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Too Late, Mr. Husband, She's Hope

Chapter 3 

Word Count: 1057    |    Released on: Today at 18:07

a Van

the marble slowly seeped through my thin pajama pants, freezing my skin.

ailing a piano recital. I spent twelve hours shivering in the dark. The cold had

ere completely numb from being curled up for so long. I stumbled forward

aucet all the way open. I cupped my hands, caught the

y head and looked at the woman in the mirror above the sink. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin pale and s

en. I moved through the dim, quiet living room, heading

alked straight to the vanity. I crouched

ll the way to the back, my fingers brushing against the cold wood, until I found

cardboard were frayed and soft from how many times I

fingers curled around it, squeezing so ha

home to fill the silent void of my own childhood. A mother who st

, wrap it in a little gift box, and give it to Dustin over the Well

It was a cruel, sickening joke. A chain that would tie

osed tighter around the box. The cardbo

row the crushed box directly

ment, a sound drifte

ght

lted my head, straining my ears to catch the so

g at a developer or barking orders at an investor. It was a low, relaxed, incred

pped out of the bathroom, my bare feet making absolutely zero sound on the hardwood fl

acked open. A sliver of blue light from the

t the doorframe and peere

ir. His noise-canceling headphones were resting around his neck. H

eaker. It was high-pitched, whiny, an

bracelet? I'm dying to wear it." It

He reached out and picked up the shark-bone bracel

r to your place later tonight." His tone

Three years ago, to secure his first round of angel investment, I had accompanied him to a dinner and drank liquor until I vomited

er again. "But won't your boring wife

er. The warmth in his voice vanished i

date it is. She just sits at home

the chest. It was a poisoned blade, slidi

He was actively using my domestic servitude-the very life I

the crushed pregnancy test box and squee

out slowly. The violent trembling in my limbs stopped. The devast

dows. I placed my hand fla

't realize my recip

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Too Late, Mr. Husband, She's Hope
Too Late, Mr. Husband, She's Hope
“Eliana, once a billionaire heiress, had given up everything to become the perfect ordinary wife for Dustin, meticulously erasing her elite past for him. She cooked, cleaned, and mastered the art of espresso, pouring all her energy into their quiet life. But as she brought him his coffee, she found a bottle of bright pink nail polish and a delicate shark-bone bracelet on his desk, jarringly out of place, instantly shattering her carefully constructed world. Dustin's cold dismissal stung, yet her corporate upbringing kept her questions silent. Then, her phone buzzed with an anonymous text: "He likes my taste," followed by a photo. It was a woman's pink-nailed hand, intimately on Dustin's thigh in his car, his Patek Philippe watch with its tell-tale scratch mocking her-a watch she had nearly ruined her health to buy him. The elaborate birthday dinner she'd spent hours preparing burned, filling the kitchen with acrid smoke as her marriage turned to ash. Slumped on the freezing floor, a chilling clarity replaced her despair. She clutched the unopened pregnancy test, once a symbol of hope, now a cruel joke. Then, from Dustin's study, came a rare, indulgent laugh. He was on speakerphone with his mistress, Jami, promising her the bracelet, and then, the poisoned blade: "Her? She can't even remember what date it is. She just sits at home all day studying broken recipes." Today was Eliana's 30th birthday, forgotten and weaponized against her. The sorrow evaporated, replaced by cold, absolute resolve. Eliana stepped out from the shadows, her hand flat against the heavy wood, and shoved the mahogany door open with a resounding thud. "Is that so? I didn't realize my recipes were so boring."”