No Longer Your Unpaid Wife Chapter 1

Even after eight years of marriage to William, I was still a ghost in his family home, forbidden from sitting at the dining table.

It was all because of a promise he had made to his deceased fiancée, Victoria. He had sworn that the seat of the matriarch of the family would eternally belong to her.

During his father’s sixtieth birthday gala at the country club, a hurried waiter bumped into me. I stumbled, losing my balance, and landed right in the empty chair that had been meticulously reserved for Victoria.

William’s face instantly darkened. He marched over, grabbed my arm with bruising force, and yanked me out of the seat.

"How can you be so calculating?" he hissed, his voice low but sharp enough for the surrounding guests to hear. "Deliberately sitting in Victoria’s chair in front of everyone—are you really that desperate to replace her?"

"Why are you trying to compete with a dead woman?" his mother added, her eyes cold with disdain. "Check your jealousy, Isabel. It’s pathetic."

His father joined in, calling me shameless and telling me to get out of the venue immediately.

I stood there, blinking back tears, trying to ignore the sharp, throbbing pain in my sprained ankle. I opened my mouth to explain, but my eight-year-old son, Toby, cut me off, his little face twisted in embarrassment.

"You're so embarrassing, Mom," Toby spat, looking at me with pure disgust. "If Victoria were here, she would never stoop to your level. I wish she were my real mother."

That night, William locked me in the windowless basement study. Through the heavy wooden door, I could hear him introducing Victoria’s memory to the guests as his one true wife. Later, I heard Toby telling a family friend that I was nothing more than his nanny.

Something inside me went cold. The final ember of my warmth died out.

When William finally opened the door the next morning, he looked down at me, his expression a mixture of irritation and cold charity.

"You went too far last night," he said. "Go to Victoria’s grave. Stay there and reflect on what you did."

He thrust a bouquet into my arms. It was yellow chrysanthemums—Victoria’s favorite, but the one flower that triggered my severe pollen allergy. The last time I was near them, I had gone into anaphylactic shock.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I simply looked at him, my voice flat and empty.

"William, let's get a divorce."

* * *

William froze. Then, a mocking laugh escaped his lips.

"All this because I made you spend one night in the study? You really are made of glass, aren't you?"

He stepped closer, his shadow looming over me. "Victoria and I were betrothed since childhood. She is the only daughter-in-law my parents will ever recognize. Even if you carved your name onto that chair, you couldn't change that. I'm telling you this for your own good, Isabel. You need to know your place."

I had heard variations of this speech a thousand times over the last eight years.

In the past, because of my love for him and my devotion to Toby, I had swallowed every insult. I told myself that the dead deserved respect, and so I let myself be pushed into the shadows. But my silence had only invited more cruelty.

This time, I was done retreating.

I threw the bouquet of chrysanthemums onto the floor. The yellow petals scattered across the cold hardwood. I looked up and met his eyes.

"If she was so irreplaceable, why did you marry me? Why did you have a child with me? Why didn't you just remain celibate for the rest of your life to honor her?" I asked, my voice rising. "The truth is, your grand, tragic love is a sham. It’s completely worthless."

The air in the room seemed to solidify. William’s face turned an ugly, dangerous shade of red.

"Isabel, you are being utterly irrational." He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "I know how much you've done for this family over the years. I see it. If you just go to Victoria’s grave, kneel, and apologize, I will finally arrange a proper wedding. We can make our marriage public."

There it was again. That patronizing, charitable tone.

When we first spoke of marriage, I knew Victoria was an insurmountable mountain in his parents' minds. They refused to accept any other woman. So, William and I agreed to a private commitment ceremony, keeping our union a secret until his parents came around.

For eight years, I woke up before dawn to prepare three meals a day. I cleaned, I ironed, I managed the household like an unpaid servant, all to prove that I was worthy.

But every time I brought up a legal marriage or a public wedding, William had an excuse ready.

“I’m too busy with the firm right now. Let’s talk about it later.”

“My parents still grieve for Victoria. You’ve only been here a few years—you can't expect them to change overnight. Just wait.”

“Why are you so materialistic? Are you that desperate to show everyone you married into wealth?”

So I waited. I waited until the hope in my chest dried up and turned to dust.

And now, when I no longer cared, he was offering it to me like a treat thrown to a dog.

"I don't want a wedding," I said, my throat tight, the first waves of the allergy beginning to make my eyes itch. "Just give me the divorce. I'll have the paperwork ready."

Without waiting for his response, I brushed past him and walked out.

But as I hurried down the hallway, the itching in my eyes grew unbearable. Red, angry hives began to bloom across my arms, itching fiercely. The pollen from the chrysanthemums had already done its work.

I rushed into the living room and grabbed the medical kit from the shelf, desperately searching for my antihistamines.

Just as I managed to pop the blister pack, a violent force shoved me from behind. I crashed onto the floor, my temple striking the sharp edge of the coffee table. A blinding pain shot through my skull.

I looked up, clutching my bleeding forehead, and saw Toby standing over me. His small face was twisted in disgust.

"Are you blind?" Toby yelled, pointing at the table. "You put that stupid medical kit right on top of Victoria’s handkerchief!"

"You're so clumsy and malicious. How did someone like you give birth to me? It’s humiliating."

Dizzy and shivering, I looked down. Beneath the plastic box was a small yellow silk handkerchief. It was Victoria’s. William had given it to Toby as a keepsake, and Toby treated it like holy relic, forbidding anyone—especially me—from touching it.

My eyes were swelling shut, and my vision was tunneling. I could barely see the pills in my hand, let alone a tiny handkerchief on a cluttered table.

But Toby didn't care about my pain. He carefully picked up the handkerchief, blew the nonexistent dust off it, and then snatched the packet of allergy pills from my trembling fingers.

"Victoria is gone, and you still try to ruin everything she left behind," the boy said coldly. "You need to learn a lesson."

With a vicious flick of his wrist, he threw my medication out the open window, deep into the thick, thorny hydrangea bushes below.

"No..." I gasped, curling into a ball on the floor, my fingers desperately clawing at my burning, itching skin.

Toby didn't even look back as he strolled out of the room.