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Defying The Odds: His True Wife

Defying The Odds: His True Wife

For three years, I played the role of the quiet, obedient trophy wife to Cristian George, the most ruthless man in New York. Everyone, including me, thought ours was just a cold transaction for his family trust. Then, his legendary first love, Hayden, returned from Europe after finalizing her divorce. She didn't just come back; she came straight for my husband. The entire Upper East Side exploded with gossip. My phone buzzed constantly with videos of her sobbing his name in VIP clubs and friends warning me to watch my back. Hayden even showed up at my workplace, sliding a multi-million dollar tourmaline necklace across the table as a condescending welcome gift. The elite circle opened dark web betting pools, mocking me as a pathetic charity case and taking bets on how fast I would be thrown out on the freezing streets. I was terrified. I had secretly loved him for ten years, but I was just ordinary. I hid the necklace in the darkest corner of my drawer, waiting for the executioner's blade to fall, fully expecting him to run back to his golden girl. But when Cristian accidentally found that velvet box, his eyes didn't fill with nostalgia. They darkened with absolute, territorial rage. He didn't ask for a divorce. Instead, he pulled me into his arms, threw the multi-million dollar gem aside like actual garbage, and picked up his phone. "Clear my schedule for Saturday evening. And book a fitting for Mrs. George." He was going to give the city a show they would never forget.
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Chapter 3

Cassidy waited until Cristian's breathing deepened into the steady rhythm of sleep. She carefully untangled herself from his arms and slid off the mattress. She walked out of the bedroom and headed toward the massive open kitchen. Her bare feet slapped softly against the freezing marble floor. She walked to the island, grabbed a glass, and filled it with ice water from the dispenser. She tipped her head back and drank the whole glass. The freezing liquid hit her stomach, trying to calm the violent cramps twisting her insides. The phone she had left on the marble counter suddenly lit up. A soft buzz accompanied the light. Cassidy set the empty glass down. She picked up the phone. It was an iMessage from Joy. It was a video file. She hesitated for a fraction of a second. She quickly pressed the volume button down to mute, then tapped play. The video was shaky. It showed a dark, neon-lit VIP booth at a club. Hayden was slumped over a table, wearing a tiny slip dress. Cassidy stared at the screen. Even without sound, she could easily read Hayden's lips. She was sobbing, repeating the same word over and over: Cristian. A second later, a text bubble popped up from Joy. "Darren and his idiot friends just said Cristian is already on his way to get her." Cassidy's hand jerked violently. The phone slipped from her fingers and slammed hard against the marble counter. The crack echoed in the silent kitchen. Her eyes widened in absolute horror. Her brain scrambled to process the information. Cristian had been so cold on the phone. Was it all an act? Did he wait for her to fall asleep so he could sneak out and play the hero? She did not bother looking for her slippers. She turned and ran back down the long hallway toward the master bedroom. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it was going to break her ribs. She shoved the heavy bedroom door open and stared at the center of the room. The bed was empty. The covers were thrown back on his side. Cassidy felt the blood drain from her face. The room spun. She turned her head toward the massive walk-in closet. The black trench coat he always wore was gone from its hook. A suffocating wave of despair swallowed her whole. Her legs lost all strength. She leaned against the doorframe, sliding down until she hit the thick carpet. She shoved her fist into her mouth, biting down hard on her own skin to stop the pathetic sobs from ripping out of her throat. She was a fool. She was just a placeholder. Then, a sharp beep echoed from the front of the penthouse. The electronic lock on the main door clicked open. Cassidy flinched. She pulled her hand from her mouth and wiped the tears off her face with the back of her sleeve. She grabbed the wall and forced herself to stand. She stumbled out of the bedroom and walked toward the foyer. The motion sensor lights flicked on. Cristian was standing by the front door. He was wearing his black trench coat. He was taking off his shoes. In his left hand, he held a brown paper bag. He heard her footsteps and looked up. His dark eyes instantly locked onto her red, swollen eyes and her bare feet on the cold floor. His jaw tightened. He closed the distance between them in three long strides. "Why are you walking around without shoes?" he demanded, his voice sharp with reprimand. Cassidy just stood there. She stared at him, her brain completely short-circuiting. She could not process what she was seeing. Cristian let out a heavy sigh. He bent down, scooped her up into his arms, and carried her into the living room. He dropped her onto the plush sofa. He placed the brown paper bag on the glass coffee table. The smell of toasted bread and melted cheese wafted into the air. "You were tossing and turning," Cristian said, unbuttoning his coat. "I figured you were hungry. I went down to the 24-hour deli on the corner and got you a sandwich." Cassidy looked at the steaming bag of food. The tears she had just fought back broke loose again. They poured down her face, this time born from the overwhelming, dizzying high of absolute relief. Cristian froze. He looked completely out of his depth. He sat down next to her, his large, rough thumbs clumsily wiping the tears off her cheeks. "Cassidy, what happened?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, concerned rumble. "Why are you crying?"

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