Wifey Book Novels & Stories

*** Note: My other book "Heartbreaker wife " is completed on goodnovel app. If you like possessive man and toxic marriage with lots of steaminess. Then please give my book a try. Love Pia.

Cyra then entered her room after a small meeting with her in-laws was over. To pass the time until she felt sleepy, Cyra decided to read a book. In Felix's spacious room, there was a small library tucked away in one corner. Cyra walked over to the neatly stacked piles of books, silently admiring her husband's diverse collection. "Wow ... it turns out Mas Felix is a bookworm," she whispered. Suddenly, tears welled up in Cyra's eyes. For some reason, she was missing her husband tonight.

Jessica exclaimed with excitement. "Hello Fred, congratulations on your wedding," I greeted, handing him the gift that Jessy and I had gotten for him. "Thank you, Emily. I'm glad you two could make it," he replied with a smile. "This is my wife. Babe, they're Brandon's little sisters," he introduced us to his wife. "Natasha," she smiled. "Emily." "Jessica," Jessy and I introduced ourselves simultaneously, returning the smile. She seems pleasant. I think I like her.

The stocks, the bonds, the accounts I'd barely had four years to enjoy before the cancer came. "He'll take care of everything," I whispered, more to convince myself than Whitmore. "He's my husband. He loves me." Whitmore's silence spoke volumes, but he gathered the documents without argument. He'd tried to talk me out of this three times already. Suggested trusts, stipulations, safeguards. But I was tired. So tired. And I wanted to believe that my life hadn't been as lonely as it felt in this sterile hospital room. "There is one more thing," I said, my voice cracking. "My last wish. I want to see Adrian. One more time. At the estate."

It infuriates me whenever he calls me by that endearment. But I. Am. No. Longer. His. Wife. I wanted to shout it at him right then and there. His face was only inches away from mine, but my nervousness vanished as he drew closer. It was replaced by irritation. Every time he called me wife, it made my blood boil. If it were in the past and he had called me by that endearment, I might have happily succumbed to his charms, eagerly waiting for the next sweet moment. I might have fallen for his manipulative gestures.

She had wondered privately if the stink of the city alone could coerce her to follow her husband’s command to stay indoors, though she considered it highly unlikely. As she had paused to examine the books lining the shelves, the faint beginnings of her good humour had fled. The titles on the spines leered down at her, the jagged lettering contriving rotten faces of their own. Woman and Sin, they read. The Keeping of a Good Wife. Accomplishments Acceptable in the Female Gender.

“The woman at the front desk, you’re fucking her, right? If you really want to make this right, then why do you still have the audacity to bring her again and fuck her at the house I lived, Jack?” “That’s not true.” “I have pictures, and that woman was more than willing to share your fair share of escapades. My self-esteem’s at its lowest and I’ve been asking myself, on top of the many questions I have already, why did my husband cheat? Is it because I don’t look beautiful enough? Am I not sexy enough? Do I bore him already?” “No. That’s not true.” Jack attempted to go near Hyacinth. She raised her hand to stop him.

"After God, fear women" Claire was dumbstruck. It could not be. Nathan had just married his competitor and she had nothing to say about it. The dinner was about to commence so she had plenty of time to prove Bianca was a fraud. Wrong! She had very little time and she remaining glued to her seat was not going to change anything. Claire stood up and joined the new wife, her suspicion making her unable to keep a smile.

Maria cried out loud her shoulder is shaking and she's tightly gripping my shirt. "Wish you we're my wife too..." We have the right love but at the wrong time.

Sydney, Australia. The city glittered beneath the evening sky. Inside a modern apartment overlooking the harbor, Stephen Wao stared at his phone. It had rung seventeen times in the last three hours. Colleagues. Relatives. Former friends. Even people he hadn't spoken to in years. The latest message flashed across the screen. IS IT TRUE YOUR WIFE IS CONNECTED TO THE NAKURU CASE? Stephen closed his eyes. Slowly. Painfully. For twenty-six years, he and Mercy had lived with secrets.