Rising From Ashes: The Unwanted Wife's Comeback

Chloe refused the doctor's suggestion to stay overnight. The thought of waiting in a sterile room for someone who would never come was unbearable. The Sterling estate, to which she was to return, was equally sterile, and infinitely colder.

She was just a substitute here.

Shame settled in her chest, a heavy, suffocating feeling that made it hard to breathe. Julian could spend an entire night in the hospital for Ashley, yet he couldn't answer a single phone call from his wife. That text message wasn't an explanation; it was a dismissal, a handout.

Her three years of dedication to being the perfect "Mrs. Sterling" turned out to be a pathetic joke.

She carefully applied burn ointment to the reddened patches on her forearm, her movements indifferent; the pain no longer stirred any emotion within her. She didn't call the driver. She walked out.

The biting wind outside the hospital pierced through her thin coat. She stood alone by the roadside, her shadow cast long after her by the glaring yellow streetlights. A black Camry pulled up. She slipped into the back seat and whispered the address.

The car passed through the imposing wrought-iron gates of Stirling Estate, its tires creaking over the gravel driveway, and came to a stop in front of the grand Tudor-style mansion. It looked more like a museum than a home. Chloe paid the driver and slunk up the stone steps.

The room was pitch black. The air was still and cold. Every piece of furniture, every work of art, proclaimed wealth, but there was no sign of life.

As she walked through the grand foyer, her gaze fell upon the enormous wedding portrait hanging above the fireplace. A younger, more innocent Chloe smiled shyly at the camera. Julian stood beside her, unbelievably handsome, his expression a mask of polite indifference.

He looked like a man fulfilling an obligation.

For the first time, she saw the true nature of the portrait: it was a sham marriage.

Her throat hurt. Each step she took on the spiral staircase sent a dull ache through her bruised body. She didn't bother turning on the light, instead relying on her memory to find the familiar path to the master bedroom.

The phone on the bedside table vibrated, its screen illuminating the dark room.

Julian.

She stared at the name, her heart utterly still. Not a glimmer of hope flickered within her. Only a vast and weary emptiness remained. After a moment, she answered the phone.

"Why did you have someone call me?" His voice was short and impatient. It was the tone he used when speaking to his subordinates.

Before she could say anything more, a faint female voice came from the other end of the phone.

"Julian...I'm cold..."

Ashley.

Chloe's heart was breaking. "Who's next to you?"

"This is not your business; you've overstepped your bounds."

“I’ll call you back later,” Julian said. The call ended. He didn’t wait for her response.

Chloe put down her phone, a bitter smile playing on her lips. The busy tone of the line rang in her ears. She thought of the news reports, the articles praising Julian's devotion. Their love was an epic romance; and she was the hindrance of his wife.

She remembered those nights when she was sick with a cold, curled up alone in this huge house. He had once told her to call the family doctor with undisguised anger.

But when Ashley "fell cold," he let go of everything.

In his world, her life was worth less than another woman's slight discomfort. She had not only lost a husband she loved; she had been told that she had never meant anything.

She lost all fighting spirit. His desire to care for her vanished.

She will stop trying. It's time to fight for herself.