Wife Next Door Novels & Stories

Her cheeks burned and without another word, she hurried toward the kitchen, trying her best to hold back her tears. She grabbed the nearest rag, wrung it under running water, then returned before Damien had the chance to call for her again. Everyone in the room stared at her. She bent over and wiped the table with trembling hands, praying nobody would speak. But no such luck. "Is your maid always this clumsy?" a man sitting near the fireplace asked. Before Damien could answer, another replied, "that's his wife." The room erupted. "Wife?" the first man repeated between laughs. "Damien, man, you could do better than this."

She turned to her husband before turning back to me, “Take it as part of the competition.” “The…sharing an apartment with Wi—Mr. Rogers?” “Yes,” she softly smiled, sounding like I was asking a stupid question. “I mean…” I looked back at William, who didn't seem to have anything to say, “I know Mr. Grant and you are educated; you've probably heard…” I let them fill in the gaps, but they both shook their heads, “You know, it was on the news?” “If it's not the weather report we’re not watching it, I mean…” Mrs. Grant turned to her husband before turning back to me. “We don't follow the news.”

Maybe this is a good time to rebuild our closeness a little so that everyone feels appreciated in this game. "I'm sorry, honey. I've been too busy lately, to the point that we've missed a lot of time together. Maybe if we can win this problem, we'll enjoy the results together. In the meantime, let Malisa languish in prison, or better yet, let her die, and we'll finish her off," I said, trying to calm my wife, Lina.

a woman whispered. "Yeah, haven't you met her yet?" another replied. "No, first time seeing her. What's she doing here?" "I guess playing the devoted wife and mother role." The whispers kept coming one after another, but none of them had the courage to actually talk to her. Alice Reed would show up any minute with her daughter, and everyone knew what would happen then. As Deanna settled on a bench, a woman approached her. "You're Daniel's wife?" she asked, looking straight at her.

He was observant enough to notice something funny about me. “Birthday yesterday? You mean Nex? Single mom with different-colored eyes?” I became puzzled by the question asked. “You know Nex?” “We’re neighbors. Right next door to each other,” he answered. “If she has a friend like you with her, I guess it will help make things easy on her.” “What do you mean by that?”

In their world, the woman always carried the heavier blame. And now, the impossible request hung over her like a stormcloud: Ethan. August’s cousin. His chosen solution. Her heart twisted at the thought. She didn’t want to imagine Ethan’s face, but it forced itself into her mind anyway—his quiet gaze, his steady presence in the family. Ethan was trusted. Reliable. And now, her husband wanted her to cross the one line she had vowed never to break.

Getting out, I dried off and wore my blue jeans and white shirt and checked myself in the mirror one last time. Not bad. Then grabbed my small bag and stepped outside. Just as I started locking the door, loud yelling came from across the hall. Here we go again. Zoey's neighbors were something else. First, the manwhore upstairs who kept bringing different girls home to bang. Now it was some couple downstairs quarrelling, screaming like they were on a reality TV show. The door across from me swung open so hard it hit the wall and an older woman, probably in her late forties, stepped out looking pissed off.

I barreled into the bathroom like a madwoman. Of course, it was that wall. The sound of the drill pounded in my skull, making my teeth rattle. That wall was shared with the apartment next door. The two units were separated only by hollow bricks. If I did not stop Maya, that drill would go straight through the thin facade, and Zach’s rotting face would be exposed. I could not be bothered about anything else. I grabbed my crutch and pounded on her door.

The lights inside were warm and inviting, and he could see the family of his wife gathered around the dining table, enjoying a meal together. Heartened by the prospect of some comfort and connection, Welbeck walked up to their door and knocked softly. The sound of laughter and conversation halted as his wife, Kiera, opened the door. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him, and she quickly stepped aside to let him in.