My Wife Loves My Secretary, I Don’t Want Her Anymore
Chapter 1
My wife, Ethan, gave her male secretary a wristwatch worth a million.
He posted about it on Instagram, bragging about hard work and unwavering dedication.
My assistant forwarded the post to me.
I forwarded it to my wife, Ashley: “A hundred grand is chump change. What’s real money to you, Ash?”
“Over a million, I guess.”
“Two million. Transfer it to me in the next sixty seconds. Note it as a gift.”
Ashley texted back: “Don’t be silly, honey.”
One minute later, she received a video.
Me, smashing her antique vase. The one her ex gave her. Worth two million.
Ashley called instantly. “Do you know how much that vase was worth?! What are you doing?”
“Ashley, was I not clear?”
I checked my watch. “You have thirty-four seconds. I’m standing in front of your bedroom’s antique painting. You know what happens next.”
She hung up. Twenty seconds later, two million hit my account.
I sent her a picture. Her favorite antique painting, ripped to shreds.
“The vase was a warning. The painting is a punishment.”
“Ashley, you’re married.”
This time, silence. No calls, no texts.
I knew she was furious.
Didn’t care.
Marriages like ours, high-society mergers, are built on business. Love is a bonus, not a requirement.
Ashley and I? We tolerated each other from the start. No fireworks, no hate. It set the tone.
Separate rooms on our wedding night. “Goodnight” whispered across the hall. Didn’t sleep together until six months in, and even then, it was fueled by liquid courage.
Ashley’s family, the old money Carlisles, are all about tradition and decorum. Explains her icy exterior, fiery interior.
My family? The Fords? New money. My dad built his empire with grit and hustle, not stuffy rules. We’re blunt. Direct.
So, no, I don’t believe in love at first sight. Ashley and I? We’re a slow burn.
I love her. She loves me. But we’re both practical. Love isn’t everything, but it’s not nothing either.
This Ethan kid? He crossed a line. That blatant flaunting… it irked me.
I don’t share. Not even a glance.
But I also know, the more you suppress something, the stronger it gets.
Like Ashley.
That night, she texted: “Business dinner. Won’t be home.”
I ignored it. Focused on my own things.
At 8 PM, my friend, Mark, sent a picture. A dinner party. Ashley, sitting next to a pretty boy.
Hair slicked back, all smiles and sunshine. The kind Ashley swoons over in those Instagram reels.
“What’s up with your wife and Ken Doll? Trouble in paradise?”
My assistant messaged, too. Ethan’s new post. “Fancy dinner. Living the dream. All thanks to a great mentor.” A selfie, smug and self-satisfied. The hundred-grand watch prominent. Ashley, blurred in the background, watching him with a barely-there smile and undeniable fondness in her eyes.
Her last secretary got fired for answering a work text during a business dinner. Now? She’s not just tolerating this kid’s selfie, she’s in it. Lending him her CEO status.
She knew Mark was there. Knew I’d see the post. Did it anyway. Let Ethan flaunt it. Revenge for the vase and the painting.
Bad move, Ash. She doesn’t hold a candle to me in the revenge department.
I texted: “Care to explain the guy next to you?”
Five minutes. Nothing.
“Answer me. I know you saw that.”
Still nothing.
“Last chance. Ten seconds. If I don’t hear from you, you’ll regret it.”
Ten seconds later, I sent a picture.
Ashley replied instantly: “Ford, what the hell are you doing?!”
Mark messaged, too: “Dude! What did you send her? She’s white as a ghost. Never seen anyone that pale.”
I sent Mark a grinning emoji. “Just giving her a little show.”
The picture? A faded pink envelope. High school love letter from Ashley’s first love. The guy who died saving her from a truck.
The last thing he ever gave her. More precious than life itself.
I suddenly realized, the new secretary… he kind of looked like him. Ashley’s playing out some twisted replacement fantasy.
She texted: “Don’t you dare touch it!” Panic. Fear. That letter is her everything.
“Call me, Ashley.”
She called immediately. Her voice was low. “Don’t do this, honey. Can we talk when I get home?”
“Put me on speaker.”
“What do you want?”
“Speakerphone, Ashley!”
She complied.
“Sorry to interrupt everyone, but I heard my wife brought a new friend to dinner. Just wanted to make sure everyone’s acquainted.”
Ashley’s voice tightened. “Honey, it’s not what you think. He’s just my secretary. Don’t be silly.”
“Oh really? Which CEOs give their secretaries hundred-thousand-dollar watches?”
“Ashley, I don’t care what’s going on. I want you to take the nearest dish of food and dump it on his head.”
“You can refuse. But you’ll regret it.”
Ethan left the dinner covered in hot pot.
Mark blew up my phone all night.
“Dude, dinner’s on me! Front row seat to that show!”
“Holy crap! Your wife went OFF! That hot pot was steaming!”
“That kid’s not part of some weird roleplay, is he?”
“This is going viral. I’d die of shame if I were him.”
“Teach me your ways, sensei!”
I replied casually: “Easy. You don’t care about her, so you control her.”
