The Perfect Wife.
Zyrah’s Point of View.
The morning light filters through the curtains, painting soft golden streaks across the bedroom walls. I wake the alarm, as I always do.
Old habits never die.
up
before
For three years, I have started my mornings the same way: waking up before my husband, preparing breakfast, and making sure everything is perfect.
I am Zyrah Callisto Lancaster, the devoted wife of Ronan Vale Lancaster.
I turn over in bed and find my husband standing by the closet, buttoning his shirt, obviously dressing up for work. He doesn’t glance at me, his movements quick, mechanical.
“Good morning, love,” I say softly, pushing myself up on my elbows.
He didn’t respond, nor did he turn around to look at me.
I try again, sliding out of bed and walking over to him. My bare feet sink into the plush carpet as I close the distance, reaching for his tie.
“Let me,” I whisper, smiling up at him as I fix his knot. It’s something I’ve done for years, a small act of love.
Ronan doesn’t stop me, but he doesn’t meet my eyes either, not saying a word to me like my presence stinks.
When I’m done, I lean up on my toes to kiss his cheek, but he turns his head away.
“I’m late for work,” he mutters coldly.
I freeze for half a second before forcing my smile to stay in place. “I understand.” I nodded, glanced around the large bedroom, and back at him.
I step back, smoothing my nightgown. “At least have breakfast first,” I say, motioning toward the dining room. “I made your favorite…”
“I don’t have time, Zyrah.” His voice is sharper now, more impatient. “And don’t wait up for me tonight, I won’t be coming home.”
His words hit harder than they should.
I nod slowly, pressing my hands together to keep them from trembling. “Okay,” I say, keeping my voice steady, keep- ing my mask in place.
He doesn’t kiss me goodbye, doesn’t even look back as he grabs his briefcase and walks out the door.
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“Darling.” I let out, but before the word could come out fully, the sound of the bedroom door closing felt louder than usual.
I stood there, staring at the empty space where he just was, swallowing back the pain that rose in my throat.
“This is normal, Zyrah, he is just stressed with work at the company,” I tell myself as I try to control the pain I feel.
This is marriage, love is patience, and love endures.
I wasn’t always Zyrah Lancaster.
Before I became Ronan’s wife, I was Zyrah Callisto Aeternum, heiress to a dynasty built on power and fear. My fa- ther, Caelan Aeternum, ruled an empire with ruthless efficiency. My older brother, Darius Kael Aeternum, was his shadow, the enforcer who turned whispered threats into reality.
I was raised in a world where deals were signed in blood, where loyalty was currency, and where love was seen as a
weakness.
But I didn’t want to be like them.
I wanted more.
So when Ronan walked into my life, promising love, promising a future built on something other than power, I grabbed it with both hands.
I chose him.
I walked away from my family, from the wealth and security of the Aeternum name, from the protection of my broth-
I told myself love was worth more than power.
But now, standing alone in my silent home, I wonder if I made the wrong choice.
I walked towards the large mirror and stared at my reflection. I know that I am beautiful; my long blonde, sharp, deep blue eyes and curvy body are every man’s dream, but Ronan doesn’t stop to make me feel like shit.
Ronan wasn’t always like this.
In the beginning, he was everything I ever wanted.
Loving, attentive, e made me feel like I was enough like I was more than just an Aeternum name. I fell in love with him harder than I have ever done in the past, and now, I don’t know where affection went.
Somewhere along the way changed.
The sweet goodnight kisses turned into absentminded nods. The long, lazy conversations became clipped responses. The warmth in his eyes dimmed, leaving only cold indifference.
I should have seen the signs.
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288 Vouchers
The Perfect Wife.
Maybe I did, but I just didn’t want to believe them.
And now, I am just a shadow in his life. A woman he no longer chooses, but I still hold on to because every marriage has its has its ups and downs.d I believe that we can get it fixed.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
The sudden sound of the doorbell ringing pulls me from my thoughts.
I frown, glancing at the clock. It was 9:00 AM, way too early for visitors.
I took a deep breath, smoothing down my nightgown as I walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and towards the front door.
As I open it, my heart sinks.
I
There, standing on my doorstep in six-inch heels and an expensive designer dress is the last person I ever want to see.
Selina Moreau.
My husband’s ex-girlfriend.
My gaze narrowed as she was the last person I wanted to set my eyes on right now. I grip the doorknob a little tighter.
Selina Moreau.
The woman who never truly left Ronan’s life even after he got married.
She stands on my doorstep, all flawless red lips and effortless arrogance, dressed in a designer outfit that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe.
She doesn’t wait for an invitation, she never does.
Instead, I watch her step inside my home, heels clicking against the marble floor, her perfume, expensive and suffo- cating, filling the space like a warning.
“Selina,” I muttered.
Her eyes sweep over the house, and she smirks.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?”
I close the door behind her, forcing my lips into a polite, practiced smile. The perfect wife, always composed.
“Selina,” I greet her smoothly, ignoring the knot tightening in my stomach. “To what do I owe this surprise?”
