Eight Years of Marriage, Lost to Her Fake Act
Ladys · Completed · 6.1k Words
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Introduction
"Mommy's just a housewife! I don't want Mommy anymore—I want Aunt Jessica!"
Those words from my eight-year-old son, Jimmy, hit harder than any physical blow. I stood frozen in our living room, surrounded by the shards of the vase I’d just smashed. My husband, Robert, didn't even flinch. He just pulled Jessica closer, his hand resting possessively on her waist.
"Stop being dramatic, Scarlett," Robert sneered, his eyes cold. "Jessica is my soulmate. She understands my work. You? You just clean."
Eight years of devotion. Eight years of sacrificing my career to build this home. And now, my husband and son were looking at a stranger with the love that belonged to me.
I tried to reach for Jimmy, but he pushed me away with his small, angry fists. "Bad Mommy! Aunt Jessica buys me candy! You're just an ugly hag!"
My heart twisted until it snapped. I watched them leave for Jessica's award party—an award for a paper I practically wrote but couldn't claim. I was left alone in the silence of the house I paid for, bleeding from the glass cuts on my hands.
Later that night, at the hospital, after I’d been injured by Robert’s own hand, the nurse asked Jimmy who I was. He looked me dead in the eye and said, "I don't know her. Jessica is my mom."
That was the moment the old Scarlett died. I wiped the blood from my face, picked up my phone, and dialed my lawyer.
"Mr. Owens," I whispered, my voice trembling but resolute. "Let's redraft the agreement. I don't want custody. They can have each other."
Those words from my eight-year-old son, Jimmy, hit harder than any physical blow. I stood frozen in our living room, surrounded by the shards of the vase I’d just smashed. My husband, Robert, didn't even flinch. He just pulled Jessica closer, his hand resting possessively on her waist.
"Stop being dramatic, Scarlett," Robert sneered, his eyes cold. "Jessica is my soulmate. She understands my work. You? You just clean."
Eight years of devotion. Eight years of sacrificing my career to build this home. And now, my husband and son were looking at a stranger with the love that belonged to me.
I tried to reach for Jimmy, but he pushed me away with his small, angry fists. "Bad Mommy! Aunt Jessica buys me candy! You're just an ugly hag!"
My heart twisted until it snapped. I watched them leave for Jessica's award party—an award for a paper I practically wrote but couldn't claim. I was left alone in the silence of the house I paid for, bleeding from the glass cuts on my hands.
Later that night, at the hospital, after I’d been injured by Robert’s own hand, the nurse asked Jimmy who I was. He looked me dead in the eye and said, "I don't know her. Jessica is my mom."
That was the moment the old Scarlett died. I wiped the blood from my face, picked up my phone, and dialed my lawyer.
"Mr. Owens," I whispered, my voice trembling but resolute. "Let's redraft the agreement. I don't want custody. They can have each other."
Chapter 1
The day I discovered Robert Sullivan's affair, I smashed everything in our home to pieces.
He stood there, arms crossed, watching with cold detachment.
"A wife and a soulmate are two entirely different things. Jessica is my soulmate—the one person who truly understands me."
"'Wife of a renowned medical professor'—do you have any idea how many women would kill for that title? What more could you possibly want?"
Our son joined in, pushing me away with small, angry fists.
"Mommy's just a housewife who cooks and cleans! I don't want Mommy anymore—I want Aunt Jessica to play with me!"
Eight years into our marriage, I had become what they called me: just a housewife.
Watching father and son gaze at Jessica with such devotion, something inside me finally died.
"Let's get divorced. I hope you and your soulmate will be very happy together."
Robert's brow furrowed. Clearly, he'd never expected me to ask for a divorce.
Then something shifted in his expression. He softened, carefully reaching for my hand to tend the cuts from the broken glass.
A garish pink bandage stood out against my skin.
"Jessica bought these for Jimmy and me. See, that's where you fall short—she's always so thoughtful about the little things."
"Stop being dramatic. Jimmy adores Jessica. Why can't the four of us just live together? Wouldn't that be ideal?"
I stared at him as he smiled, lost in fond memories of her. My heart twisted painfully.
Every piece of clothing they wore, every item in this house—I had researched and selected each one with care.
Yet my own son, Jimmy Sullivan, looked at that ridiculous bandage and threw a tantrum.
"Bad Mommy! Aunt Jessica gave me these! You can't steal my things!"
In the kitchen, a late-night meal simmered on the stove for them. In the bedroom, freshly pressed clothes waited on hangers.
Years of devotion, and I'd been outdone by a stranger's box of cartoon bandages.
I pulled my hand away. Robert froze, then glared at me with irritation.
