His Fake Wife, Her Real Voice

His Fake Wife, Her Real Voice

Gavin

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The call came from my half-brother, Andrew, offering me a lifeline: marry a comatose heiress for $150,000 a month. I, Ethan Clark, the black sheep of the family, agreed instantly, eager to escape my cramped apartment and dead-end life. My new wife, Nicole Anderson, was a "Tech Princess" in a persistent vegetative state, surrounded by machines in a luxurious hospital suite. I started talking to her, planning how to spend her money on classic cars and parties, feeling a smug satisfaction at my newfound fortune. But then, a sharp, indignant voice echoed in my head: "You will do no such thing with my money, you lazy, gold-digging parasite." It was Nicole. My comatose wife. And she was sassy. Trapped in her own body, Nicole was telepathically directing me-scratching her back, giving me life advice, even coaching me through a viral video and a press conference that saved her company's stock. I went from resentful caretaker to faithful prince in the public eye, even fending off my brother' s attempts to buy me out and my ex-girlfriend' s desperate grab for attention. Suddenly, a paparazzo scandal at her bedside triggered something impossible. Nicole sat bolt upright, her eyes blazing with rage, and in a terrifyingly clear voice, ordered everyone out. She was awake. But the cold, calculating CEO stared at me with no recognition, no sign of the fiery woman I'd known in my mind. "Who are you?" she asked, and then: "I want a divorce." How could the woman who saved me, who became my secret partner, look at me like a stranger? What had happened to the Nicole who knew my heart, trapped within her own?

Introduction

The call came from my half-brother, Andrew, offering me a lifeline: marry a comatose heiress for $150,000 a month.

I, Ethan Clark, the black sheep of the family, agreed instantly, eager to escape my cramped apartment and dead-end life.

My new wife, Nicole Anderson, was a "Tech Princess" in a persistent vegetative state, surrounded by machines in a luxurious hospital suite.

I started talking to her, planning how to spend her money on classic cars and parties, feeling a smug satisfaction at my newfound fortune.

But then, a sharp, indignant voice echoed in my head: "You will do no such thing with my money, you lazy, gold-digging parasite."

It was Nicole. My comatose wife. And she was sassy.

Trapped in her own body, Nicole was telepathically directing me-scratching her back, giving me life advice, even coaching me through a viral video and a press conference that saved her company's stock.

I went from resentful caretaker to faithful prince in the public eye, even fending off my brother' s attempts to buy me out and my ex-girlfriend' s desperate grab for attention.

Suddenly, a paparazzo scandal at her bedside triggered something impossible.

Nicole sat bolt upright, her eyes blazing with rage, and in a terrifyingly clear voice, ordered everyone out.

She was awake.

But the cold, calculating CEO stared at me with no recognition, no sign of the fiery woman I'd known in my mind.

"Who are you?" she asked, and then: "I want a divorce."

How could the woman who saved me, who became my secret partner, look at me like a stranger?

What had happened to the Nicole who knew my heart, trapped within her own?

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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