She shrugs, flipping her dark hair over one shoulder as she makes herself at home on my couch.
“Oh, you know me, Zyrah. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d check in on you.”
Check in, like I’m a pathetic charity case.
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The Perfect Wile
288 (Vouchers
I know better than to let her see how deep she cuts, so I simply nod.
“How thoughtful,” I say, my voice calm even as my fingers twitch to clench into fists. “Can I get you anything? Tea?”
Her smile sharpens, like a cat toying with a mouse.
“Tea would be lovely,” she smirked.
I turn toward the kitchen, taking steady steps, refusing to let her see my discomfort because this is the game we play, she taunts me, and I endure.
The tea tray is heavy in my hands, but not as heavy as the silence that stretches between us as I pour her a cup.
Selina watches me, eyes gleaming with amusement as I serve her in my own home.
How many times has she sat here before?
How many times has she walked through my front door while I was away?
My hands tremble slightly as I set the cup in front of her, but I mask it quickly, lifting my own cup with steady fin-
gers.
Selina blows on her tea before taking a slow sip, humming in approval.
“Still the perfect little wife, I see.”
I didn’t take the bait.
“I try my best,” I say instead, lifting my cup to my lips.
Selina tilts her head, studying me.
“That’s sweet,” she murmurs. Then, with a smirk, she leans in slightly. “You know, Ronan used to love his tea a little stronger. But I guess things change, don’t they?”
My fingers tighten around my cup, the warmth seeping into my skin.
She’s testing me, waiting for a reaction, but I won’t give her one.
“People’s preferences evolve over time,” I say smoothly, placing my cup down with careful precision. “It’s natural.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head as if I’m a child who doesn’t understand.
“Oh, Zyrah. You really think you know Ronan, don’t you?”
I force my smile to stay in place.
“I’m his wife.”
Selina hums, tapping her manicured nails against the cup, a calculated pause.
“For now.” She grins.
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The air shifts.
I feel it before she even speaks again, that slow, deliberate cruelty she’s always been so skilled at delivering.
“You don’t belong in this world, Zyrah,” she says, her voice almost gentle. “Some women are meant to be wives, while the others are just placeholders.”
She leans back, crossing her legs gracefully, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes as she watches the impact of her words
sink in.
I keep my face carefully blank, even as my heart twists violently inside my chest, and I want to smack that grin off her evil face.
I should say something, anything.
Tell her she’s wrong, tell her that Ronan loves me, that I am not temporary, but the words lodge in my throat, because deep down, a part of me wonders if she’s right.
So I do the only thing I can.
I smile, a slow, measured smile that hides every crack forming inside me.
“How kind of you to share your wisdom,” I say, lifting my cup to my lips again, masking the faint tremor in my
hands.
Selina smirks, satisfied.
She thinks she’s won, and maybe, for today, she has because I still believe in Ronan; I still believe in our love.
“Excuse me,” I said, and as I was about to stand up, suddenly, there was a fierce knock at the door, accompanied by the doorbell.
It’s a loud, sharp knock, firm, and unrelenting.
I frown, placing my cup down as I rise to my feet.
Selina simply watches, amusement flickering in her eyes as I walk toward the door.
All of a sudden, I knew that things weren’t right; something felt wrong.
I push the uneasy feeling aside and pull the door open, and the world tilts violently.
Standing at my front door was a group of uniformed officers standing at my doorstep, faces unreadable, weapons hol- stered but ready.
My stomach drops, “What’s going on?” I asked, my eyes glancing from one officer to the other.
“Zyrah Lancaster?” The officer in front speaks, his voice clipped and official.
I nod, confusion twisting inside me. “Yes?”
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The Perfect Wife.
His next words hit like a gunshot.
“You are under arrest for financial fraud and embezzlement.”
For a moment, my mind
goes
blank.
200 IVU
I must have misheard.
I stare at him, waiting for an explanation, waiting for someone to tell me this is a mistake.
I chuckled nervously.
“What?” My voice comes out small, shaken. “That’s impossible. I haven’t…” Before I could complete my statement, a cold metal snapped around my wrist.
The shock of it knocks the breath from my lungs.
“Wait, no, this isn’t right!” My voice rises as the officer pulls me forward. Panic sets in, sharp and suffocating.
My pulse roars in my ears as I twist toward Selina, she’s watching me, and she doesn’t look surprised.
No.
She looks pleased.
Oh my God!
I whip my head around, my voice breaking.
“I am just a housewife; how can this be possible?” I let out as I tried to struggle.
“Call Ronan!” I beg. “He’ll fix this, he’ll tell you this is a mistake!”
One of the officers laughs, not a kind laugh, a knowing, pitying laugh.
One of the cops came close and held me; I was dragged out of my own home in handcuffs, my life falling apart in re- al-time.
And inside the house, Selina Moreau sips her tea.
Smiling with an evil look in her eyes.
“What is happening?” i muttered as hot tears blinded my eyes.
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