'm also..." I paused, letting my gaze sweep across Adeline's pale face. "...the majority owner of this company, with a 51% stake."

“You may call me Edward, Mrs Shaw. And it was my wife who headed the decoration company that made this stunning beauty happen. I agree with you, it is indeed very stunning.” Natalia nods and accepts his hand. “You may call me Natalia, Edward.” She smiles warmly at him. “And bravo to your wife for doing such a great job.” “And this is Mrs Wallbanger and Miss DuPont. This man here is Mr Razier.” Noah continues. “Everyone, this is my wife, Mrs Natalia Shaw.” Natalia smiles and looks at all of them with a smile on her face. “I am pleased to meet you all.”

Eira’s eyes darted nervously as she stammered, at a loss for words. The villa had been purchased shortly after I lost my memory. She had coaxed me into buying it with a bank card that came from who knew where. When I thought about it, that card must have belonged to my family, the Grant family. She had used my money to buy the house. Even so, she had led me to believe, without a single mark on her conscience, that I was the one relying on her to survive.

Morning light spilled across his back, highlighting the lean strength there, the casual intimacy of the domestic scene almost surreal. Who would think the heir of the Hardy empire would be running around in the kitchen making breakfast for her? The man who commanded boardrooms and silenced rooms with a glance was currently debating the consistency of eggs. She leaned against the doorpost and watched him quietly, not wanting to interrupt the rare softness of the moment. “Where is Martha?” she finally spoke up, inquiring about their housekeeper. “I sent her away for the day. We’ll manage,” he finished, not looking up yet, flipping the eggs with concentration.

"Sure. We can cut the speeches. Give Grace the floor." Grace smiled. "I don't want to take over her wedding. Just a few words." Dante was serious. "If you're doing it, do it right. I'll handle the schedule." The three of them talked logistics. Booths. Signage. Timing. My wedding. Turning into a sales pitch. And nobody asked me. I couldn't breathe. I went to my room. In the living room, Grace's competition results were being broadcast. Everyone gathered around the television, barely breathing. I packed my old things. All I took was a sketchbook—my childhood drawings.

My pension and savings were enough for a downpayment on this beautiful, old house. The house had belonged to the Grimsby family, the oldest and richest family in town, whose final living member, Old Man Grimsby, had recently passed away. The house, with its wealth of antique furniture, strange curios, and vast rooms, was more than enough to accommodate the now-expanded Field Team 42. In many ways, it felt like the perfect home for them. But as the last remnants of Dust Bowl’s history lingered, so too did the past they were all trying to leave behind.

Angela Every women's dream is to have a perfect household. We won't settle for less for we women are destined for something bigger and brighter tomorrow for our family. That's how I look things up and continued to serve as a mother and a wife. But, I never thought that life will give me a fucked up challenge. "What? I thought Mr. Takahashi and I talked about this. He knew that I'm on a one-week vacation, right now. Hence, what's up with that old man!" I can't help to yell. "This is absurd," I said with an annoying voice.

She fakes a grin. Viviane pushed her way in and went straight to the kitchen to make herself some coffee. She comes back with the cup in her hand and sits beside me, looking around the house. "You know, this was my dream house with Spencer. This was supposed to be our vacation house. To get away and just relax. And be inlove. And make love," she sighs and laughs sarcastically. "Until he decided to turn around and give it to a bitch. All the years we waited for it to be built. The dreams we had. All of it handed in a silver platter to a young stupid bitch with hot blood and just a tight pussy that had never given birth before. And you know what Spencer told me? That he'd decided to sell the h