Seven Years His Hidden Heartbreak

Name: Seven Years His Hidden Heartbreak
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Gavin

Modern | Completed

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For seven years, I was the secret wife and ghostwriter for the famous author Holden Gillespie. I built his literary empire with my words, all while our marriage and our son, Leo, were kept hidden to protect his "single genius" image. Then he began a public affair with his new publicist, Kassidy. When I finally quit, he tried to kick me and our son out of our home to make room for her. The breaking point came on Leo's birthday. Holden showed up with a cake to "make things right." It was mango chiffon. He had forgotten-or never cared to know-that our son has a life-threatening allergy to mangoes. He almost killed his own child out of sheer, selfish negligence. In that moment, I knew it was over. I took our son, disappeared, and filed for divorce, cutting off all contact. But now, months later, he' s standing outside my new home in Santa Fe, looking desperate. "I'm not agreeing to this divorce," he says, his voice raw. "I never will."

Divorce Ex-wife Hidden identities Divorce Ex-wife

Chapter 10

Today 11:54

Chapter 1

Then he began a public affair with his new publicist, Kassidy. When I finally quit, he tried to kick me and our son out of our home to make room for her.

The breaking point came on Leo's birthday. Holden showed up with a cake to "make things right."

It was mango chiffon.

He had forgotten-or never cared to know-that our son has a life-threatening allergy to mangoes. He almost killed his own child out of sheer, selfish negligence.

In that moment, I knew it was over. I took our son, disappeared, and filed for divorce, cutting off all contact.

But now, months later, he' s standing outside my new home in Santa Fe, looking desperate.

"I'm not agreeing to this divorce," he says, his voice raw. "I never will."

Chapter 1

I stood in front of Holden Gillespie, the man who had stolen my identity and my heart, and told him I was quitting. The words felt foreign on my tongue, heavy with seven years of unspoken truth. He leaned back in his expensive leather chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips, as if I had just uttered a joke.

"Quitting?" he repeated, his tone laced with amusement, not concern. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were momentarily clouded by surprise. He raised an eyebrow, a gesture that once thrilled me, now just irritated.

I nodded, my gaze steady. "Yes. I've decided to pursue other opportunities." The lie tasted bitter, but it was a script I had rehearsed a thousand times in my head. A safe, professional exit.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Other opportunities? Adriana, what could possibly be better than being my right hand? We're a team." He gestured vaguely around his opulent office, a kingdom built on my words, not his.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Holden," I said, my voice carefully modulated to hide the tremor I felt deep inside. "But it's time for me to move on. I've accepted a position elsewhere." Another lie, another brick laid in the wall between us.

He stared at me for a long moment, his smile fading. "This isn't about that publishing house, is it? The one who keeps trying to poach you? I thought we settled that." He frowned, clearly annoyed that I was disrupting his perfectly ordered world.

"No, it's not," I replied, forcing a polite smile. "It's a personal decision."

He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Adriana, you know I can't just let you walk away. I have a book deadline next month. And the follow-up. Who's going to manage everything?" His voice was tinged with irritation, not sadness. He was worried about his schedule, not my departure.

"I've prepared a comprehensive handover document," I said, pushing a thick binder across his polished mahogany desk. "Everything is outlined. You'll be fine." My fingers twitched, wanting to snatch it back, to stay, but I clamped down on the urge. This was it.

He picked up the binder, flipping through it distractedly. "Right. Well. If you're really set on this..." He paused, his eyes scanning something on the page. "It's just, you know, people always assume you're a single mother. It's a tough world out there for women, especially with a child to raise."

A cold spear twisted in my gut. He thought he was being empathetic. I knew the truth. He was reminding me of my vulnerability, of the secret life he condemned me to. The truth was, I was about to become a single mother, in every sense of the word. The illusion of a shared life, a hidden marriage, was crumbling. And I was the one swinging the hammer.

I pushed away from his desk. "I'll manage."

Just as I turned to leave his office, the door swung open, and Kassidy Oneill burst in, a whirlwind of bright colors and artificial perfume. Her eyes, wide and innocent, landed on Holden, then flickered to me with a practiced sweetness that never quite reached them.

"Holden, darling! I just finalized the details for the gala next week. It's going to be fabulous!" She practically purred, gliding towards his desk. She was his new publicist, a role that had once been mine. And so much more.

He smiled at her, a genuine, warm smile that he rarely, if ever, showed me anymore. "That's wonderful, Kassidy. You always deliver."

My stomach clenched. He was my husband. The father of my son, Leo. For seven years, I had been the unseen architect of his fame, the ghostwriter behind every bestselling word, the silent partner in a life he refused to acknowledge. Our marriage was a carefully guarded secret, tucked away in the shadows of his public image. A secret that protected his 'single, intellectual genius' facade. A secret that protected Kassidy from knowing she was sleeping with a married man.

He had promised me, when Leo was born, that one day, he would tell the world. That one day, we would be a family. But that day never came. Instead, the secrecy grew, suffocating me, erasing me. And now, Kassidy, his new publicist, had replaced me in every role but one. The one that truly mattered.

Kassidy leaned over Holden's desk, her hand resting casually on his shoulder, her laugh tinkling through the air. He didn't pull away. He never did. A pang, sharp and familiar, pierced through me. It was a dull throb, a constant companion for the past year.

I tried to swallow the knot in my throat. I couldn't look away. Her fingers, long and perfectly manicured, brushed against the collar of his shirt. A small, intimate gesture. A gesture that screamed ownership.

My chest felt hollow, like someone had scooped out my insides. A cold void where my hope used to reside. It wasn't just the betrayal; it was the casualness of it, the blatant disregard for my presence right there.

"Adriana," I heard myself say, my voice surprisingly steady. "Can I have a word with you, before I leave?"

Holden turned, his expression shifting to a mask of polite professionalism. "Adriana, I'm actually quite busy right now. Is this urgent? Perhaps you can send an email." His tone was crisp, business-like. It was the tone he reserved for underlings, for people he wanted to keep at a distance. For me.

His words cut through me, sharper than any blade. He was setting boundaries, reminding me of my place. My place was no longer by his side, but in the footnotes of his life, if even that. He was making it abundantly clear that our personal life, our history, had no place in his professional world, in his world.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to nod. "Of course, Mr. Gillespie. My apologies. I'll just gather my things." I used his formal title, mirroring his coldness, burying the wife, the mother, the ghostwriter deep inside myself.

He gave a curt nod, already turning back to Kassidy, who was now leaning in, whispering something in his ear. He laughed, a low, easy sound.

I walked past them, my heart a lead weight in my chest. He wouldn't care. He was already moving on. He had been moving on for a long time.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Leo. A text message. 'Is Daddy coming home for my birthday today?'

I stopped dead in the doorway, my hand freezing on the doorknob. My breath caught in my throat. I glanced back, my eyes drawn to Holden and Kassidy. She was now openly stroking his arm, her head tilted sweetly. He was smiling, completely absorbed in her.

My fingers trembled as I typed a quick, desperate message to Holden: 'Leo's asking about his birthday. Can you please come home?'

He glanced at his phone as it vibrated, pulled it from his pocket, read the message, and then, with a dismissive flick of his wrist, tossed it onto his desk, face down. He didn't reply.

A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat, but I choked it back. What did I expect? A sudden change of heart? A realization of what he was losing? No. He never wanted to be a father anyway. Not truly. He saw Leo as an inconvenience, a secret that threatened his carefully constructed fame. I was just foolish enough to believe him when he said he would try.

I stuffed my phone back into my pocket, straightened my shoulders, and took a deep, shaky breath. One more time. One last time, for Leo. Then I was done.