The Unwanted Wife

Gideon turned his back and strode out of the restaurant without a second glance. Gemma shoved the crumpled divorce papers deep into her leather handbag. She ignored his waiting driver, hailed a cab, and tracked him straight to the hospital. She needed to see the woman who commanded her husband’s every waking thought.

But by the time she stepped out of the elevator, Gideon was a ghost.

Gemma swallowed the bitter taste of defeat. She marched into the public restroom, splashed cold water on her face, and reapplied her concealer. She forced her trembling lips into a practiced, serene smile before pushing open the door to her mother’s ward.

Sarah sat propped up against the pillows. Her gaze immediately locked onto her daughter. "Gemma, tell me honestly. Is everything okay between you and Gideon?"

Gemma pulled up a plastic chair and sat beside the bed. "Mom, we are doing great."

Howard pushed a basket of fruit toward her. "In these three years of marriage, Gideon has been good to us. If you two hit a rough patch, sit down and talk to him. Stop acting like a spoiled princess."

Sarah reached out and patted Gemma’s hand. "You are twenty-five. It is time to anchor your life. Gideon is the sole heir to the Whitmore family. You should have a baby with him soon. A child will secure your place and your future."

Gemma stared at the white blanket. A cold knot formed in her stomach. It was not a lack of desire on her part. Gideon refused to procreate with her.

The memory clawed at her mind. A few months ago, after he returned from a week-long trip, she took a risk and threw away all their condoms. That night, Gideon pinned her to the mattress, and they had sex without any barriers. She felt his raw heat inside her, foolishly believing he had let his guard down and accepted the idea of a family.

The next morning shattered that delusion. Gideon stood by the bed, dressed in a crisp suit, and handed her a glass of water along with a box of morning-after pills. He stood there, watching her with cold, unyielding eyes until she swallowed the pill. He did not hate children. He just refused to let her be the mother of his.

The ward door swung open, breaking her dark reverie. Finn bounced into the room, tossing his backpack onto a spare chair. He threw his arms around Gemma.

"Gemma! I just ran into your husband outside."

The fake smile on Gemma’s face shattered.

Sarah frowned, looking between her children. "Did Gideon come to the hospital with you just now?"

Gemma scrambled to patch the lie. "He came to visit a sick friend. I tagged along to see you." She turned her head toward her younger brother, keeping her voice level. "Finn, where did you see him?"

"I caught him in the lobby elevator. He pressed the button for the thirteenth floor."

The thirteenth floor. The VIP ward.

Gemma kissed her mother’s cheek, muttered a quick excuse about beating the traffic, and slipped out of the room. She took the stairs, her pulse hammering against her ribs with every step she climbed.

The thirteenth-floor corridor felt like a mausoleum. Thick carpets swallowed the sound of her footsteps. She bypassed the empty nurses' station and walked down the row of private suites.

A sliver of warm light spilled from a door left ajar at the end of the hall. Gemma stopped dead in her tracks.

Through the narrow gap, she saw Gideon. He stood tall beside a hospital bed, his broad shoulders relaxed. A woman sat on the edge of the mattress, her arms wrapped tight around his waist. Brooke Kensington. The first love. The untouchable phantom haunting Gemma’s marriage.

Brooke buried her face against Gideon’s chest. Her long, dark hair spilled over his tailored sleeve.

Brooke tilted her head up. Tears shimmered in her eyes. "Gideon, will you stay with me tonight?"

The raw intimacy in her voice sent a sickening jolt through Gemma’s spine.

Gideon reached down and gripped Brooke’s wrists, gently prying her arms from his neck. As Brooke’s hand shifted under the overhead light, a harsh flash of silver caught Gemma’s eye.

A diamond bracelet circled Brooke’s slender wrist. The intricate, star-shaped cut of the gems was unmistakable.

Gemma’s breath hitched in her throat. She slowly raised her own left arm and stared at the jewelry resting against her skin. It was the exact same piece. Gideon had given it to her for their anniversary. He told her it suited her.

He did not buy it for her. He bought a replica of the gift he gave the woman he actually loved.

The sickening realization crushed the last remaining fragments of Gemma’s dignity. The blood rushed to her ears, drowning out the murmurs from inside the room. A suffocating humiliation gripped her throat, swiftly morphing into a blinding, explosive rage.

She dug her nails into the clasp of her bracelet. She tore the metal from her wrist with a harsh yank, scraping her skin in the process. She hurled the heavy diamonds down the hallway. The jewelry hit the baseboard with a sharp clatter and vanished into the shadows.

