Wife on Strike! Beg Harder, Mr. Billionaire!

e call that almost made me throw my expensive, d

ewelry shop downtown. She spoke in that sweet, fake-

ing to confirm the special anniversary delivery

ught my husband had planned something romantic all by himself. No reminders, no sticky notes o

woman r

ears of marriage! And the diamond bracelet engraved

ile f

empty bedroom. "We have been married for three

nd. Papers shuffled. The woman sound

Richard and Eleanor Blackwood! Your husband's parents! Their fortieth a

ward laugh that sound

-law's name is Richard. Go ahead and send his

bered to buy a massive, glittering anniversary gift for his parents, while I was sitting here wondering if he even remem

i

it was Oliver, Nathaniel's poor

wood?" Oliv

he was hiding under a

ld you prefer a diamond necklace or a l

straig

Mr. Blackwood also assigned you to come over here and kiss me on th

made a cho

just gave me a budget and to

forehead. "Just pick the necklace. Whatev

ig and quiet that my footsteps echoed. I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling wind

d to write me terrible, funny love poems on napkins just to see me snort coffee out of my nose. He would drag me out for midnight ice cream ru

and beautiful hotels. But after the wedding, my sketchbooks got pushed to the bottom of the closet. Why? Because I became too busy organizing Nathaniel's life. I bo

. This time it was my

n say hello. "Tell me you are not sitting at home baking a cake

eef stew," I defended, crossing my arms. "And Nathaniel works

s absence while you quietly throw away your own dreams! When was the last time he took you

niversary. He promised he would be home early. I can feel it, Ness. If we just have o

d softly on t

eetie. But don't let him

so the room glowed softly. I set out the steaming bowl of his favorite beef stew and slipped into a tight, gorgeous red dress. It was

y phone lit up wi

office, sweetheart. I promise I will be home bef

ap. Seven o'clock rolled around

d and thick in the ceramic bowl. I sat at the head of the long dining table, sta

So sorry, Mrs. Blackwood, but Mr. Blackwood is st

thinking he had finally broken free. But it was just a delivery guy handing over a small, velvet-wrapped box. A

written my na

chat on my phone. My sister-in-law, Isabella, had just posted a

ly in his expensive suit, holding a crystal glass of cham

the cold, untouched dinner sitting right in front of

g terrible happened. He didn't miss it because he was trapped. He simply found something else, some other meetin

stubborn, silly hope inside my chest snappe

just