The Wife He Never Knew Novels & Stories

He looked around as though seeking understanding, no one so much as blinked. "Get on with it." "Yes, but I need you to understand that I would never have gotten involved with these people otherwise. I mean I'd just lost my beautiful wife and I..." "Cut the crap Sanders, the night your wife died you were fucking a cocktail waitress at the bar you frequented with your buddies. Now tell me what the fuck I want to know before my patience grows thin." "How did you...?" "Never mind how I know, I know plenty. What I don't know and you're going to tell me, is what the fuck you planned to do with my wife."

"If you're that desperate, go hump a stick." She froze, color draining from her face. She couldn't wrap her head around it. She was reaching out to her husband, and he hit her with "no shame"? Lucia didn't sleep a second. Buried under the covers, she scrolled through a forum on her phone: [The pain of a sexless marriage. What should I do if my husband's never touched me since we got married?] Some replies hinted maybe he was into guys. Others wondered if he just... couldn't.

“A game? You must be kidding me. I don’t even know who you are. What game are we talking about?” He took a step closer, and I could feel the tension in the air, sharp and dangerous. “The kind of game where men like you learn their place. The kind of game where you stay away from my wife.” I froze. “Your wife?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, incredulous. “I think you have the wrong guy. I don’t do anything with ugly, old women. I don’t know what kind of joke you’re playing.” What the hell is wrong with this psychopath? I don't know who his wife is. Why would I even go after someone's wife? I'm very sure the only married woman I know in my life is my mother.

“Because I didn't know!” He stared at her. “How long have you known?” He asked, his voice became colder. “I found out when Mike showed us the photograph.” “And before that?” “I didn't know anything.” He shook his head. “I trusted you.” Her eyes began to water. “I brought you into my life,” he continued. “I made you my wife.” “Ivan.” “And all this time, you were looking into my parents' deaths?” “This is my first time doing this, and I'm only trying to prove that my father didn't do it.”

"Jerome, you can't be this cold. Talia's your wife! You're really sending her to prison yourself? Without her, these kids won't have a mother!" It made my stomach turn. Now he just said it out loud—she's my wife. No shame. I almost wanted to slap myself for bringing him into her life. "You good? Talia's your wife. Your kids' mom. What's she got to do with me? You wanted what wasn't yours. You stabbed me in the back. Now you pay." As they dragged Talia off, she twisted back and spat, "I put up with being your wife for seven years—that's more than you deserved. You think you're some prize?

I crush the cigarette under my heel when I see Ciara coming. She stared at me. My jawline, my eyes. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first, just a soft exhalation. "You—" Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper. She glanced wildly around the corridor. I don't move. I just watched her with a half-smile playing at his lips. "You knew," she hisses, stepping forward on trembling legs. "You knew exactly who I was. You let me," she pauses. "You let me spread my legs for you like some desperate slut thinking it was my husband."

She had walked out not only as his wife, but as the mother of the life he hadn’t even known he had. For the first time in years, Vincent’s hand shook. “Valentina…” His whisper scraped the empty air. The house gave him nothing back.

“His wife, his ex-wife, I mean. You both have the same fire, the same way of snapping at him when he crosses the line. Although, to be fair, she was even louder about it.” My stomach dropped. Wife? What wife? The word buzzed in my ears. “Wait,” I asked, stunned. “Chase… was married?” “You didn’t know?” Natalia asked with confusion laced in her tone. I shook my head. “No. He never told me.” She exhaled slowly. “Wow. That’s… surprising. I thought you knew everything by now.” “Clearly not.” I defended myself. “Look, I should not have said anything. Because that is not my story to tell. It’s his.”

When he pulled away, his voice dropped low, meant only for her. “Don’t misunderstand this,” he said quietly. “You have my name—but nothing else.” Amara’s chest tightened. Before she could respond, applause erupted around them. Cameras flashed. Smiles were expected. Lucas turned away from her without another word. And as Amara stood alone at the altar—now a wife—she realized something terrifying. She hadn’t just married a stranger. She had married a man who already hated her.

“If you do not go and divorce that useless man you married, then you will never get your mother’s things back.” The moment he said that, frustration immediately filled me. Even if I wanted to do exactly what he asked for the sake of my mother’s keepsakes, the problem was… I didn’t even know who my husband was. I didn’t know his name. I barely even remembered Madam Evelyn’s face properly anymore. The only thing I knew about her was her name. Madam Evelyn. And the worst part was that I could not even remember the name of the hotel we stayed in that night.