The Wife He Never Knew Novels & Stories

From the time I was 22 until I turned 30, Brianna Everly and I had a wedding every year. The only thing we never had was a marriage certificate. She said she was afraid of marriage, terrified that we'd end up like her parents. So I gave her eight years to prepare herself—until our eighth wedding, when Brianna showed up in the wrong wedding dress. It looked just like the wedding dress she'd always worn for our ceremonies, except for one detail. The name embroidered along the neckline wasn't mine. It was my best friend, Leon Stratford's. I was about to confront Brianna when my brother, Dominic Sterling, grabbed my arm. "Harrison, it's been eight years. What's the point of digging into it no

She didn’t know why he wanted a wife in the first place but from all that she had found out , it was rumoured that he was gay and so he had to get married just to end the rumours , but why did she have to be the one being used to end such thoughts , that was the most craziest thing that she had ever thought of , it was making her go insane already . She tapped her hands as nervously as the man because he went through his phone on intervals . Why did he have to act like she never existed? Watching the man act like she was never there made her heart hurt but there was nothing that could be divine about it . In her wildest dream never thought that she was going to be married to a rich CEO who w

“A wife should know how to satisfy her husband.” “YOU’RE NOT MY HUSBAND! I’D NEVER—“ His hand instinctively gripped tightly around her delicate throat, exerting an immense amount of pressure that caused her to gasp for air. The intensity of the situation was palpable as her eyes widened in sheer terror, desperately seeking a way to escape his grasp as he pushed her head into the water.

If I show him that this bothers me, he will continue to do it. Before entering Max’s room, I knock on the door. When I don’t get a response, I slowly open it and say, “Maxwell, you will need to get up or you will be late for work. I am making breakfast for you and your friend. Here are her clothes.” I drop the clothes just inside the door. Maxwell groans, and the woman asks, “Who is that?” Max is quick to respond, “That’s my wife. I would introduce you, but I forgot your name.” The woman leaves in a huff.

"Everyone knows he spoils his wife. Classic Jurg move." The room buzzed with envy. Zachary clutched my hand like he was the dream husband. All I could do was laugh inside. My chest felt iced over. Frozen solid. This grand public love story? Total act. Behind the scenes, the real title belonged to someone else. He gave me a fake name, a fake life—while legally tying himself to another woman. What a sick joke. As soon as I sat down, a sharp cramp hit my lower stomach. I pressed a hand there.

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.

I couldn't help the tears that rolled down my eyes as I hurried from the exit. The cameras were running wild. Everyone wanted a glimpse of the supposedly dead heiress. They wanted a glimpse of Killian's wife. No one knew me. I'd been hidden all my life. No one knew me as his wife. They all knew his mistresses but I was the hidden thing. I was broken. I was lost. And finding out that Mr. Mystery man was my husband's father? I couldn't breathe. I fumbled with my keys as I neared my car, still shaking.

The one question I knew would hurt me but I asked it anyway. “Did you ever regret marrying me?” Maybe he would say no, maybe he would give me one mercy before destroying me but Damien had never been a merciful man. He then looked me straight in the eyes and said, “That marriage should never have happened.” I could not believe and everything in me stopped, there was no sound, no tears, just pain, raw pain. I then stared at him, and for one second, I did not know this man. This could not be the same man who dragged me into his lap after midnight and kissed me until my knees gave out.

Eight weeks ago, his phone rang at six the next morning, and he walked out of the bedroom without looking at me, and that afternoon the staff began preparing the east wing for my sister. I was sitting in a hospital gown in a room where the only woman who ever loved me had just died, holding a velvet pouch I had been told not to open, with a doctor's hand on my arm and the word ‘eight’ ringing in my ears. I did not say anything for a long time. Then I whispered to myself, "He is never going to know.”

Because neither of them were prepared for how honest the answer might be. Alina looked at him for a long moment. Then finally “I don’t know.” A pause. “But I remember when I stopped hoping.” Something inside him shifted violently at those words. Not visibly. But enough. Lucien took another step closer. “Alina.” She didn’t move. Didn’t retreat. Didn’t melt. Nothing. “You’re still my wife.” This time, the words sounded less commanding. Less certain. Almost like he was trying to convince himself. Alina looked up at him calmly.