I Regret Not Being a Substitute Wife

Chapter 1

My ninety-ninth attempt to seduce my husband, Mark, ended in failure. I’d begun to suspect he had a medical condition, so I’d found the best doctor in town, ready to recommend him for treatment. But then I overheard Mark talking to a friend.

“Get me some more of that erectile dysfunction medication.”

“Even if I can’t be with Sarah, I’ll stay faithful to her.”

Sarah. His older brother’s adopted daughter.

My heart sank. I called my twin sister, Jessica.

“Jess, I’ve figured it out. A useless man isn’t worth it.”

“I’m getting a divorce!”

“Good. Honey, I have plenty of eligible bachelors. I’ll set you up with eight or ten, give you some options to play with…”

The call ended. Mark didn’t leave. Instead, he pulled a doll—an exact replica of Sarah—from a hidden cabinet.

He placed the doll on a chair, leaned over, and kissed its forehead, almost reverently.

He kissed it from head to toe.

He even got… aroused.

He didn’t fight it, he just went with it.

Sweat beaded on his forehead; it was… intense.

“Sarah, Sarah…”

“What am I going to do with you?”

His whispered endearments were like daggers, piercing my heart again and again.

I’d always known about the doll, his forbidden object. I didn’t understand it at first, but seeing Sarah’s face… I understood.

She was his unspoken love.

Bringing his feelings into the light would hurt both of them.

And I? I was his chosen victim.

Jessica and I were twins. A hospital mix-up separated us for thirteen years. When they finally found me, I was prickly, sensitive, and fiercely independent.

At my first birthday party with Jessica, I got into a fight with someone who mocked my manners.

Jessica was called away; I was alone and defenseless. My parents, who favored their newly-found daughter, just watched.

“Someone with class wouldn’t brawl at a birthday party. You and your sister only have your faces in common.”

“I bet her parents are mortified. Nobody’s sticking up for her.”

“So much for those ‘twin beauties.’ You’re just a weed.”

A bottle of red wine splashed down on the speaker’s head.

Mark stood behind them, impeccably dressed, handsome, surrounded by admiring women.

I was one of them.

He didn’t look at me, but he defended me.

“You’re celebrating the hostess’ birthday and insulting her? That makes you look classy?”

The guy, intimidated, didn’t even bother wiping the wine off, and ran off.

Jessica, alerted by a servant, rushed over.

She thanked Mark, then pulled me away, protective like a hen with a chick.

She warned me:

“Clara, stay away from Mark. The Ultons are messed up. Your personality? You’d be eaten alive.”

I was captivated by Mark’s image; I ignored her completely.

He contacted me.

We went to firework shows, stargazing, traveling. He was endlessly patient with my moods.

Knowing my tendency to overthink, he’d patiently unravel my anxieties.

He knew me better than I knew myself.

My defenses crumbled. When he proposed a marriage-oriented relationship, I said yes without hesitation.

But then he stopped.

“Let’s wait until we’re married to be intimate.”

I understood. I thought he respected and valued me.

After the wedding, he said: “I had a fortune teller read our charts; they said this month is bad for intimacy; there’s a risk of bloodshed.”

I believed him. I made excuses for him.

He wanted a stable future, I thought.

Finally, the supposed “time” arrived. In bed, he couldn’t perform.

He looked at me with guilt: “I was too nervous, I love you too much, I need you to be prepared.”

Now I see it all: a web of lies.

I’d seduced him, flirted with him. He seemed to accept it, but he only thought of someone else.

“Sarah.”

His brother’s adopted daughter. He harbored forbidden feelings.

To conceal them, he married someone else.

Back in my room, I felt drained.

I put on a sexy black dress and called my best friend, Ashley.

“Your brother’s agency just hired some new trainees, supposedly hotter than Mark. Take me there.”

She was excited:

“Girl, you’re finally breaking out of your nun phase.”

“I’ll take you. Tonight, we’ll try every flavor of man!”

I got ready to go, but ran into Mark at the door. His expression was grim.

“I have a business meeting, I can’t go with you.”

“Clara, be reasonable, don’t cause trouble.”

To him, I was just a drama queen?

A bitter pang struck me. I took a deep breath.

“I’m just going out with Ashley.”

“Your work is important; I won’t bother you, not anymore.”

He seemed to realize his tone was off and tried to recover:

“Be safe, don’t get too close to men.”

Funny. I was going to men.

In Ashley’s car, a text arrived: my visa, arranged by Jessica.

She texted that work prevented her from coming, but she’d handle the divorce and visa when she arrived.

I smiled. The people who loved me were always there.

I put my arm around Ashley. “You know the scene better than I do. I want handsome, and I want to drink!”

Ashley stared at me: “Seriously? Your guy hates when you drink, let alone find other guys.”

“He hates the smell of alcohol. You gave me your sister’s collection of expensive alcohol. The one time I drank too much, I practically scrubbed myself twenty times when I got home.”

I smirked, “Let’s get wasted. I mean it.”

The club was elegantly designed. The waiters were all attractive. We were led to a lower level; mechanical music blasted; a familiar thrill surged.

