The Wife Who Knew Everything Novels & Stories

Remembered telling him to come back. Remembered believing he would. Then— nothing. Years of nothing. Her eyes opened. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I hate this." Claire didn't move. "I hate that everyone knows something about him except me." Her voice shook. "I hate that people keep telling me he knew things about me." She clenched her fists. "I was his wife." The last sentence came out almost like a cry. "If he knew something was wrong with me, why didn't he tell me?"

Pretentious bitch– My eyes widened. What did I just say? “Wife?” Muttering with fake shock, she wrinkled her nose. “Oh, didn’t realise you were married.” Her eyes moved to my fingers and then to Killian’s, a bitter look flashed before her eyes. Her eyes slowly whisked to me, taking in my attire and then at my face. “Aren’t you Rara Morris? The daughter of Mathews Morris…” It should surprise me, but it didn’t. Mathews Morris was a well-known name. She’d known him, and his flaunting daughter—one he showed off at every party and gathering that could benefit him. “Glad to see you again, Rara.” She extended her hand. I took her hand unsurely.

“And the lady?” “She’s my wife. The mother of the child.” Heading the word ‘wife’ from him, the man’s eyes widened. This was Marcel Wilson, right? When on earth did he get married and how come no one knows about it? Did he get married secretly? He wrote down Marcel’s answer.

A loyal wife caught off guard by cheating allegations from her husband, divorced, and now trying to make sense of the conundrum she had been thrust into. Either way, I was invested. This was a drama I could enjoy from the front seat, sipping neat whiskey as I watched it unravel. I didn’t mind whatever turned out to be true. I wasn’t about to wife her — or anyone else. I just needed to fuck her and ease the primal desire that was turning me all the way loose. She had already surprised me today by revealing she was an engineer. And she took monstrously sized dildos in her pussy. What other surprises did she have in store for me?

I tell Vivienne. “I picked everything out; it should be mine.” Vivienne screeches. “Your name isn’t on the papers. I voided and paid the contracts. It is my asset.” I explained. Vivienne stands up, “You and I kissed Friday. Does your wife know that?” “You kissed me, and I pushed you away. Let me be clear, Vivienne. Even if Ellie weren’t in the picture, we wouldn’t be together. Me loving someone else doesn’t change the fact that you cheated while I was fighting for my life in a burn unit.” I explained.

To fall back into the role of the delicate wife who trusted her husband without question. I didn’t flinch. But I played the part. He still thought I was that girl. The naive one. The one who didn’t ask questions. Who followed behind him like a shadow. I knew exactly what was happening. His mother had called him. Of course, she had. Word travels fast in a house filled with secrets.

The call didn’t go through. Again. And again. Phone unavailable. Then he remembered the email. The moment he tapped it, his world stopped. The video played. Him and Ella—from the first time they met to yesterday. Every secret meeting. Every lie. Every touch. And the sender? Grace Morgan. His wife. He burst back into the bedroom, fury rolling off him in waves. His voice was low this time—too controlled, too sharp. “You went behind my back,” he said. “You crossed a line you knew better than to touch.”

I watched the recording, fists clenched so tight my fingers went white. So Grandpa knew. He knew the whole time. And she let him find out something that dirty. Then why didn't he tell me? The guy swallowed hard. "Ms. Sweeney wasn't scared. She snapped, 'You old bastard, your grandson can't even have kids, and you won't let me borrow one?' Then she said, 'Be smart. Right now, only I know. Expose this, and everyone will know your grandson can't give you a great-grandchild.'

Because standing by the window, looking out at the city with her back to me, was a woman I didn't recognize. But something about her posture. Her height. The way she held herself. She turned around. And my entire world stopped. Because Jaxon Romano, the man who remembered every business deal, every competitor, every threat... didn't recognize his own wife. Fate, it seemed, had a sense of irony.

They don't matter. "And what do you guys think?" Kael doesn't look at me. His eyes are fixed on something on his desk. A paper. A pen. Anything but me. "It's not what I think that matters here," he says slowly. "It's what I know." I wait. "And what I know is that my wife is not a killer. My wife is the sweetest person in the universe. My wife is kind. She is gentle. She loves her children. She forgave me when I didn't deserve it. She held me when I was broken." He pauses. Finally looks at me. "There is one thing my wife is not. She is not a killer."