The Other Wife Novels & Stories

What would make me happy is my wife staying my fucking wife instead of stabbing me in the back. ‘I don’t want to be your wife anymore!’ I exploded. I shoved him back. ‘I’m done being the invisible wife whose husband fucks other women in his office in broad daylight!’ ‘Are you jealous?’ Cary’s voice shifted, amused. He stepped closer again, eyes burning through me. ‘Is that what this is? You want me to stop fucking other women?’ A small, crooked smile curved his lips. A smile I didn’t understand. ‘You want me to stop fucking other women because, what, you’re in love with me? Want to have me all to yourself?’

Few words left her throat which froze his whole being. “It’s wrong. A sin. I-I am married. I am someone else’s wife. Please.” _____________________________________________ Lmao, why am I laughing? A wife telling her husband she’s someone’s wife when the dude is right above her. It’s funny to imagine. You guys aren’t liking and following me as much as you should. You guys better start following me and liking the story otherwise I will not upload this story often like this. Till the next Adios.

Big fingers tighten on my hips and that’s the only warning I get before he impales me once more, filling me more than I think I can manage. “You just can’t help it, can you?” His wife sounds almost breathless, her nipples growing hard and prominent, almost visible through the soft material of her gown. “You’re an animal.” She can try to hide it all she wants but her body has betrayed her. She’s turned on from watching her husband fuck another woman. This is turning her on. “Ah, I can almost smell your arousal from here,” Mr Walter gloats. “You love seeing me fuck another woman so much? All you have to do is say so and I’ll give you a fucking show, sweetheart.”

"I've told you, I can't help you find your mom and I can't be her." Liam sends me a knowing glance. "This is my wife, Laura." "Hi ma'am. It's good to finally meet you." She scrunches her face up like she's not happy to see me. "That's wrong, you weren't married to this one all along. The one you married was prettier. Who's this?" "My first wife, Neriah, died. This is my second wife." She finally decided to settle into a chair. Liam and I lower ourselves into the seats opposite her.

I ask, stepping slightly to the side so I am no longer hidden behind Caleb's shoulder. The woman lets out a soft, mocking chuckle. "He hasn't told you about me? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Caleb always did like to bury things he couldn't handle." She looks back at Caleb, her expression softening into something desperate. "I'm Nancy, honey. I'm his wife."

Robert sat in his chair, and he looked, Cloe thought, more himself than he’d looked at Christmas last year, as if the year of ordinary life had done for him what the reunion alone couldn’t have, which was simply remind him of what ordinary felt like. James had brought his wife this time, someone none of them had met before, a quiet, warm woman named Helen who looked around at the family and said, to nobody in particular, “He told me about all of you. I didn’t believe half of it.” “Which half,” Sophia asked. “The impossible half,” Helen said. “That’s the truest half,” Dave said simply.

Nora Bellweather married a man who never loved her. When she found proof of his betrayal, something in her went quiet and hard. Then, drowning her grief in a dim bar one night, she saw three faces from a past she thought she'd buried for good. The next morning, her husband walked in with three important guests, and she nearly dropped the teapot in her hands. It was them. Older, sharper, wealthier, and dangerous in ways they never used to be. They had once loved her without limits before everything fell apart. Now they were back in her house, in her life, refusing to stay away. Nora cannot forgive what tore them apart years ago, and she will not survive another heartbreak in a marriage that h

Now, he was back to that version of himself teasing, kind, secretly smitten and it was both a gift and a curse. She gripped the sponge, her knuckles white, her heart screaming: *You’re my husband, Jack. We’re married.* The beige walls of their home felt like a mockery, every corner holding a memory she couldn’t share. The cream curtains in the living room, the ones they’d picked out together, laughing over how “domestic” they felt.

She alleged that I had forced her to miscarry and was now attempting to drive both her and Vincent to their deaths. Her sob story struck just the right chord with certain netizens, and the comment section was instantly overrun by righteous keyboard warriors who were eager to take her side. "I knew his wife looked like trouble. So, she has her father pulling strings behind her. No wonder she's so arrogant!" "My heart goes out to you, girl. You did nothing wrong. The ones at fault are the scumbag who lied to you and that old hag who bullied you with her father's influence!" "Girl, run! There's no telling what a woman from that kind of family might do!"

Her phone lit up again. I walked over. On the screen was a preview of WhatsApp notifications: James: [Your husband came today, I’m so scared. [Will he hurt our child? [When are you coming to see Noah? He says he misses his Mom.] The shower was silent.