The Ultimate Husband Novels & Stories

"This is the real you, isn't it? You only care about money! No wonder Dylan loved me. All you have left is your money now—how pathetic!" I straightened up and said sternly, "Is there anything in this world more satisfying than being rich and having your scumbag husband die? How much is your so-called love even worth? If you don't want more years added to your sentence, you'd better return every penny of my money!" Mandy was still trying to act tough as her downfall approached. There was no way I could let her off so easily. I leaked the evidence to media outlets, who ran wild with the story of Mandy knowingly entering the affair and plotting Dylan's fake death to scam funds from people.

“Those two years when your legs were paralyzed—yes, I wasn’t by your side. But why? Because I was out finding a cure for you! “I went into the hottest deserts, battling sandstorms and blistering heat to find the plants needed for extracting those medicinal compounds. My team and I were nearly swallowed by quicksand. We faced storms that almost killed us. But I never backed down because I wanted you healed. I wanted the research to succeed more than anyone else. “And what about you? While I was risking my life for you, what were you up to? You were sleeping with my cousin. You hid it from me for two years! And you even used ‘business trips’ as an excuse to marry her in America!

“She’s a hot piece of ass, then?” “Yes. And she’s married.” His eyes shifted to the woman in purple, and he chuckled. “Now that’s my brother. I knew there was something missing in this story. You’re the biggest jackass I know, so now it all makes sense. And the husband has no idea?” I shook my head. “I don’t care if he finds out.” “Only more fun that way.” “She says he’s a really powerful guy, and you know me, that makes me want to piss him off even more.”

"I'm finally freeing you from our miserable marriage. It had no future from the start. I want a divorce, Elara Rhodes. The papers are in the envelope. Sign them and deliver them to my doorstep." The sound the crowd made was one long gasp, and then the cameras went off. They went off all at once, white flash after white flash, from every direction, and I stood in the middle of them holding an envelope I didn't remember opening. His signature was on the last page, bold and slanted and final, in the same ink he used to sign our marriage certificate. My fingers shook so badly the paper rattled.

He sat on the couch in front of me and raised an eyebrow with a playful smirk. "You're pretty ruthless." Looking up indifferently, I met his gaze and replied, "The same goes for you." He deliberately wore his shirt loose to show off his abs, exuding a rebellious, defiant attitude. From the way he looked, I knew he was my husband for this life, Jerome. In my past life, I'd seen him a few times at Hanson family banquets. He'd always come off as a playboy who couldn't stay away from women. I just didn't expect the wedding itself to be this absurd.

I shook my head. “He hated him enough to try to kill him. So his brother? I think not.” His expression hardened. “You know nothing about my family. You know nothing about my children.” “And I don’t,” I said simply. “I really don’t. You’re two-faced. You have all these versions of yourself that you show the world. No one can understand you, maybe no one ever will.” I held his gaze. “But what I do know is this....Marcus is my husband. He loves me. He wants me here. And he’s coming back to his empire.”

“No touching. No pulling me close. Nothing. I lie there in that huge bed alone feeling like a stranger in my own marriage.” Koko’s eyebrows rose. “Macho? The same Macho who swept you off your feet with private jets and tiny diamond bracelets? The Macho who gave you a deep french kiss and was groping your ass in front of his parents because he couldn't keep his hands off you. That Macho is suddenly celibate?” I laughed bitterly. “I know how it sounds, Koko. But it's exactly what it is. My husband is thirty-six, ridiculously successful, controls half the tech investments on the West Coast.”

My voice was rising and I couldn’t fully stop it. “What is your problem?” “My problem,” he said, his voice dropping dangerously low, “is that I am your husband. My word in this marriage is final. As long as you carry my name, you will listen to me. Stay away from Bethany. Stay away from Tristan. That is not a suggestion.” “Or what?” I asked. “Or you will unlock a side of me,” he said, slow and deliberate, his eyes on mine, “that you really don’t want to see.”

When my wife's boy toy, Bradley Bell, posts on social media about wanting to settle down, she loses her cool. She rushes home—a place she hasn't set foot in for months—and pleads, "Alan, Bradley is throwing a total fit about wanting something official. Let's get a fake divorce. Just move out for a few days, okay? "Don't worry. It's just a fake divorce. You're the only man I'll ever consider my husband." Seeing her desperate expression, I agree. What she doesn't know is that I came to her side through a companion system I was bound to. Once we're divorced and living apart, I'll be destined to vanish from this world forever, and she'll never see me again.

Turns out being rich and lonely felt worse than being broke and busy. At least one thing had changed. I was glowing. Good food, zero stress, and expensive skincare had done their work, and even I had to admit I looked better. Out of curiosity one afternoon, I searched his name. Alexander Blackwood.Turns out my fake husband owned half the world, industries, fashion companies, a media channel, a model agency, a multi billion dollar empire. Funny how I had to find out about my own husband from the internet, given I hadn't seen him once since arriving. He left before I woke up and came back after I was already asleep.