Invisible Wife, Undying Love

For ten years, I was the invisible Mrs. Perry, the woman everyone mocked for clinging to a man who openly despised her. They called me pathetic, a social climber with no self-respect.

But they didn't know the truth. My devotion wasn't for Cameron; it was for his brother, Jessie, the man I truly loved, who supposedly died a decade ago. My ten-year pact to protect Cameron for Jessie was almost over.

Then, Cassandra Foreman, Cameron's ex and the woman he still loved, made a comeback. She was in an accident, and Cameron was ready to risk his life to save her. I stepped in, donating my rare blood, collapsing from the effort.

Cameron never came to my side. Instead, he brought Cassandra home, ordering me to care for her. She tormented me, framing me for her self-inflicted injuries, and Cameron, blind with devotion, punished me. He threw me out in the rain, accused me of trying to kill her, and even tried to drown me.

Why did I endure this humiliation? Why did I stay, even when he told me he would never love me, even if I died for him?

Because I had a promise to keep. But now, the promise is fulfilled. I' m going to find Jessie.

Chapter 1

The internet was buzzing.

Cassandra Foreman, the A-list actress who had vanished from the spotlight for three years, was making a comeback. Her face was plastered across every entertainment blog and social media feed.

Alongside her image, another woman' s name inevitably appeared: Claire Tanner.

The contrast was stark. Cassandra was the beloved star, the "unforgettable" ex-girlfriend of tech mogul Cameron Perry. Claire was the woman who had replaced her, the woman who had clung to Cameron' s side for ten long years.

Public opinion was not kind to Claire. They called her a desperate social climber, a pathetic replacement, a woman with no self-respect who endured Cameron' s open contempt just to hold onto her position. For a decade, she had been a joke, the ever-present but invisible Mrs. Perry.

They didn' t know the truth. They didn' t know that every cold glance, every dismissive word from Cameron, was a price she willingly paid.

Her devotion wasn' t for him. It was for his brother. The man she truly loved, Jessie Perry.

The ten-year pact was almost over. Tomorrow was the day.

Freedom.

Claire sat in a sterile law office, the scent of paper and old coffee thick in the air. She pushed a document across the polished mahogany desk.

"I'd like to have this notarized. The divorce agreement."

Her lawyer, a man who had handled her affairs for years, looked up, his glasses sliding down his nose. He was stunned.

"Ms. Tanner... Claire. Are you sure? After all this time, you' re the one initiating this?"

For ten years, the world had watched her chase after Cameron Perry. Everyone assumed she would never let go.

Claire looked at him, her face calm, her eyes holding a depth of sorrow that no one ever bothered to see.

"Yes. I' m sure."

The process was quick. She signed her name, the notary stamped the paper with a heavy thud, and a decade of her life was legally sealed away.

She walked out of the building without looking back.

She didn't drive home. Instead, she took the long, winding road that led out of the city, up into the hills where the old temple sat overlooking the ocean.

She bypassed the main prayer hall, her steps sure and familiar as she walked toward a secluded courtyard in the back. An old monk was sweeping fallen leaves, his movements slow and rhythmic.

He looked up as she approached, his eyes kind.

"You're here."

It wasn't a question.

Claire nodded, her gaze drifting to a single, ever-burning lamp on a stone altar inside the small hall. It flickered, its light soft and warm.

She knelt on the cushion before it, her posture straight and formal. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but steady.

"It's been ten years. I'm coming to find you, Jessie."

The monk sighed, a soft sound like the wind through the trees.

"The karmic bond is fulfilled. His spirit has been guarded by your promise. Fate will guide what comes next."

No one knew. No one understood that she wasn't Cameron Perry's pathetic shadow. She was Jessie Perry' s last love, his final protector.

The man she loved wasn' t the ruthless CEO. It was his older brother, Jessie, the brilliant, reclusive artist who had supposedly died in a studio fire ten years ago.

That fire had been a lie.

It was a cover to escape Armand Pitts, a business rival so dangerous that Jessie had to disappear to protect the people he loved most: his brother, Cameron, and her. Before he vanished, he did two things. First, he donated a lobe of his lung to save Cameron, who was dying from a genetic disease.

Second, on the operating table, his hand weak but his grip firm on hers, he made her promise.

"Claire," he had whispered, his voice strained. "Take care of Cam for me. Just for ten years. Protect him."

He knew Cameron' s arrogance would make him a target for Pitts. He knew the world would be a dangerous place for him alone.

She had sobbed, her heart breaking, but she had agreed.

Jessie' s request wasn't just about protecting Cameron. It was about protecting her. He knew if he simply disappeared, she would spend her life searching for him, making herself a target. The pact tied her to Cameron, keeping her in a gilded, public cage where Pitts couldn't easily reach her.

