The Wife He Never Chose Novels & Stories

I’m not coming home. I stared at it for a moment before replying briefly. Okay. Our messages were always brief and to the point. Nothing that resembled a conversation between husband and wife. Of course, I knew why. Because he never loved me. Becoming his wife was nothing more than a twist of fate. Three years ago, he was supposed to marry Isabella... .the woman he loved. We’d all known each other since we were young. But tragedy struck just days before their wedding. A car accident left Isabella in a coma.

She knew she would have to wait to go shopping all the time. Harley never cared about money. She only cared about keeping everyone happy. If that meant putting up with my wife’s humiliation, that was what she would do and she never told me or Victor about it. She never complained. I was able to watch what my wife did through the cameras that were in the house. I was never more ashamed to call her my wife.

The look on his face was no longer cold. It was broken and furious at the same time. “I have one wife,” he said. His voice dropped back down to something quiet and terrifying. “One wife. And she is gone.” He stared straight into my eyes like I was nothing. “Don’t ever stand in front of me and call yourself my wife again. Don’t ever think that is what you are. You are here because I had no other choice. That is all.” “Jared… I did not mean to—”

he said, his voice firm but calm, “I need you to hear this.” She met his gaze, attentive. “No matter what you thought, no matter how far you felt you had to go, I never stopped seeing you as my wife. By law, yes,” he added with a faint, serious smile, “but more than that, by choice. By history. By everything we’ve survived.” Elena’s breath caught not dramatically, but deeply. She had spent so long bracing herself for rejection, for distance, for being asked to step aside quietly. Hearing him claim her so plainly without pressure, without spectacle, struck something steady and real inside her.

His grip was surprisingly strong. He didn’t look at his wife, now frozen in silent, white-faced fury at the podium. He looked at the stunned, glittering crowd. “This,” he said, his voice a rasp that commanded absolute attention, “is the woman my son chose.” He held my hand aloft, just a little. “She reminds me of someone I knew a long time ago. Someone with fire in her soul and dirt under her nails from building something real. Someone I was too cowardly to choose.” He turned his gaze to Aiden, a world of regret and pride in his eyes. “You are braver than I was. Don’t let the bastards win.” His eyes flicked, just once, toward his wife.

Now the picture looked different. Vivienne hadn't returned because she'd suddenly realised she couldn't live without him. She'd returned after reading about Cross Enterprises. She had seen opportunity. Not love. Mara sat with that. It didn't erase what happened. It didn't erase the breakfast table. The envelope. The motel room. The positive pregnancy test. The long nights wondering how she had failed to see her own marriage ending. None of that disappeared. Damien had still made his choice. He had still walked away.

He doesn’t even spare me a glance. “Lena is not a slave, and I need her to…” “Go” he cuts me off. “The woman would not be leaving.” “But…” “That’s final. Now leave Maria.” Walter roars with laughter along with the scantily dressed women perched on his laps. “Dear me! I’ve heard about the way you discipline the women in your household, but I didn’t think it extended to even your wife.” Cheeks burning in humiliation, I hurry out of the room with Walter’s maid before Sebastain can say something worse.

Then his expression softens slightly. "I fell in love with someone." The entire lobby seems to fall silent. Edward continues in the same calm voice. "And I wanted her to be my wife." A wave of murmurs spreads through the reporters. "Was it love at first sight?" "Mr. Dallion, how long have you known her?" "Where did you meet?" Finally, one reporter asks the question everyone wants answered. "Mr. Dallion, why did you choose to have such a simple and private wedding?"

For three years, we had lived under the same roof, shared the same dining table, same bedroom and yet I didn't know the woman I had married. I had never once heard her talk about her childhood..Never heard stories about old friends, not once had I seen her parents visit the villa. Back then, I had simply assumed she was a private person. Someone who preferred keeping everything to herself. But looking back now...that wasn't the truth. It wasn't that Jennifer never spoke. It was that...I had never cared enough to ask. Images from the past replayed themselves one after another. Amanda ordering Jennifer around as though she were a servant. Vivian accepting Jennifer's sacrifices as though they w

“I choose you. Not because you saved me. Because you let me save myself. Because you love me on the bad days and the good ones. Because home is wherever you are.” He swallowed. “Sarah,” he said. “I choose you. I choose your ambition and your anxiety and your terrible lasagna. I choose the CEO and the girl who grows dead tomatoes. I choose all of it. For all of it.” We said I do. The officiant smiled. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” He did. Slow. Like a promise. Everyone started cheering. *That night.* We didn’t go to a hotel.