The Wife No One Wanted

Warm light spilled out onto the porch of the hillside villa as Cleo Lowell hurried up the steps, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. Inside, the celebration had clearly been going on for hours.

The attendant standing by the entrance blinked in surprise at the sight of her. "Mrs. Vance? Why are you out here so late? The dinner service has already wrapped up."

*My own husband hosts a birthday party and leaves me off the guest list. And not a single person we know bothered to mention a word of it to me. What a joke,* Cleo thought with a wave of quiet bitterness.

Giving the attendant a brief, polite smile, she lifted her hand toward the door handle, only to freeze when the sound of conversation drifted out through the gap.

"Daphne, what did you get him? Dominic hasn't taken his eyes off your gift bag all night."

"Did I?"

"Come on, you've been looking at that bag like there's a fortune inside. Now that Daphne is finally back home, why don't you just divorce Cleo already? Everyone here would be thrilled."

"Honestly, yes. Cleo slipped something into your drink just to climb into your bed. If you hadn't felt sorry enough for her to put a ring on her finger, nobody in this town would even look at her twice."

Right in the middle of the lounge sat Dominic Vance, wearing a dark tailored suit with the top two buttons of his collar left casually unfastened. Everything about his profile was striking—his deep-set eyes, the clean line of his nose, and his thin mouth. Sitting back with his gaze slightly narrowed, he carried himself with a cold, untouchable arrogance that set him apart from everyone else in the room.

"No rush," he replied, his voice completely level and devoid of warmth.

"Give me a break, Dominic. Three whole years have passed. Why are you still dragging your feet?" another voice chimed in from the couch. "Because of her, Daphne's sister is lying in a hospital bed in a coma. If your grandmother hadn't stepped in to protect her, we would have settled the score with her a long time ago."

Dominic didn't answer, his long fingers idly flipping a lighter open and shut. A second later, his gaze flicked slightly toward the shadowed space by the entrance.

That subtle shift drew every pair of eyes in the room toward the doorway, where Cleo stood in plain view. Nobody had any idea how much of their conversation she had just overheard.

A guest near the back leaned over and muttered, "Wait, did someone actually invite her tonight?"

Silence answered the question. It was obvious to the entire room that she had shown up uninvited.

Cleo looked down slightly, keeping her expression composed across her delicate, oval face. Dressed in a soft cashmere sweater with her hair smoothed neatly behind her ears, she appeared quiet and harmless.

Nothing about her gentle appearance suggested she was capable of the ruthless schemes they had just accused her of—yet the blame was hers all the same.

When she raised her eyes to look at Dominic, a heavy, suffocating ache pressed down on her chest. She tightened her grip on the gift box in her hands until her knuckles lost their color.

Stepping further into the room, she walked straight over to him and held out the box, only for him to meet her with an icy stare and snap, "Who told you to come?"

Quiet laughs and amused murmurs rippled through the surrounding crowd, stripping away her dignity bit by bit.

Daphne turned to Dominic with a gentle frown. "She's your wife, Dominic. She has every right to be here."

Rising slightly, Daphne reached for Cleo's arm and tugged her down toward the sofa. "Have a seat, Cleo. Don't pay any attention to him—he's just being difficult tonight."

Cleo pressed her lips into a thin line and said nothing. She was the woman legally married to Dominic, yet she needed his former fiancée to step in and rescue her from embarrassment in front of his friends.

Not a soul in this house wanted her around tonight, yet she had made the trip up the hill anyway. Back when Dominic was eighteen, he had promised her that no matter what happened, the two of them would spend his twenty-eighth birthday together.

Moving forward, Cleo sat down right next to Dominic, easing herself into the space and nudging Daphne slightly to the side.

The pleasant expression on Daphne's face froze for a brief instant before she recovered and asked in a sweet tone, "So, Cleo, what present did you bring for Dominic?"

Before Cleo had a chance to open her mouth, an overly curious guest sitting nearby reached across the table and lifted the lid off her box. Resting inside was a knitted scarf without a single brand label on it, unmistakably made by hand.

Daphne let out a light, surprised gasp. "Wait, how funny is that? I brought him a scarf as well."

Within moments, both scarves were pulled out and laid next to each other across the tabletop, each one carefully knitted by hand. Looking at the neat, even stitches side by side, nobody could immediately tell which piece had taken more effort to make.

Right then, someone shifting near the edge of the couch bumped hard into the table. An uncorked bottle of red wine wobbled and tipped over, sending a dark crimson wave splashing straight toward both scarves.

