The Untouchable Ex Wife Novels & Stories

“You know she only gave you that money because she felt cornered. Because you called her crying from the hospital—” “Which wasn’t a lie,” I interrupted. “The surgery was expensive. I just… maybe padded the urgency and prize a little.” Rita stared at me like she didn’t recognize me. Honestly, maybe she didn’t. The old Vanessa, the one who struggled to pay rent, who rationed groceries, died the moment that check cleared. “I just don’t get it,” Rita whispered. “She lost her job. She’s being dragged online. And now she’s parading around as some rich man’s girlfriend and you’re just—“

Another chimed in, “You’re so lucky. Mine doesn’t even text unless I remind him!” She laughed awkwardly at their comments, her skin crawling. She couldn’t stop them, it wasn’t like she could explain what was really going on. That the so-called romantic husband was the same man who once looked her in the eyes and told her he could never love her. Each gift felt like a slap. She made sure to throw the flowers in the trash before heading home. As for the food, she handed it off to children begging on the street, at least someone should benefit from it.

Ava stayed in front of me protectively, ready to lunge if Zarina so much as blinked the wrong way. Zarina took a step closer, smiling cruelly. "You think throwing him a party will change anything? You think it’ll make him love you again? You're even more pathetic than I thought. You’re delusional, Anastasia. He’s already moved on." "Maybe," I said evenly. "Maybe he has. But I’m still his wife." Zarina flinched, just a little, the word wife hitting exactly where I intended it to. Her eyes flashed with fury, her hands clenching into fists. She stepped even closer, so close I could see the tremble of rage in her shoulders.

"But you forgot one thing. I didn't just link Rowan to the baby." He pressed a button on the remote. A sharp, high-pitched cry erupted from the smoke behind me. I turned and saw a figure climbing out of the abyss. It wasn't an Omega. It wasn't a wolf. It was a woman. She was covered in silver scars, her eyes a dead, milky white, and she was carrying a dagger made of Rowan’s own bone. "Meet the real Alpha of this pack," Julian smiled. "My wife. The one Rowan sold me twelve years ago."

“I just loved Julio.” Sheena shook her head. “That wasn’t love. That was obsession.” Tania fell silent. Sheena continued, “What you’re experiencing now is the result of your own actions.” Tania lifted her face. Tears streamed down. “I’m disabled.” Sheena looked at her without pity. “That is the punishment for an evil woman.” Gevan was slightly surprised, but he did not interrupt. “You hurt many people,” Sheena went on. “You almost killed my husband.”

That I'd had no other option. But those were lies. All of it was lies designed to protect me from the reality that I murdered my wife to save my mistress. I don't know who you were, Bianca. I lived with you for four years and I never bothered to learn your dreams, your fears, what made you laugh when you weren't just being polite. I reduced you to a function in my life, and when you stopped fulfilling that function, I considered you expendable. You deserved so much better. You deserved a husband who actually loved you, who saw you as a complete person rather than a role. You deserved to be chosen, to be prioritized, to be valued for who you were instead of what you could provide.

"My name is Clara Vance, and I am the founder and CEO of V-Tech Industries." The room erupted. Reporters scrambled to get closer. "Miss Vance! There are rumors you were married to Julian Thorne! Is it true you've been his housewife for three years?" a journalist yelled. Clara leaned into the microphone, a small, icy smirk playing on her lips. "I was a wife, yes. But I found the position… underwhelming. I’ve decided to return to a role that requires more intelligence and significantly less cooking." Julian felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. He stared at the screen, his blood running cold. She looked beautiful. She looked powerful. She looked like a stranger.

“It is going to be good. Trust me.” Before I could retort, a woman in a sequined gown passed by, and Roman gave a low whistle. “That’s Mrs. Clinton. Rumor is, she divorced her husband for his driver. She’s such a cliche of an elite but she currently owns to most shares at her ex-husband’s company which makes him see her everyday and so I guess she played chess well.” “Roman!” I gasped, laughing despite myself at how amazingly detailed he was. “What? You can’t wear a thirty thousand dollar dress and still chase your ex’s driver. That’s not class…that’s chaos and I guess she doesn’t know the power she wields.” He added seriously and I still found it amusing.

Give me back my wife's life! Tears and mucus streaked his face. His despair spread through the crowd. Many onlookers showed sympathy, and whispers and accusations rippled outward. "I heard the driver is a well-known female programmer, and her husband is even more powerful, that famous Prince…" "No wonder she's so arrogant. She killed someone and still acts like it's nothing." "The lives of the rich matter, but don't ours matter too?"

The woman herself looked elegant and modest, yet there was something about her eyes — honesty wrapped in quiet pain. “She really is Devandra Montgomery’s ex-wife,” he murmured, reading the short article beneath the photo. “But apparently, she left that family after the divorce. Works in media tech now. Hm… seems like a strong woman.” “Strong?” Madam Wiratama nearly screamed. “She’s a social climber, that’s what she is! She was married to a wealthy heir, and now she’s targeting our son? Do you really think it’s love, Wiratama? Don’t be naïve. She knows Arga is our only heir!”