All Chapters of The Unwanted Wife: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The city lights began to twinkle as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple.  Exhausted and emotionally drained, I craved a moment of peace. With a sigh, I decided to visit Le Ciel Bleu."Marlon, can we go to Le Ciel Bleu.""Certainly, Ma'am," he replied. He pulled away from the curb, the familiar route to the restaurant a blur as I leaned my head against the cool glass window.Le Ciel Bleu exuded a certain Parisian charm.  A wrought-iron fence adorned with climbing ivy surrounded a small patio.As we arrived, Marlon opened the car door for me with his usual courtesy. "You can go home, Marlon," I said, turning to my driver.  "I'll call you when I'm ready.""Are you sure, Ma'am?""Yes, thank you," I replied and walked towards the restaurant, taking a seat at a corner table near the large glass wall. I opted for a quiet table in the corner, away from the main crow

The moment he was gone, I faced Regan, my anger rising to meet his. Pulling my hand free, I marched past him and into the house, slamming the door shut behind me."What was that Anastasia?!" Regan bellowed, his voice echoing through the hallway. "Are you having an affair with him now?!"His accusation stung, but it was the fear in his voice that truly confused me. "You're insane," I spat back, whirling around to face him."Insane?!" he roared. "You're the one who's lost your mind! Don't you realize what people will say if they find out? It'll be all over the tabloids – 'Anastasia cheating with some low-life chef!'"And that was my last straw. Fueled by long-suppressed emotions, I did something I never thought I'd do – I slapped him. Hard.The sound echoed in the vast emptiness of the foyer. I stood there, trembling with anger. "Don't you dare compare me to you, Regan I'm not cheating on anyone."“Do you expect me to just accept that?!”“Are you afraid of your own ghost?”He re

The days blurred into each other, each one more unbearable than the last. It had been nearly a week since Regan last stepped foot in the house. I went through the motions like a ghost. Mornings began with waking up to an empty bed, the sheets on his side still perfectly smooth. I would wander down to the dining room, where Susan and the others set out breakfast, their expressions carefully neutral. Most of the time, I didn’t touch the food. The taste of anything felt foreign to me, and my stomach churned at the thought of eating.I spent hours trying to distract myself, but everything I did felt hollow. The books I picked up went unread after a few pages. The TV droned on in the background. Even music, which had always been my escape, felt unbearable.Every evening, I found myself sitting by the living room window, staring out at the driveway. My phone was always within arm’s reach, its screen lighting up every now and then with messages or calls from people I couldn’t bring myself to

The women around the table giggled, a high-pitched, practiced sound that filled the room. The blonde woman, who had commented earlier, leaned in.“Oh, I must say, your stepmother has always had an eye for fashion,” she commented, eyeing my red dress. “She’s always been the one to make everything look effortlessly chic.”Marianne smiled at the compliment, her lips curling upward, though I could see the flicker of something dark in her eyes as she glanced at me. It was brief, but it was there.“Well, it’s not all me. Anastasia certainly knows how to shock us all, doesn’t she?” She turned toward me, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she added, “She’s always been quite the surprise.”The comment surprised me, and I could feel the eyes of the women around the table shift, their interest piqued. I kept my gaze steady, refusing to let any of the unease bubbling in my chest show on my face.“Yes,” one of the other women, a brunette with perfectly manicured nails, chimed in, “It’s so rare to

The living room was dim, lit only by a few scattered lamps, and there, slouched on the couch, was Regan. His usually immaculate appearance was disheveled—his shirt untucked, his tie loose, and his hair a mess. But what struck me the most was the empty bottle of whiskey in his hand and the way he barely seemed to notice my presence as I walked closer. He was drunk.I stood frozen for a moment, taking in the sight of him. My heart ached a tight pain that spread through my chest, making it hard to breathe.“Regan,” I whispered. My knees felt weak, but I forced myself closer to him, ignoring the way the maids stood frozen behind me.He sat slumped in the chair, clutching a half-empty bottle like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His head hung low. I knelt in front of him, my hand hesitating before reaching out. “Regan,” I pleaded softly, “please… you need to stop. You need to sleep. You’re—”His eyes snapped open, bloodshot and wild, and his hand lashed out before I could even re