Dominic reached out in a flash and snatched one scarf off the table, leaving the other behind to soak up the puddle of dark, pungent alcohol—and the one he had saved belonged to Daphne.

Drained of color, Cleo stared down at the ruined wool she had spent the last two months knitting stitch by stitch. Her chest felt tight and constricted, and a slow, cold numbness began creeping through her limbs.

Letting out a soft sigh, Daphne reached over to touch Cleo's sleeve. "Please don't take it to heart, Cleo. The wool isn't ruined for good—it'll come clean once you wash it properly."

Cleo didn't spare her a single glance, keeping her gaze fixed entirely on Dominic.

He simply dropped his eyelashes, shutting her out and hiding whatever reaction might have crossed his eyes.

An awkward, heavy tension settled over the living room. Cleo felt entirely out of place, like an intruder who had walked into someone else's life, and before long, the guests began making excuses to head home.

Staying right where she was on the couch, Cleo didn't move a muscle. Her gaze stayed locked on the wine-stained scarf abandoned on the coffee table—discarded and ignored, no different from her own position in this room.

Once nearly everyone had filed out the front door, Dominic finally rose to his feet.

Looking up at him from the sofa, Cleo spoke in a quiet voice. "Happy birthday."

Dominic gave no reaction at all, acting as if the room were completely empty.

Every person who had attended tonight's party belonged to his current circle of wealthy elites. Yet years ago, before the Vance family ever brought him back into the fold, nineteen-year-old Cleo had been the only person standing in his corner.

He had been twenty-one at the time, already making a name for himself as a sharp newcomer in the business world. Now, seven years down the line, that promising young man had grown into an untouchable powerhouse among the city's elite.

Meanwhile, everything the two of them had shared back when they had no money and no backing—the devotion, the late nights, the struggle to build a life from scratch—felt like a faded story that had happened to two completely different people.

After a long stretch of silence, Dominic instructed his assistant to take Daphne back to her place.

Pausing beside him, Daphne laid a light hand on his shoulder. "Try to talk things out nicely tonight, alright? Don't start another argument with her."

One of the remaining men near the doorway let out a short, mocking laugh. "Daphne, you're way too generous for your own good."

Daphne gave a small, forgiving shake of her head. "Cleo was still so young three years ago. I'm sure she just didn't think through what she was doing."

"Didn't think it through? That's garbage! She destroyed your sister's life and shamelessly took the spot that belonged to you, and yet she still has the nerve to walk through that door tonight," the man scoffed as his footsteps faded out into the hallway.

Sitting stiffly on the cushion, Cleo felt the chill sink deeper into her body until her lips were completely pale. Slowly pushing herself up from the couch, she reached out to gather the wet, wine-soaked scarf from the table before turning to face her husband. Her voice was soft, carrying a faint, quiet gentleness as she said his name. "Dominic."

With his suit jacket already slung over one forearm, Dominic reached up and loosened his necktie with an irritated tug. Keeping his eyes averted, he asked in an icy tone, "What now?"

A faint, tired smile touched the corners of Cleo's mouth. "Let's get divorced."

Surprise flashed across Dominic's face for a split second before his expression darkened. "What kind of new routine is this? You were the one who drugged my drink to climb into my bed, and now you're suddenly acting like the considerate wife offering me my freedom? Haven't you had enough of playing these tricks?"

Lowering her eyes to the floor, Cleo spoke so softly her voice barely carried across the space between them. "I'm sorry for holding you back for the past three years. I'm not playing around this time."

The ridicule vanished from Dominic's eyes. Reaching out, he yanked her forward by the arm and caught her chin in a punishing grip. Only when her brows drew together from the sharp ache in her jaw did the sudden, inexplicable surge of frustration in his chest ease up slightly.

"Now you're apologizing? Then what the hell do you call everything you pulled three years ago?" he bit out, his voice low and harsh. "If it's a divorce you want, fine. Just don't expect to walk out of this marriage with a single dime of my money."

"I'll leave with nothing," Cleo answered, looking straight back at him with clear eyes and a calm, steady voice.

Years ago, right after Dominic was welcomed back as the Vance family heir, his relatives had formally taken Cleo in as a goddaughter despite everything she had gone through alongside him.

Nobody in their circle had been fooled by the gesture—the Vance family simply refused to let their newly recovered heir marry a nobody without a background, using the adoption as a convenient public relations cover to protect their reputation.

Looking down at her remarkably calm expression, Dominic felt a strange, sudden tightness constrict his throat. Dropping his hand from her face, he turned his back on her and spoke in a voice as cold as ice. "Fine. Walk away with nothing. Don't you dare regret it."