The Substitute Wife Novels & Stories

The dress looked beautiful, the makeup on her face almost flawless, but her heart felt empty. The door to the room opened slowly. A man in a navy suit entered, sitting in a wheelchair pushed by a middle-aged woman. The woman smiled warmly, the same smile from the first time Victoria met her. As if... this wedding was a very exciting thing for her. “Meet, he is my dear nephew. Logan Ashford,” Grace Ashford's soft yet firm voice rang throughout the room. The woman smiled as she looked at the man sitting in the wheelchair beside her. “Your husband,” she added, with emphasis.

Happy. I zoomed in on the plaque next to the painting. *Second Place - Watercolor* *"Morning in Montmartre"* *Felix Laurent, 23* Felix Laurent. Not Marcus. Felix. I sat back. Stared at the photo. The man I'd married wasn't Marcus Laurent. He was Felix Laurent. Marcus's younger brother. The family had substituted one son for the other. Why? Marcus refused? James Laurent needed the merger too badly to let that stop him? So he sent Felix instead?

She is not also the one assign to the boutique but Joan. "Sorry Boss we cannot tract the woman seems she was just erased from the face of the earth!" " For heaven's sake! How am I to present my wife to my partners if that woman is missing!" The huge man who wheeled him said. " It 's okay boss it is arrange I already said that your wife got sick and has an alergies that she cannot be expose to the public." the man said. "Good how about my grandfather did you send him a copy of the videos and pictures."

She had doubted her own husband for someone who doesn't even consider her as a sister. Her mind drifted to everything that Jenner had done to her while she was still living with her parents back then. She thought Jenner had changed, she thought the girl had learnt her lesson the hard way after she was abandoned in the streets with no one to call her own. She had picked Jenner up and dusted her off all her dirty and begged her husband to let her stay with them. She had taken care of her sister since she was the only one she has left in the family and what did she do? She went behind her back to seduce her husband.

“Your father never let me discipline you properly.” I stayed silent. “You will marry Damian Torres in your sister’s place,” she said. “The wedding is in a week.” “What?” I shouted. “No. I’m not marrying some man I don’t know especially not Christabel’s leftovers.” “As if you’d be good enough for my daughter’s leftovers,” she scoffed. “This marriage is to secure the company’s future.” “I won’t do it,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly. “My daughter no longer feels safe with you in this house,” Glinda said coldly. “You have twenty-four hours to pack your things and leave. Otherwise, you’ll be arrested for trespassing.”

“You left, Nina. You disappeared without a word, and I thought you were dead. What exactly was I supposed to hold on to?” Her smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something that resembled guilt, but it was gone just as quickly. “I had my reasons.” “Whatever,” I said nonchalantly. For once, she looked taken aback, her lips parting as though searching for a response. But then her expression hardened. “So that’s it? You’ve replaced me with her?” My jaw clenched. “Her name is Benita, and she’s my wife.” Nina scoffed. “Your wife? The same one you’ve made miserable, or so I’ve heard?”

The first time I saw my husband after we got a marriage certificate, he was holding another woman in his arms. When I almost gave up doing something, Lisa, who was beside me, suddenly rushed up, pushed Patrick, and scolded, "Patrick Cowell, how come you are so shameless? How can you leave your wife alone and hug another woman?"

“We went to school together and left school together. She didn’t talk much, but she treated me differently from others. Her mother even said she wanted us to get engaged before she passed away.” [Here we go again!] [Stephen, don’t believe him!] I looked at him and said slowly, “Oh.” Yarden froze. “That’s it? That’s your reaction?” “And?” I put down my strawberries. “Everything you spoke about was in the past.” “Don’t you feel disgusted? Your wife was with another man.”

distant, meaningless, drowned out by the violent pounding of my heart. Because right in front of me… My husband was holding another woman. Her..The redhead I knew all too well. The same woman who had humiliated him… abandoned him at the altar… and disappeared without a trace. And yet..There she was. Pressed against his chest like she had never left.And there he was.Holding her like I had never existed. I stood frozen outside the glass door of his office, forced to witness everything in painful clarity. There was no curtain, no shadow,nothing to soften the blow.

This was my life and I had made peace with it. That's not me being dramatic. I mean it genuinely. I was thirty-two years old, a junior partner at Hargrove and Sloane, the legal guardian of a three-year-old who drew cats on everything, and I had not been on a date since the Obama administration. But I had a routine that worked. I had a daughter, not biologically, not legally in the strictest sense, but mine in every way that mattered — and I had a job I was good at, and I had an apartment with enough counter space to actually cook, which I had learned to value more than I ever expected.