The Neglected Wife's Bitter Awakening
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My husband, Kahlil, despised me, while his "sister" Cassandra lived in our home, playing the role of a fragile, wheelchair-bound victim.
To get rid of me, she orchestrated a trap, taking a misleading photo to frame me for having an affair.
When Kahlil saw the photo, he didn't even give me a chance to explain.
He believed Cassandra's fake tears instantly and violently shoved me away.
I crashed hard into a heavy glass table, the impact sending agonizing spasms through my stomach that dropped me to the floor in a cold sweat.
While I writhed in excruciating pain, he stood there shielding the very woman who was destroying my life.
"Stop playing the victim," he roared, looking at me with pure disgust. "You are my wife in name, and you will not make a fool of me!"
My heart completely shattered as I lay on the cold hardwood floor.
I had never been unfaithful, yet he treated me like property, blindly protecting a snake who wore sheer tops to seduce him at midnight.
Why was I enduring this suffocating farce of a marriage just to be trampled on?
But when Cassandra pushed her luck and hired a sleazy playboy to assault me in the dark garden, her perfect mask finally shattered.
As Kahlil rushed in to save me, a terrified Cassandra forgot her own lie and stood up from her wheelchair on two perfectly healthy legs.
Looking at their shocked faces, I realized it was finally time to crush the snake and walk away for good.
The Neglected Wife's Bitter Awakening Chapter 1
Cassandra sat on the edge of the mattress. Her fingers twisted the crisp white bedsheet, pulling the fabric so tight her knuckles turned a stark, bone-white. The tears were still wet on her cheeks, but the despair in her chest was already hardening into something cold and sharp. Despair was a useless emotion. It wouldn't win her Kahlil. Only action would. Cold, sharp action.
Mrs. Dawson stood beside the bed. She handed Cassandra a tissue, her voice a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Miss Mills, you can't let that woman steal everything from you."
Cassandra snatched the tissue. Her voice shook, but the venom in her throat was undeniable. "She has everything. The face, the name. And now she wants his child? I won't let her."
Mrs. Dawson leaned closer. The older woman's breath smelled of peppermint and malice. "I overheard the staff talking. Mrs. Sinclair is trying to be with the master. To conceive."
Cassandra's head snapped up. Her pupils dilated. A hot, ugly jealousy burned in her stomach, rising to her throat like bile. "Conceive? After he rejected me? It's all her doing! She's bewitched him!"
Mrs. Dawson paused, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "There is one person. A Sinclair. A useless playboy, but he has the name and the appetites."
Cassandra's breathing hitched. A twisted, cold smile stretched across her lips. "Preston Sinclair. The family embarrassment."
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand. Her thumb tapped the screen rapidly. When the line connected, the coldness vanished from her face. Her voice instantly dropped into a soft, trembling pitch. "Preston? It's Cassandra. I... I need your help. It's about my sister..."
A low, sleazy laugh echoed through the speaker. Cassandra's stomach churned with disgust, but she forced a sweet, helpless tone, spinning a web of lies.
When she finally ended the call, the fragile mask shattered. Her eyes were flat and dead. "If she's ruined, Kahlil will have no choice but to see her for the harlot she is."
Cassandra pushed herself off the bed and settled into her wheelchair. She rolled out of the guest room, the wheels gliding silently over the thick carpet as she headed toward the kitchen.
Inside the kitchen, Bianca stared at the mixing bowl. Her hands were covered in white flour. She gripped a whisk, her chest tight with frustration.
Mrs. Gable hovered nearby, wiping the marble counter with a frantic rhythm. "Madam, perhaps you should let the chef..."
"No." Bianca bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. "I need to do this. It's part of the plan."
The thought of the heir agreement made her stomach drop. She reached for a bottle of dark sauce. Her hand trembled. The bottle slipped. Dark liquid splashed across the pristine white stove, hissing loudly as it hit the hot burner.
Mrs. Gable gasped, rushing forward with a towel. Bianca squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her flour-coated palms against her forehead. Her lungs felt tight.
The soft squeak of wheels broke the tension. Cassandra sat in the doorway, a perfect, concerned smile painted on her face.
"Bianca? What happened? You look overwhelmed." Cassandra's voice dripped with fake sympathy.
Bianca dropped her hands. She glared at the woman in the wheelchair. "Just trying my hand at cooking. What do you want?"
Cassandra rolled forward. Her eyes scanned the messy counter, a flash of mockery hiding behind her long lashes. "Let me help. I'm not good for much, but I can manage this."
Bianca wanted to scream at her to leave. But she looked at the ruined sauce and remembered Kahlil. She needed him to come home. She needed this dinner. Her jaw tightened. "Fine. Don't mess it up."
Bianca turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen, her footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor.
The moment Bianca was gone, Cassandra's smile vanished. She stood up from the wheelchair with ease, grabbed an apron, and tied it around her waist. Her movements were sharp and practiced.
Mrs. Gable watched her, eyes wide. "Miss Mills, you seem quite skilled."
Cassandra let out a short, hollow laugh. She picked up a knife and began dicing vegetables. "I had to learn. My father wasn't always around."
She turned to a young maid standing by the sink. "Could you check if Mr. Montgomery is in his study? I want to make sure the timing is perfect for dinner."
The maid nodded and scurried away. Cassandra kept chopping, her ears straining to catch the whispers of Mrs. Dawson, who had just sidled up beside her under the pretense of checking the pantry.
"Miss Mills," Mrs. Dawson whispered, leaning close so the other staff wouldn't hear. "I checked the pharmacy receipts this morning. Madam is ordering ovulation tests. She is actually trying."
Cassandra's knife slammed into the cutting board, slicing clean through a carrot. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Bianca wanted to get pregnant. She was actually trying.
