The Cost of His Perfect Wife

"You misunderstand, Julian," I said, my voice dangerously soft as blood continued to seep from my sleeve. "I'd hate for my blood to stain your Armani."

Julian's expression turned thunderous.

"Bring the models back," I instructed Hannah.

The three women crept back in, trembling. One of them said timidly, "Miss Ashworth, my mother is a nurse, I can help you with the wound on your hand..."

"That won't be necessary," I cut her off. "Taking care of Mr. Thorne is your only duty."

I lifted my chin, motioning for them to approach him. "Help Mr. Thorne out of his jacket and prepare him for bed."

The nearest model reached out a trembling hand to undo the cufflink on Julian's shirt.

"Don't touch me!" Julian slapped her hand away. The woman staggered back.

He turned to me, his eyes burning with fury. "If you're so determined to play this game, why settle for cheap imitations? Why not just bring Chloe back!"

A sharp pang went through my heart.

Then I smiled.

It was the flawless, empty smile of Miss Ashworth.

"Of course. Whatever you want, Julian."

Julian stared at me, astonished. He clearly hadn't expected me to agree so readily.

He stared at me for a long moment, then spun on his heel and stormed out of the room.

"Father! Father!" Caleb chased after him from the doorway, shouting, but Julian didn't stop.

His footsteps faded down the hall.

Caleb returned, dejected. He was holding a delicate gift box, which he handed to Hannah.

"They're the pistachio macarons you used to love," he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Mom, why are you pushing him away? You're tearing this family apart!"

My gaze fell to the box, and I felt the corner of my mouth twist into a sneer.

Pistachio macarons. I used to love them.

Until Chloe accidentally ate one and had a severe allergic reaction, nearly dying from anaphylactic shock.

Julian, furious, had purged the entire kitchen of every nut-based ingredient.

"As long as Chloe lives in this house, there will be no nut products on this estate!" he had roared at the head chef.

And now Caleb was bringing them to me, trying to win me over.

"Get out," I said, my face a cold, blank slate.

"Mom..." Caleb looked at me, wounded. "Don't you want this family anymore? The Thorne Group needs you! Dad and I—we know we were wrong! We’ll do anything to make it up to you. Please, Mom, I’m begging you, just stop this..."

I ignored him and waved a hand at the bodyguard by the door.

"Mr. Caleb, it is time for you to leave. The lady requires her rest."

"Mom!" Caleb tried to protest, but the bodyguard had already escorted him out, politely but firmly.

The room was quiet again. Hannah had already led the models away.

I was finally alone.

A wracking cough echoed in the vast room.

I raised my handkerchief to my mouth. When I pulled it away, it was stained crimson.

Caleb asked if I still wanted this family.

That was a dream I could never have again.

I just wanted to die in peace.

Julian's madness threatened to drag down the entire corporation, endangering my father's business. If not for that, I would have stayed on the East Coast, in the house where I grew up, and quietly waited for death.

Two days later, a familiar, tinkling laugh echoed from the driveway.

I sat by the window, watching as Julian personally helped a woman out of a red Tesla.

Chloe was back.

She was as beautiful as ever.

Her long chestnut hair gleamed in the California sun. Her green eyes were bright with tears.

She sagged against Julian’s chest, the very picture of practiced fragility.

The memory hit me like a physical blow.

It was a year ago. I was pregnant with our second child. I had come back early from an architects' summit.

I wanted to surprise Julian. I slipped quietly into his private studio.

It was a space he had designed especially for me. Every detail was to my liking.

On the sofa in the center of the studio lay the cushions we had bought on our honeymoon.

But what I saw was Julian and Chloe, locked in a passionate kiss on that very sofa.

Their clothes were disheveled. I could see the angry red marks of his passion on Chloe's neck.

I rushed out, screaming, exposing their sordid affair for all to see.

In the ensuing chaos, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. I felt a warm stream run down my legs.

The baby... my baby...

"Julian..." I instinctively reached for his hand, desperate for help.

But he stormed right past me to cradle Chloe, who had conveniently fainted from the "shock."

"Call the family doctor!" he roared at the servants who came running. "Get a doctor for Chloe!"