He Forced Me to Be the Perfect Wife, Then Lost Me Forever

I hadn't expected it—the first thing I heard was a woman's laugh, light and flirty.

"I baked these cookies myself—stick a candle in and that's your birthday party!"

Then his voice, lazy, half-smiling: "I'm busy right now."

"Anything else, call my assistant."

Before I could get a word out, the line went dead.

Panic flooded my chest. My fingers were shaking, already moving to redial.

The screen barely had time to light up before the night-shift instructor seized the back of my neck and wrenched me away from it.

Her face was cold. She glanced at my lock screen and sneered.

"Missing your man in the middle of the night?"

"Just as shameless as Ms. Henson said."

"You don't even know your place, do you? Chasing after him, clinging like a leech. He's unlucky he ever met you."

At the same time, Oliver posted a set of photos on his social media back home.

Burnt cookies on fine porcelain, so charred they could have been anything, warm candlelight pooling over two clasped hands.

The live photo carried the faint sound of a woman laughing, sweet and pleased.

"You promised! You said this was the most heartfelt gift..."

I shook my head hard, dragging myself back to the present.

When I looked up, my gaze ran straight into Oliver's.

He saw me looking and glanced away. His fingers curled once, unconsciously.

He didn't manage a single complete sentence.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, turned, and went back to my room.

I'd barely closed my eyes for a few minutes when someone started slamming on the bedroom door.

Davina ignored Oliver's low attempts to stop her, her voice sharp and accusing.

"You've got this completely wrong! I have a boyfriend—why would I ever do something like that?"

"And you're my student. How dare you be so out of line, making these vile accusations about your own boyfriend?"

Outside the door she kept apologizing to Oliver—telling him she'd failed as a teacher, that she shouldn't have let me turn out so unhinged.

I had no intention of engaging.

But her voice kept rising, louder and louder, as though she were the one who'd been wronged beyond all bearing.

If I hadn't heard those sounds with my own ears earlier,

I might actually have believed I'd misunderstood everything.

I still remembered exactly how Oliver had used me as a cover to help Davina deceive her boyfriend.

The call on the other end had barely been answered before the room behind me filled with ragged breath and stifled moans.

"Thrilling, isn't it?"

She probably hadn't expected me to open the door.

Oliver's shirt was soaked through at the chest. His arm was still around her waist, not yet pulled back.

"You... why did you open the door?"

Davina instinctively looked at Oliver, reaching to hold on tighter, but he shoved her away fast.

I looked at the two of them and raised an eyebrow.

"Showing up at someone's door in the middle of the night to cry. Swearing you're innocent with one breath and crawling into a man's arms with the next."

"Weren't you the one with all the rules? What happened—those only apply to other people? You don't follow a single one yourself, and somehow that's not a joke?"

Oliver's brow was knotted tight, his voice raw with a fatigue he couldn't mask.

"Maddie, I don't know how things got to this point."

"But it's a misunderstanding. You believe me, don't you?"

He glanced toward Butler Whitmore, signaling him to take Davina back first.

I turned to go back to my room, and he caught my arm.

His voice was low, threaded with impatience. "You haven't answered me."

I pried his fingers off. "The answer doesn't matter anymore."

"My sincerity doesn't come around twice for the same person."

The color drained from Oliver's face. His hand locked around the door handle, knuckles white.

"I won't let you talk like that."

A scream came from downstairs.

"Sir, Ms. Henson's twisted her ankle."