My Comatose CEO Wife

My Comatose CEO Wife

Gavin

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I signed a contract to marry a comatose billionaire. It was just business-a way to save my parents from crushing medical debt. I was a broke musician, she was a famous Silicon Valley CEO, and my job was simple: act like a devoted husband while she was unconscious. But then, a voice started talking in my head. "Ugh, this Jell-O tastes like sadness." It was her. Victoria. The woman everyone thought was brain-dead was fully conscious inside, and I was the only one who could hear her. Suddenly, my life became a bizarre performance. I was trapped, not just by the contract, but by her relentless, snarky inner monologue. I acted out her hidden desires-eating tacos by her bedside, arguing about bad rom-coms-all while the world hailed me as the ultimate devoted husband. The fame exploded, her company's stock soared, and everyone believed the fairy tale. Except me. And her, the voice in my head. But just as our bizarre connection deepened, just as I started to fall for the real, hidden Tori, she woke up. And she believed the worst. She saw me in a staged embrace with another woman, heard whispers of my "devotion" while she was unconscious, and instantly branded me a perverted gold-digger. After weeks of sharing her innermost thoughts, after hearing her true self, how could she believe I was the villain? I wasn't just some broke musician anymore. I was the only person who truly knew Victoria Blackwood. So, standing there, accused and disgraced, I had a choice: walk away with the money, or fight for the woman whose voice had haunted my dreams. I chose to expose every secret, every quirk, every vulnerability she thought only she knew, hoping she'd finally see the real me. And the truth.

Introduction

I signed a contract to marry a comatose billionaire. It was just business-a way to save my parents from crushing medical debt. I was a broke musician, she was a famous Silicon Valley CEO, and my job was simple: act like a devoted husband while she was unconscious.

But then, a voice started talking in my head. "Ugh, this Jell-O tastes like sadness." It was her. Victoria. The woman everyone thought was brain-dead was fully conscious inside, and I was the only one who could hear her.

Suddenly, my life became a bizarre performance. I was trapped, not just by the contract, but by her relentless, snarky inner monologue. I acted out her hidden desires-eating tacos by her bedside, arguing about bad rom-coms-all while the world hailed me as the ultimate devoted husband. The fame exploded, her company's stock soared, and everyone believed the fairy tale. Except me. And her, the voice in my head.

But just as our bizarre connection deepened, just as I started to fall for the real, hidden Tori, she woke up. And she believed the worst. She saw me in a staged embrace with another woman, heard whispers of my "devotion" while she was unconscious, and instantly branded me a perverted gold-digger. After weeks of sharing her innermost thoughts, after hearing her true self, how could she believe I was the villain?

I wasn't just some broke musician anymore. I was the only person who truly knew Victoria Blackwood. So, standing there, accused and disgraced, I had a choice: walk away with the money, or fight for the woman whose voice had haunted my dreams. I chose to expose every secret, every quirk, every vulnerability she thought only she knew, hoping she'd finally see the real me. And the truth.

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I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

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