Ashley’s trainees were dancing wildly, showing off their muscles. One of them, the hottest, even gave me a sensual dance, causing the crowd to scream.

Ashley clapped enthusiastically, like a seal.

“Clara, you’re amazing!”

“Clara, do it again!”

“Clara, I think I see your husband!”

I thought I misheard. I turned and saw Mark.

Just a fleeting glance.

The man with Mark saw me. “The Shaw twins. The younger sister is even more beautiful, a thorny rose.”

“You’re bold. Not worried the rose will stray and get picked?”

Mark’s face was cold: “If you want her, have at it, if you’ve got the guts.”

The man laughed, watching Mark frantically scanning the dance floor.

He spotted his target and walked over.

I saw Sarah being harassed by a man.

She rejected his advances and slapped him.

A fight broke out.

Mark’s bodyguard subdued the man.

Sarah, tearful, ran into Mark’s arms.

“Uncle.”

After a brief moment of fear, her usual arrogance returned. She showed him her injured wrist.

“Uncle, he hurt my hand.”

“Uncle, punish him.”

“He’s ugly! He asked for my number!”

Mark said nothing, giving the bodyguard a look.

The bodyguard acted swiftly.

A scream rang out.

Sarah laughed, snuggling into Mark’s embrace.

“Uncle, I love you most! I won’t let anyone take you away!”

“If you had to choose between me and that woman, who would you choose?”

Mark hesitated for a second.

Sarah lost control: “You hesitated?”

“You hesitated for that woman?”

“She can’t be more important than me, she must not be!”

Sarah pushed him away and stormed over to my table.

She grabbed a fruit knife and lunged at me.

“Die!”

Ashley screamed, throwing a fruit bowl at Sarah.

“You’re insane!”

My arm bled, Sarah overturned the table, and I fell onto the couch. She looked down at me like a victor.

“You die, and Uncle will see me.”

“Clara!”

…

I woke up back at the Ultons’ mansion.

The family doctor said my left arm was broken, I had multiple soft tissue injuries, and a puncture wound on my hand.

Ashley went to get breakfast. I looked at the impassive butler, my voice lacking its usual respect.

“Where’s Mark?”

The butler, unused to my changed tone, didn’t answer immediately. He offered a designer handbag.

“Miss Sarah was frightened. Mr. Ultan is comforting her.”

“He said you wouldn’t be upset if you saw this.”

He always did this—assuming women loved designer bags, the rarer the better. Whenever he refused to be intimate, he’d give me a bag to appease me.

I already had ninety-seven bags in that price range.

I took the bag and tossed it in the trash.

“Leave. You’re old; late nights are bad for you. You don’t have to watch someone unimportant.”

The butler opened his mouth, looked at the bag in the trash, then swallowed his words.

He sensed something amiss.

The mistress was becoming distant.

He didn’t know whether it was good or bad.

My phone buzzed. Texts.

A photo: Sarah, Mark peeling fruit for her.

[Unknown Number: Uncle’s worried about my emotional state and that I’ll do something drastic. He’s going to stay with me.]

[Unknown Number: My hand was sore when I stabbed you. Uncle’s first action was to put a warm compress on it.]

I screenshotted the messages and forwarded them to the assistant Jessica hired, instructing her to call the police.

Half an hour later, someone kicked down my door.

I saw anger on Mark’s face for the first time.

“Are you insane? You called the police over something trivial?”

“Sarah’s unstable; questioning her could hurt her!”

“Go apologize; don’t let them take Sarah!”

Ignoring my injured hand, he yanked me; I gasped in pain.

Ashley tried to intervene; he shoved her, and she hit a cabinet, falling unconscious, bleeding.

I frantically patted his shoulder: “Call a doctor! Ashley’s hurt!”

He wouldn’t let go of me, his voice hard: “Drop the charges or she gets hurt. Choose.”

I had no choice.

When the butler said they were gone, his face softened.

He was so devoted to her, he lost his reason.

A heavy weight settled in my chest. The suffocating threat hadn’t disappeared.

I clutched my chest, looking at him, my eyes devoid of love and affection: “Mark, you care so much for her, why not marry her?”

“Don’t worry, given how much I hate her, I’ll stay far away. We’ll never be in the same circles again.”

Mark seemed exposed, angered. “Don’t be absurd! She’s my niece.”

“No blood relation, is there?”

“Shut up!” He yelled. “Do you know what you’re saying? Uncle and niece without blood ties? People would crucify Sarah.”

He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him: “Or you’ve got another wicked scheme.”

“I know you and Sarah don’t get along. But don’t let me catch you hurting her.”

“She’s…very important to me.”

“Of course, you are too.”

I smirked, saying nothing.

Ashley texted.

[Your man is a jerk. Your sister was right.]

[Rest up. When you’re better, we leave.]

I smiled. It wouldn’t be that easy.

I called Jessica in the afternoon; she was flying in two days, and then we’d be set.

I felt slightly better.

I hadn’t eaten all day. I put on a robe and went downstairs for something to eat.

I think it was my imagination, but the mansion was deserted. No servants.

As I went downstairs, I heard a woman moan.

From the banister, I saw a couple kissing passionately on the sofa.