Cassandra took a deep, uneven breath. She swept the vegetables into a hot pan. The oil sizzled and popped. Preston's plan needed to happen faster. She couldn't wait. The smell of roasting garlic filled the air, but to Cassandra, it smelled like victory.
Continue Reading
The Neglected Wife's Bitter Awakening of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
8.2
Ten years as childhood friends and three as husband and wife ended in her husband's betrayal, and her brothers' indifference. Diagnosed with mid-stage stomach cancer, Roselyn saw the truth of her life.
She walked away from everything, rising from an overlooked office worker to a leading figure in the tech world.
She outplayed her husband into signing divorce papers. When they met again, he begged, "I was wrong... take me back. I'd give you my stomach if I could."
Her once arrogant brothers pleaded too, but she felt nothing. After all, love that arrived too late meant nothing to her now-she simply didn't care anymore.
As they stood desperate, a man stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. "Why waste time on them? Look at me instead."
7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.
7.9
Allyson was the most hated actress in Hollywood, forced to wear a cheap, tearing gown after America's sweetheart, Joanne, stole her S-tier role.
During a red carpet disaster, Allyson tripped and fell—straight into the arms of the untouchable megastar, Byron Estes.
The internet exploded, accusing Allyson of faking the fall to seduce him. Drowning in bad press and desperate to pay her agency's termination fee, she signed a reality TV contract. She was forced to play the desperate, clingy villain, acting as a pathetic stepping stone for Joanne and Byron's highly anticipated on-screen romance.
"You could throw yourself at Byron a hundred times, and you'd still never make it into his bed," Joanne mocked.
What Joanne and the furious public didn't know was that three years ago, when Byron was in a horrific crash, Joanne had abandoned him. It was Allyson who stayed.
Even more absurd? Allyson and Byron were actually secretly married, bound by a multi-million dollar NDA.
Determined to play her villainous role and get paid, Allyson memorized a book of cringe-inducing pickup lines, ready to disgust her secret husband on live television.
"The stars are in the sky. But you... are in my heart."
She expected the ice-cold superstar to push her away in disgust. Instead, when another male guest got too close to her, Byron completely shattered his untouchable facade, his eyes burning with a lethal, undeniable possessiveness that sent the internet into absolute chaos.
7.2
Azura Briggs was just a broke college student working freezing valet shifts to pay her adoptive mother's crushing medical debt.
Her desperate life shattered the night a bulletproof Maybach violently cornered her in an alley, and a ruthless billionaire kidnapped her by mistake.
After a harrowing escape, Azura was forced to take a humiliating "plus-one" gig at a high-end gala just to survive. But her date turned out to be the billionaire's arrogant nephew, who promptly abandoned her to the wolves. Cornered by a sleazy executive and his psychotic wife, Azura was publicly slapped, her dress torn, and left bleeding on the floor while hundreds of elites watched in disgust.
Just as she prepared to fight to the death, the crowd violently parted. Hunter Mcintosh, the terrifying man who had kidnapped her days ago, dropped to his knees in the broken glass and wrapped his bespoke jacket around her trembling shoulders.
Azura was completely paralyzed. Why was the monster who threatened her life now destroying billionaires just to protect her?
But the illusion of safety didn't last. Trapped in his Maybach hours later, Hunter threw a draconian employment contract at her feet.
"Sign it, and her care is covered. Forever."
He knew exactly how to break her. He was offering to pay off her mother's debt, but only if she signed her life away to become his personal assistant. With no other way out, Azura picked up the heavy pen.
8.3
Half a month into our cold war, I, Claire Parker, found an abortion procedure slip tucked inside Daniel Carter's suit pocket.
The patient's name belonged to the fragile little childhood sweetheart he had always protected so fiercely-Sophie Bennett.
I folded the paper calmly and slipped it back where I had found it.
Daniel noticed the movement immediately. His eyes flicked toward me through the rearview mirror, resignation coloring his voice.
"What are you overthinking now? Sophie was just keeping a friend company at the hospital. She accidentally left it there."
I turned toward the window and said nothing.
This was Sophie declaring war on me, yet the man who could crush competitors without mercy in the business world believed her completely.
The silence inside the car grew suffocating until Daniel finally stopped outside an upscale jewelry boutique.
He reached over and ruffled my hair with easy familiarity, his tone indulgent and affectionate.
"Come on. Pick out a ring. Your birthday's next month anyway, so we might as well register our marriage too."
I bit down hard on my lip as tears fell soundlessly onto the back of my hand.
What he still didn't know was that I wouldn't live long enough to see next month.
7.9
Cora Foster was a brilliant archaeologist, but a jagged burn scar across her face made the world treat her like a contagious monster.
During an elite excavation of a Gilded Age crypt, touching an ancient artifact triggered a terrifying memory. She remembered being Seraphina Beaumont, a socialite brutally buried alive by her vain, cruel sister, Isolde.
When the team pried open the crypt's pristine mahogany casket, they cheered, believing the mummified corpse inside was Seraphina. But Cora recognized the onyx hairpin and the angular jawline. It was Isolde. The sister who had stolen her life, mocked her agony, and left her to suffocate in the dark. Her colleagues scoffed at her forensic proof, dismissing her as a scarred, delusional liability.
Worse, the ruthless billionaire funding the expedition, Julian Montgomery, was the spitting image of Alistair—the man Seraphina had deeply loved. Why was Julian staring at her ruined face with such intense, inexplicable recognition? And why did Isolde take Seraphina's most precious silver ring to the grave?
Driven by a century of agonizing grief, Cora secretly pried the tarnished ring from the mummy's stiff, dead fingers and dropped it into her pocket.
"What are you looking at, Foster?"
Julian's deep voice vibrated inches from her ear, his cold, predatory eyes locked directly onto her half-open pocket.
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