Gemma spun on her heel and ran. She sprinted toward the stairwell, gasping for air, fleeing the scene before she shattered into a million pieces.

The journey back to the Whitmore estate was a blur of neon streetlights and numb silence. By the time Gemma unlocked the front door, her tears had dried into a stiff, itchy film on her cheeks. Her muscles felt leaden.

She dropped her handbag on the floor and walked straight up the grand staircase. The massive, empty house mocked her.

In the master bathroom, she stood under the scalding spray of the shower until her skin turned pink. She tried to wash away the scent of the restaurant, the hospital, and the invisible weight of Gideon’s betrayal. Stepping out, she picked up the hairdryer from the marble counter. Her fingers felt like stiff blocks of ice. She stared at the buttons, unable to summon the strength to press them.

She dropped the dryer back onto the counter and walked into the dark bedroom.

Gemma crawled into the center of the massive king-sized bed. She did not turn on a single lamp. The shadows swallowed her whole. Her red, swollen eyes remained open, staring blankly at the ceiling.

She had spent three years perfecting the role of the devoted wife. She swallowed her pride, ignored the whispers of high society, and convinced herself that time would thaw Gideon’s icy exterior. She was wrong. She was nothing but a convenient shield while he kept his true love safe.

Even her grief had to wait for permission. She could not fall apart in front of her parents. She could not cause a scene in the hospital corridors. Being an adult meant locking the agony in a box until she was alone in the dark.

"The moment Mom is discharged, I will file the papers." She whispered the promise to the empty room.

The sheer reality of ending her marriage crashed over her. A harsh tremor wracked her spine. The dam broke. Every suppressed emotion she swallowed over the last three years ripped its way to the surface.

Gemma pulled her knees to her chest and pressed her hands over her face. Agonizing sobs tore from her throat. She rocked back and forth in the vast, empty bed. Stripped of her title and her pride, she looked small and broken, trapped in a silent hell of her own making.

Back at the hospital, Gideon stepped out of the VIP ward. He had just finished calming Brooke down. He walked toward the central nurses' station to retrieve a fresh thermometer, rolling up his shirt sleeves as he approached the curved desk.

A cluster of night-shift nurses huddled together at the counter. Their hushed, animated chatter stopped the second they noticed him.

Gideon’s sharp gaze bypassed their startled faces and landed directly on the object resting in the center of the desk.

A diamond bracelet.

The air in his lungs vanished. He closed the distance in three long strides, snatched the jewelry from the desk, and turned it over under the fluorescent lights. His thumb dragged over the inner band. There it was. A delicate cursive letter 'G' engraved into the platinum.

Gemma possessed a stubborn streak when it came to gifts. He had custom-ordered this specific engraving for her. There was zero doubt in his mind. This was her bracelet. She had been here.

His jaw tightened. "Where did you find this?"

The nurses flinched at the sudden, lethal drop in his tone. The bravest one in the group took a hesitant step forward.

"I am sorry, Mr. Whitmore. We found it down the hall near your suite. A very beautiful lady was crying near the elevators earlier. She threw it on the floor. She told the cleaning staff she did not want it anymore."

She threw it away.

The words echoed in Gideon’s skull like a gunshot. Gemma cherished his gifts. She guarded her jewelry box like a dragon hoarding gold. For her to rip this off and abandon it in a public hospital corridor meant she saw everything.

Gideon pocketed the bracelet. His expression smoothed into a mask of stone.

He walked back down the hall and pushed open the door to the ward. He placed the thermometer on the bedside table and looked down at Brooke.

"I have spoken to the head nurse. A private caregiver will be in here shortly to stay with you for the rest of the night."

Brooke pushed herself up against the pillows. Her delicate fingers gripped the edge of the blanket. "Gideon, you promised you would stay here with me tonight."

Gideon reached out and pressed a firm hand against her shoulder, guiding her back onto the mattress. "Something urgent has come up at home. I need to take care of it right now."

Brooke released her grip on the blanket, but her brow furrowed in distress. "This is my fault. My son and I have been taking up so much of your time lately. Your wife must be feeling neglected. You should go home and comfort her."

Gideon leaned over the bed. He smoothed the creases out of Brooke’s pillow, making sure her head rested perfectly in the center. He did not flinch. He did not let a single trace of the impending chaos bleed into his face.

"Do not worry. She is fine."