The Wife He Took For Granted นิยาย & เรื่องราว

He was the gardener’s son, and me becoming his wife was more of a dream come true. Jared worshipped the very ground I walked on, and he never wasted a moment to show his affection for me. But I— I took him for granted. I reminded him at every chance that he was beneath me, a man who didn’t belong in my world of glitter and champagne. I told myself he was lucky to have me. That I had done him a favor by marrying him. But what I didn’t know back then was that love built on pride always rots from the inside.

"How could she hit you so hard? And you just stood there and watched, Jesse. Have you forgotten Sinead is your wife?" I was already a little upset. "She has already married someone else with your approval. Have you forgotten that?" Sinead's mother choked on her words and fell silent. After a while, she spoke again. "But that wasn't real. It was only an act. You're the only one taking it seriously." I rolled my eyes. They had all treated those solemn wedding vows as an act, but I couldn't. In fact, I found it filthy. Besides, it had been five years, and they had never told me about Zachary.

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.

Cloe sat across from him with a cup of tea and watched her husband move around the kitchen, the easy competence of someone who had cooked in this room for years, who knew where everything was without looking, who had learned, across an entire extraordinary year, that the most important thing he could do was keep the ordinary life running while the enormous things moved through it. She loved him for that with a specific and unhurried certainty that had nothing dramatic about it and was, because of that, more real than anything dramatic could have been. “Mac,” she said. He looked over from the cooker. “Thank you,” she said. “For today. For every day.” He looked at her for a moment with the exp

But watching her stand there the other night, sharper, more confident, more genuinely happy than I’d seen her look in years, something entirely different had stirred in my chest, something that had nothing to do with strategy or company politics at all. She was still my wife, legally, technically, whatever paperwork she’d already started filing notwithstanding. I was supposed to love her. That had, after all, been the entire point of marrying her in the first place, hadn’t it? Somewhere along the way, I’d simply stopped noticing what I actually had, taking her presence for granted the way I supposed most men eventually did, distracted by whatever shiny new attention happened to cross my path

He always wanted to know more about something he couldn’t fully possess. And now— Adele was deliberately letting that curiosity grow. “What about you?” Adele finally asked. “Doesn’t your fiancée mind you having coffee with another woman?” Leonard leaned back casually. “Vanessa knows me well enough.” “And that means?” “She knows I wouldn’t do anything stupid.” Adele almost laughed hearing that. How ironic. The man talking about loyalty now was the same man who had once destroyed his own marriage. “Your expression changed,” Leonard suddenly said.

"What does that mean?" "It means you keep letting him. He took your wife, and you let him. He took your place at the hospital, and you let him. He took your seat at your father's table and your daughter's bedtime and now he's taking the *house* where it all happens, and you stand there and tell me you can't do anything." "Ava is not my concern anymore." I almost laughed. It came out of me as a short breath, sharp and unamused, and I saw the road ahead go briefly blurry. "Is that what you really believe?" "Yes." "After watching him with Lily?" "Don't."

That was the part he could never explain without sounding like a coward. He had married her to hurt Daniel. He had pursued her because she was the one person whose trust could open doors that would otherwise remain closed. But somewhere along the way, he had begun looking forward to her calls, remembering the little things she liked, and returning home earlier simply because she had asked him to have dinner with her. He had fallen in love with his own wife. And when the moment came to abandon his revenge, he had chosen to continue it. Victor set the photograph down.

"Obsessed, Mrs. Vane. My genius, barefoot, beautiful wife in my shirt who is all mine." Elevator opened to our penthouse. He carried me out, sandwiches forgotten, boardroom forgotten, world forgotten. He only remembered one thing: his wife in his shirt, who was his choice, his genius, his forever.

But Ken? “I should have done it a long time ago,” he admitted. “I have no excuse other than I took you for granted. I took your love for granted. I wanted it all. The perfect wife, the perfect career. It was never enough. No matter how successful my firm became, I always wanted more until there was nothing left.