The Neglected Wife Novel Novels & Stories

I know because I watched the clock. Twelve minutes in which the woman my husband said he loved lay alone in the marriage bed while he was down the hall, and the woman he was actually giving his life to laughed low and soft through a wall, and the blind wife who wasn't blind lay very still and turned all of it into cold storage.

“You’re married, right?” She nodded, not wanting to elaborate more details. It was embarrassing enough that her own husband was shutting her down in her face. She doesn't need more rejection or pity from other people. “The same person?” She nodded again. Nikolai's probably that same person, she thought. “It all worked for you in the end, I guess.” She didn't respond this time. She got what she wanted, and she even lives in a freaking mansion. This is even more, but no, it doesn't feel like things are working out.

“Clyden, please. Just take us back to our home. Look at grandma and I. We’ve been living in the streets these last couple of days.” “Our home?” I asked in disbelief. “It’s MY home, now. You lost the chance to call it your home when you treated money more like a family than me.” “We regret that, Clyden,” Edith said. “We’ve already learned our lesson. We even came to a conclusion that we’d accept Maia as your wife. Please, Clyden. Just take us back.” “How many times will I tell you no? You should be thankful that I didn’t even press charges against you. Yet, you’re here? Asking for me to take you back! No way in hell,” I said in a resolute voice.

If one fell, they both suffered. That was why some wives would even personally step in to manage their husbands' scandals or actively help find them new lovers. Anathea had naively thought Gregory bringing her back meant he was starting to treat her differently. But now, it was obvious that even if he'd announced their marriage, she would have to face the same experience other wealthy wives went through. Gregory didn't care about her. That was why he'd put her in this position—so she could handle this kind of thing. The one he did care about—Natalie—only had to stay by his side and enjoy his love and affection.

Johan grabbed Caroline’s hand to pull her up. Victoria smiled, satisfied with Johan’s actions toward Caroline. She was constantly treated like this. Only tears could convey her pain. "I didn’t mean to be lazy in this house. I just don’t feel well. I’m always told to do housework all day long." Caroline cried bitterly in front of Johan. A wife should be loved and cared for by her husband. But Caroline Margareth’s fate was different. She was constantly oppressed in her husband’s house. Her mother-in-law didn’t like her presence there.

For a life that did not extend far beyond what I could see. I had been wrong. The question forming in my chest now was not comfortable. If the Vale connections had been inside the Blackwood expansion three years ago, before the divorce, before any of this, then what exactly had I been looking at while I was married to her? What had been right in front of me? And how had I missed it? The whiskey glass was still in my hand. Still barely touched. I set it down on the nearest surface without looking. My mind was doing the thing it did when numbers didn't balance. When a deal had a detail out of place. Pulling threads. Running timelines. Reconstructing.

She was walking home when she saw it. A newsstand on Princes Street. The Financial Times front page, set face-out in the display rack. Lewis's face. His jaw tight, eyes distant, that photograph they always used — the one from the Singapore announcement, when he'd looked like a man who owned the world. The headline above it: STERLING IN CRISIS: CEO'S WIFE VANISHES Sources close to Lewis Sterling confirm the billionaire's wife, Yessica Sterling, left their New York penthouse without warning three weeks ago. Sterling has declined all comment, but insiders suggest—

Noah doesn’t seem to either. Five years I’ve lived this life. From the outside, it looked beautiful—perfect even. As if I was the luckiest woman to marry the heir of the Sinclair family. But on the inside? Cold. Empty. Loveless. I used to believe that my sincerity could warm Liam’s frozen heart. I was wrong. Mrs. Wilson stood up and went to her drawer. She pulled out a brown folder and handed it to me. “There’s one week left in your contract. Here are the papers. Sign it now. Next week, you’ll be free from this family.”

Only that constant presence in my temples: the sound of their pleasure. In my bedroom. Their moans. The bed creaking. The panting. The sexual insults cracking like whiplashes. "Harder." "You see, she doesn't even know how to do that." "My real wife is you." I don't cover my ears. I listen. To the end. To the point of nausea. To the point of numbness. I don't cry anymore. That would be too undignified. I just want to disappear. I wondered, lying there, if I bore some share of responsibility. If I was to blame for letting the pain settle in without ever disturbing it. If I had, somewhere along the way, authorized others to trample me in silence.

Someone he made sure was his stay at home wife and nanny for ten whole years. Anytime the thought crossed my mind, I realized that if I hadn’t overheard him that day, I would never have found out. He would never have told me until his Diane, wife, was ready to come home and settle. And judging by the type of woman she was, Diane would only return when she was finally retired. They were both willing to gamble on my life, and make me waste years tending to their needs, raising their child only to be discarded like trash whenever they were ready.