The Cost of His Perfect Wife

After I discovered the affair between my husband, Julian, and his stepsister, Chloe, I left. I abandoned our estate on the West Coast and returned to my father's home on the East Coast.

A year passed. Then came the news that the Thorne Group was in chaos due to Julian's erratic behavior.

Julian's assistant tracked me down, his voice tight with desperation. "Miss Ashworth, Mr. Thorne and Caleb... they're unraveling. If you don't come back, I'm afraid they'll burn the entire company to the ground."

I gazed at the blood I had just coughed onto my silk handkerchief. I nodded.

"Alright. I'll go back."

The doctor had already delivered my diagnosis. Pulmonary fibrosis. I had one month left to live.

So I returned. I decided to play the "perfect wife" they had always craved.

I no longer demanded Julian's fidelity. After he sent Chloe away for my sake, I found him three new models who were spitting images of Chloe and sent them to his bed.

I no longer reined in Caleb, nor did I push him to finish his studies at Yale. Instead, I supported his ridiculous dream of becoming a professional esports player.

I took the agony they’d given me, wrapped it in the ‘perfect’ understanding they craved, and served it back to them, cold.

But this drove Julian to the brink of madness.

He sent the models away. He yanked me into his arms, his kiss a brutal punishment as he bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.

"I sent Chloe away! What more do you want from me? What will it take for you to finally forgive me?"

Caleb clutched at my arm, weeping.

"I’ll stop defending Chloe! I’ll never say she’s sweet again, Mom, I swear! Please, just make this stop."

They didn't understand. I wasn't seeking revenge. I just wanted to live out my last month in peace. And then, die.

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1

"Claire, for God's sake, what are you doing?"

Julian stood in the center of the living room. A storm of confusion and rage brewed in his eyes. "What is this, Claire? Are you trying to torture me, or yourself?"

I sat before the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Pacific, listening quietly to his interrogation.

The woman in the glass was a wraith, the slash of red lipstick her only claim to life.

Perfect. As always.

Torture? No, my dear husband. I'm merely playing the part you've always wanted: the perfect wife.

The woman who no longer fights him over Chloe. The woman who no longer questions Caleb's decisions.

The woman who always wears an elegant, considerate smile.

So why aren't they happy?

"Nothing," I murmured. "I just feel I've been... difficult. I want to make things right, for you and Caleb."

Julian's expression softened instantly.

He strode toward me, his arms open for an embrace.

"Claire, I knew you—"

"Miss Ashworth, the people you requested are ready," the housekeeper, Hannah, announced softly from the doorway.

I rose gracefully, sidestepping his outstretched arms.

"Let them in."

The door opened. Three models glided in, their dresses clinging to every curve, radiating an almost predatory allure.

Long, curly chestnut hair shimmered in the sunset. Emerald green eyes gazed back.

They all possessed a youthful, fragile air that I could never feign.

Each one a perfect mirror of Chloe.

"A gift, Julian," I said, a gentle smile gracing my lips. "Specially for you. I hope you like them."

The three models smiled at him in unison. "Mr. Thorne."

Julian went rigid. The color drained from his face, his features hardening into a mask of cold fury.

I could see him fighting to contain the eruption I knew was coming.

"Mom!" Caleb burst in, his face a mask of panic. "What are you doing? You're back, so can't we just be a family again? I don't want any models, and Dad doesn't either!"

I glanced at my son. The same boy who had once told me, "It's normal for a man of Father's status to have a few women on the side." Now he was panicking over a few models.

"What tech mogul doesn't have a few pretty girls on his arm?" I offered a brittle laugh. "Your father has needs, after all. I'm just trying to meet them."

I turned to face Julian, the perfect smile still fixed on my face. "Julian, which one would you like to accompany you tonight?"

"Get out!" Julian roared. "All of you, get out!"

The models fled in terror. He shoved Caleb out of the room after them.

The door slammed shut.

The next second, Julian lunged at me.

He pulled me into his arms, his lips crashing down on mine.

I struggled, my hands pushing uselessly against his chest.

His teeth sliced into my lip, and my mouth flooded with the coppery taste of blood.

He finally let me go. He stared at the blood on my mouth, his eyes wild with pain and desperation.

"Tell me, Claire," he said, his voice trembling. "What do I have to do for you to forgive me?"

I just stared back at him, silent.

"I sent Chloe away!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "What did I do wrong? Why are you torturing me like this?"

In a fit of rage, he slammed his fist into the enormous floor-to-ceiling window.

The tempered glass groaned, a deafening crack spiderwebbing across its surface. Shards flew, and a sharp piece gashed the back of my hand.

A searing pain shot through me.

Blood bloomed through the white cashmere of my sleeve, dripping onto the priceless Persian rug.

"Claire!" Julian cried out, rushing to support me.

I flinched away from his touch.

"Hannah," I called out calmly.

My assistant immediately entered and carefully helped me up.

Julian froze, watching me recoil from his touch.

His eyes blazed, bloodshot and raw. A guttural sound of anguish tore from his throat.

"You won't even let me touch you now?"