"When are you going to grow up?"
He grabbed Jimmy's hand. "The hospital's throwing Jessica a celebration party for her award. We're going."
Her award?
I let out a bitter laugh. "You mean the paper you wrote that she's taking credit for?"
Robert's expression turned glacial.
"Jessica's up for tenure. She needs a strong publication record, and I happen to be in a position to help. What's wrong with that?"
I said nothing, remembering how years ago, when I was up for tenure, he'd refused to help—citing concerns about nepotism. He wouldn't even give me feedback on a basic experiment.
"I know you're still bitter that I didn't help you back then, but that was years ago. Are you really going to wallow in resentment forever?"
A ringtone interrupted us—the special one Robert had set for Jessica.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine times.
From the first time I'd heard that unfamiliar melody and realized Robert was having an affair, until tonight.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine calls.
He answered, spoke briefly, then hung up.
"Jessica's waiting downstairs. We're leaving."
He'd forgotten our wedding anniversary, but he knew exactly what time Jessica's party started.
Father and son hurried toward the door without a backward glance.
I watched from the window as Jessica leaned against the car, looking up at me with a smirk of triumph.
When she heard Robert's footsteps, she threw herself into his arms. The three of them looked like a perfect little family.
The smugness on her face pierced straight through me.
Hours ticked by.
I sat alone at the dining table, watching the clock strike midnight. The entryway remained silent.
[Don't wait up. Jimmy and I will be back tomorrow.]
His text didn't surprise me in the least.
A notification popped up on my phone—a direct message.
I opened it. Jessica had sent photos.
Robert, naked in bed. Jessica grinning triumphantly at the camera.
I collapsed onto the bathroom floor.
After a long while, I pulled out my phone and dialed Bobby Owens.
"Mr. Owens, that agreement my father drafted—the one stating that if Robert ever cheated, he'd forfeit his position and leave the marriage with nothing—is it still valid?"
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“I know she does.”
“And what if she doesn’t want this kind of protection?”
“She will,” I say, my voice lowering slightly. “Because she needs a man who can give her the world.”
“And if the world burns?”
My hand tightens subtly at Violet’s waist.
“Then I’ll build her a new one,” I reply. “Even if I have to burn the old one down myself.”
I don’t work for Rowan Ashcroft.
I work beneath him.
From my desk, I decide who gets access to the most ruthless CEO in the city, and who never makes it past the lobby. I manage his time, his silence, his enemies. I keep his world running while my own quietly collapses under unpaid bills, a mother locked in rehab, and a brother who vanished without a goodbye.
Rowan Ashcroft is power wrapped in a tailored suit.
Cold. Untouchable. Merciless.
He doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t see people, only usefulness.
And for a long time, I was just useful.
Until he started watching.
A shift in his attention is subtle at first. A pause too long. A look that lingers. Orders that pull me closer instead of pushing me away. The man who stands above my desk begins to control more than my schedule, and I realize too late that being noticed by Rowan Ashcroft is far more dangerous than being ignored.
Because men like him don’t crave affection.
They crave possession.
This was supposed to be a job.
Not a test of my limits.
Not a slow, deliberate descent into his authority.
But if Rowan Ashcroft decides I belong under his desk, then so be it.
Survival has a price, and the bills don’t care how I pay them.
“I know she does.”
“And what if she doesn’t want this kind of protection?”
“She will,” I say, my voice lowering slightly. “Because she needs a man who can give her the world.”
“And if the world burns?”
My hand tightens subtly at Violet’s waist.
“Then I’ll build her a new one,” I reply. “Even if I have to burn the old one down myself.”
I don’t work for Rowan Ashcroft.
I work beneath him.
From my desk, I decide who gets access to the most ruthless CEO in the city, and who never makes it past the lobby. I manage his time, his silence, his enemies. I keep his world running while my own quietly collapses under unpaid bills, a mother locked in rehab, and a brother who vanished without a goodbye.
Rowan Ashcroft is power wrapped in a tailored suit.
Cold. Untouchable. Merciless.
He doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t see people, only usefulness.
And for a long time, I was just useful.
Until he started watching.
A shift in his attention is subtle at first. A pause too long. A look that lingers. Orders that pull me closer instead of pushing me away. The man who stands above my desk begins to control more than my schedule, and I realize too late that being noticed by Rowan Ashcroft is far more dangerous than being ignored.
Because men like him don’t crave affection.
They crave possession.
This was supposed to be a job.
Not a test of my limits.
Not a slow, deliberate descent into his authority.
But if Rowan Ashcroft decides I belong under his desk, then so be it.
Survival has a price, and the bills don’t care how I pay them.
