Novel & Cerita The Wife He Never Loved

His fingers sink inside me, finding my clit, rolling it hard as I grind against him. We break with our release, collapsing in sweat and breath. My body sprawls across his chest, unbound. I whisper, quiet. “Where’s your wife?” The air stills. He’s silent for a long time before answering. “I never had one. She was just a wife of convenience. Papers signed. Nothing more. You were the only one I wanted.” My breath snags. My lips part. The words gut me in half. Twisted irony. He was never hers and was always mine.

“In two years of marriage, you’ve only touched me twice. And those times, you were drunk. I had to beg you—force you even—just to feel like your wife.” “That’s why you cheated,” he said coldly. “Because I wouldn’t touch you.” I flinched. “For your information,” he added harshly, “I never loved you. I have never loved you. And I never will.” My knees buckled slightly. “I have always loved Fiona. Long before you showed up and came between us.” My heart cracked. “That’s why I don’t find you attractive. That’s why I couldn’t touch you,” he continued, his voice like a knife. “Fiona said you had a small brain. And I believed her. Only someone foolish wouldn’t have seen the handwriting on the wall.

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.

Her hand was on his arm, her face tilted up toward his. They weren't touching inappropriately, but the intimacy in their posture made my chest tight. I turned away before they could see me and walked back inside on with my legs shaking. "Isn't that Jason Hartley's wife?" someone whispered behind me. "Poor thing. Everyone knows he never got over Isabelle Brown." "I heard he only married her because his family pressured him to move on." "She must know she's just a replacement." I kept walking, head high, dying inside.

“You know exactly what I mean, Alessia.” His eyes held hers, steady and unyielding. “You were never my wife. You ran away, put someone else in your place, and deceived me. You and your family will answer for it.” A brief pause followed, heavy with finality rather than hesitation. “So remember this,” he continued, each word precise. “I will never love you. My heart belongs to her, only to her. Never to you.” His tone didn’t rise, didn’t waver. That made it worse. “We can keep this circus going if we have to... but only on paper.”

I said. I let the fact sink in, then delivered the final, fatal blow, the truth she could never survive. "And you need to understand something right now, Tanya. You were never going to be my wife. I would have never married you. You were useful. You were a good COO and a temporary distraction from the grief of losing Camille and Nova. You were a friend, but you were never my love. You were never my future." That was it. The last thread of her sanity snapped, audibly, psychologically.

Outside the window Calloway Street was grey and wet and going about its morning without any awareness of what was happening on the internet in Anita Hargrove’s name. The story the photographs told was simple. Wife of prominent businessman photographed outside anniversary dinner with former flame while husband remains inside. Husband later seen calmly retrieving her. Wife declines to return. That last part was the one that kept appearing. Wife declines to return. As though I had made a scene. As though I had been unreasonable. As though Donald had come outside with nothing but dignity and concern and I had refused him. I put the phone face down. The boy’s face.

"And the wife? The one you married instead of my daughter?" "The marriage was annulled. It was never real, just a contract my grandfather forced on me. Genevieve is gone. She's made her own choices, and she'll have to live with them. But Isabella " He paused, his voice roughening. "Isabella is the only woman I've ever loved. The only one I will ever love." The silence stretched. Isabella held her breath, watching her mother's face, waiting for judgment or forgiveness or something she couldn't name.

It was because he never loved her that way. A faint smile slowly appeared on her lips. Broken. Empty. Inside the restaurant, none of them noticed her standing there. Not her husband. Not her daughter. Not even once. Alina turned around quietly and walked away. That evening, the villa felt colder than before. She sat alone at the desk in the master bedroom. A stack of papers rested neatly in front of her. Divorce Agreement. The words looked calmer than she felt. Seven years. She spent seven years loving a man who never chose her.

He never loved her. He never chose her. And he never believed she could leave. For three years, Elena played the perfect wife to Adrian the cold, powerful billionaire who married her only because their families demanded it. She cooked for him. Waited for him. Supported him and loved him quietly. But Adrian never treated her like a wife. His family constantly humiliated her, while his childhood sweetheart, Sophia, slowly found her way back into his life. The final blow comes when Elena discovers Adrian is planning to publicly announce Sophia as the woman he wants by his side. That night, Elena removes her wedding ring and places it on the table. “I’m done begging for a pl