He Married Me Because I Resembled His Late Wife

"Brother, I’m sorry for everything. Please… take me home. I’m willing to do anything for you."

My voice was barely a whisper, my grip tightening around the phone.

A deep sigh came from the other end before his voice softened. "Of course, Zoe. You’re always home. I’ll prepare everything… one week. Just hold on."

One week.

I hung up, staring at my reflection in the darkened window. My own eyes looked foreign—tired, hollow, empty. Just one more week, and I would finally be free of this miserable house. Free of Cameron Smith.

For five years, I had been his wife, trapped in a marriage built on nothing but deception. At first, he made me believe in love. He made me fall for him, made me think I was special. But the truth revealed itself on our wedding night. As we lay tangled in silk sheets, his lips brushed against my ear, and he whispered a name that wasn’t mine.

"Elena..."

My heart had stopped. My entire body went cold. That was the night I realized—Cameron never loved me. He wanted me because I looked like her. His dead wife.

And if that wasn’t enough, his son, Tyron, hated me. I tried everything to love him, to be there for him, but no matter what I did, he saw me as nothing more than an intruder in his mother’s place.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. It didn’t matter anymore. Soon, I’d be gone.

Steeling myself, I stepped out of the room. Just as I did, Cameron emerged from the bedroom across the hall, his broad chest bare, his sweat-dampened hair a mess. My stomach twisted when I caught a glimpse of the woman behind him—Nadine—his mistress, draped in nothing but a silk robe, her lips swollen from his kisses.

Pain clawed at my heart, but I swallowed it down, forcing my feet to keep moving.

I should have been used to it by now. The late nights when he wouldn’t come home, the empty side of the bed that was once warm beside me, the lipstick stains I’d find on his collars. And when he was home, he made sure I suffered in ways only he could orchestrate.

Like the nights he’d bring Nadine into our home, their moans spilling through the walls while I lay awake, frozen, clutching the pillow as though it could block out the pain. Or the way he would call me into his office just to make me watch as he pulled her into his lap, kissing her as if I wasn’t even there.

One night, he hadn’t even bothered to hide it. I had walked into our bedroom, exhausted and numb, only to find him with her—tangled in our sheets, his body moving against hers. He had looked straight at me, his gaze dark and indifferent, as though daring me to react.

“Don’t just stand there,” he had murmured, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. “Close the door on your way out.”

I had left without a word, not because I wasn’t shattered, but because I had already learned—there was no point in fighting for a love that never existed.

Even now, as I moved past him in the hallway, pretending not to see the way Nadine giggled against his neck, I felt that same piercing ache. But this time, it didn’t just hurt—it burned. A slow, simmering rage in my chest. Not because I was jealous. Not because I wanted to fight for him.

But because I finally knew—I was done being his fool.

"Zoe."

I stopped. Of course, he wouldn’t let me leave without another wound to my pride. I turned, my face blank. "What?"

He ran a hand through his hair, his expression indifferent. "Go buy me some condoms."

I clenched my fists, inhaling sharply. "I’m busy. Get them yourself."

Cameron’s eyes darkened. "Do you think I’m asking for permission? It’s an order. Go."

I was about to protest when Nadine’s sickly sweet voice cut in. "Oh, it’s okay, Cameron. Maybe we don’t need one this time. After all… we’re trying for a baby, right?"

Her words hit me harder than a slap. My stomach churned. Cameron had always made sure I was on birth control, never wanting a child with me. But with Nadine… he wanted one.

I was nothing to him. Not a wife. Not even a woman.

He turned back to her with a smirk, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply right in front of me before guiding her back into the room. The door shut behind them, and I was left standing there like a ghost in my own home.

I forced my legs to move, heading downstairs, barely holding myself together. But as I reached the last few steps, my foot suddenly slipped. My heart lurched as I fell backward, pain jolting through my body as I landed hard on my tailbone.

Laughter echoed through the hallway.

I looked up, and there stood Tyron, a mischievous, almost cruel smile on his face.

"Oops," he snickered, clutching an empty bottle of water, the remnants of it still dripping onto the floor. "Didn’t see you there."

I should have been angry. I should have scolded him. But all I felt was exhaustion.

I needed to get out of here.

One week. Just one more week.