Mark deflated. “Nah, I’m good.”
Of course he couldn’t. He and his wife, Sarah, have been joined at the hip since middle school. Still call each other “sweetie” in public. It’s sickening.
“So, your wife looked pissed. She gonna kick your ass when she gets home?”
“Kick my ass? She wouldn’t dare.”
Mark sent a “Damn” and went silent.
Thirty minutes later, Ashley stormed in. Ripped the covers off me. Eyes blazing. “Where is it?”
I propped myself up, stared. Silent.
“Ford! Where. Is. It?”
Same stare. Same silence.
A minute passed. She crumbled. Sat on the bed, defeated. “I did what you asked. I humiliated myself. He could have called the cops! What more do you want?”
“Did I make you humiliate yourself? Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”
An awkward silence. Finally, she spoke. “He’s just a kid, fresh out of college. There’s nothing between us. What do I have to say to make you believe me?”
“Ashley, I don’t listen to words. I watch actions.”
“A hundred grand is nothing to you. But to a normal family? That’s a lifetime of earnings. You know that.”
“You casually hand a hundred-grand watch to some guy. Why wouldn’t I care?”
“He was upset about messing up at work. I just wanted to… cheer him up. It wasn’t a big deal. I swear, I don’t have feelings for him.”
“A lifetime of earnings, ‘casually’ handed over. Do you understand what kind of message that sends?”
“A hundred grand, ‘nothing’ to you, is a game-changer for a guy starting out. How can you not see that?”
“Without your encouragement, would he have posted that? He knew I’d see it.”
“You took him to that dinner. Paraded him around. What was that supposed to look like? Did you think about how that would make me feel?”
“He takes a selfie, you don’t stop him, you pose in the background! Did you consider I might retaliate, embarrass you right back?”
“You fire secretaries for answering texts. Why not him?”
“Your indulgence gave him the guts to provoke me. Your favoritism gave him ideas.”
I laid it bare. “I saw his resume. He’s not qualified. You hired him because he looks like your dead boyfriend.”
“Ashley, you’re grieving. You’re trying to find solace in a replacement. Relive your past. Aren’t you?”
Silence. The air thickened.
“Ashley, look at me.”
She met my gaze.
I cupped her face, kissed her hard. “I love you. Now, tell me. Do you love me?”
Her voice choked. “Yes.”
I pulled the faded envelope from the nightstand. “I wasn’t there for your past. I don’t want to miss your future.”
I placed it in her hand. “I love you. I won’t touch your precious past. But don’t make me hate you. Okay?”
A flush crept up her neck. She flipped me onto the bed, kissed me like a woman starved.
I squeezed her ass. Her involuntary moan fueled the fire.
I ripped her clothes off. Rolled on top of her. Pressed my chest against hers.
Took control. Pushed inside. My eyes locked on hers. “Ashley, this is the first and last time.”
She clung to me. “I promise. Never again.”
Ethan became a joke.
Client meetings were usually handled by a rotating team of assistants. Ethan, as Ashley’s personal secretary, hogged the spotlight.
He didn’t show up for work the next day. Ashley signed his termination papers without a word.
The office knew. The pretty boy’s reign was over.
Office workers are experts at reading the room.
Ethan got demoted. Stuck in reception, doing grunt work. Hidden from view whenever Ashley was around.
His salary plummeted. Everyone gossiped. The hot pot incident was legendary. The CEO’s husband wasn’t someone you crossed.
Before, people whispered about Ethan becoming the next Mr. Carlisle. Now? Silence. The message was clear. Don’t mess with the boss’s man.
Ethan became a pariah. People openly mocked him, the hot pot story a running gag.
I hold grudges. You covet what’s mine? You pay the price.
I had my assistant file Ethan’s official termination papers.
HR didn’t hesitate. Signed, sealed, delivered. Get out.
But I underestimated Ethan.
I didn’t know Ashley had confided in him about her first love. She barely talked about him with me.
Ethan showed up to clear his desk. Wearing trendy joggers and bright sneakers. Obnoxiously cheerful.
He bumped into Ashley in the elevator. Didn’t say a word. Just looked at her, his eyes… broken. It shattered Ashley’s defenses.
In her office, Ethan stood silently behind her, a smug look on his face as Ashley ripped into my assistant.
“I pay you! You use my authority against my people?! Are you insane?!”
My assistant didn’t flinch. “Ms. Carlisle, who are ‘your people’?”
Ashley backpedaled. “You’re fired. Get out. Now. Ethan will take your place.”
That night, Ashley exploded.
“How dare you fire him?! Over some petty jealousy?! Are you intimidated by him? Because he’s younger?!”
“Don’t think you can run my company just because you’re my husband! This is crossing a line!”
She grabbed a vase, smashed it at my feet. Turned to leave.
“Ford, I’m so disappointed in you.”
The door slammed.
I stared at the shattered vase, picked up a sharp shard.
Dragged it across my arm.
Watched the blood well up, drip onto the floor. A macabre flower.
Ashley, you want a fight? Game on.