For ten years, she had honored that promise. She had stood by Cameron, enduring his coldness and the world's ridicule. The ten years were up. Her duty was done. Now, she could finally rest. Now, she could go to him.

She personally lit a fresh stick of incense, placing it before the lamp.

"Jessie," she murmured, her eyes fixed on the flame. "Wait for me."

The flickering light seemed to dance, and for a moment, she could almost see his face, his gentle smile.

Her phone buzzed, a harsh, unwelcome intrusion. She ignored it. It buzzed again, insistent.

She finally pulled it out. It was a call from one of Cameron' s friends, Mark. His voice was frantic.

"Claire! Where are you? Get to the hospital! It's Cassandra, she was in an accident!"

Claire' s breath caught in her chest.

"She lost a lot of blood, and she has a rare blood type. Same as Cameron! He' s on his way to donate! You have to stop him!"

Cassandra Foreman. Cameron's the one he never got over. For ten years, he had held a torch for her, and now she was back.

He had once told Claire, his voice dripping with disdain, "I would die for Cassandra. What would you do for me? Nothing."

He was wrong. She wouldn't let him die. Not for anyone. His life wasn't just his own. It was a part of Jessie's.

Claire stood up, her legs numb. She raced out of the temple, her heart pounding against her ribs.

She burst into the hospital corridor just as a nurse was preparing to draw Cameron's blood. His friends were crowded around him, pleading.

"Cam, you can't! Your lungs... you know your health isn't good!" Mark urged.

"Think about Claire! She' s your wife! What will she do if something happens to you?" another friend, Leo, added.

Cameron' s steps faltered for a fraction of a second. His eyes, cold and dark, flickered with something unreadable.

Then he sneered. "My wife? She' s done nothing but leech off me for a decade. She' d probably be thrilled to get my inheritance."

His gaze swept across the corridor and landed on her. He paused, his expression hardening as he saw her standing there, pale and breathless. Then, he turned away and continued toward the donation room.

A sharp pain shot through Claire' s chest. She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe.

She pushed through the crowd, her hand landing on his arm. Her touch was light, but he stopped.

"Let go," he said, his voice like ice.

Claire looked down, her own voice barely a whisper.

"I'll do it. I have the same blood type. I' ll donate."

Mark and Leo immediately agreed. "Yes! Claire can do it! Cam, it's the perfect solution."

Before Cameron could argue, Claire pulled her arm away and followed the nurse into the room. She didn' t look back.

The needle was sharp. The feeling of her life draining away was dizzying. She felt cold, so cold.

When the nurse finished, Claire's body was weak. She stumbled out of the room, her hand pressed against the wall for support.

Cameron was still there. He saw her pale face, the blue tinge of her lips. For the first time in ten years, she saw something other than contempt in his eyes. It looked like... panic.

She tried to give him a reassuring smile.

"It's okay. You're safe."

The world started to spin. The floor rushed up to meet her.

The last thing she felt was a pair of strong arms catching her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

It felt like Jessie.

In the darkness, she smiled. I'm coming, Jessie.

Claire woke up to the smell of antiseptic.

The hospital room was private, expensive, and empty. She was alone. Her body ached, a dull, throbbing pain that seemed to radiate from her very bones.

A nurse came in, her expression a mixture of pity and disapproval.

"You're awake. You've been out for a full day. Honestly, donating that much blood when you're already anemic... what were you thinking?"

Claire just offered a weak smile. What was there to say?

The nurse sighed, fluffing her pillow. "You're lucky. You can be discharged this afternoon. Your husband paid for everything."

As the nurse left, Claire overheard her talking to a colleague in the hallway.

"Can you believe it? She collapses from donating blood for his ex, and he hasn't even come to see her once."

"I know! He's been in Ms. Foreman's room the whole time. He's so devoted to her. I wish I had a man who loved me that much."

"Yeah, but his poor wife... she just lies in there all alone."

The voices faded. Claire stared out the window, watching a lone bird fly across the grey sky.

Afternoon came and went. Cameron never appeared.

Feeling dizzy, Claire checked herself out of the hospital. She had to walk past Cassandra's room to get to the elevator.

The door was slightly ajar.

She saw him. Cameron was sitting by Cassandra' s bed, holding her hand, his expression softer and more tender than she had ever seen it. He was peeling an apple for her, his movements careful and precise. He didn't even glance toward the hallway. He didn't know she was there. He hadn't asked.

The sight was a familiar kind of pain. She turned and walked away.

The house was cold and empty. It felt less like a home and more like a museum of a life she was never really a part of.

She tried to make herself a cup of tea, but her hands were trembling too much. The porcelain cup slipped from her grasp and shattered on the marble floor.

The sound broke something inside her. A single, hot tear rolled down her cheek. Then another.

She knelt to pick up the pieces, and a sharp edge sliced her finger. The bright red blood welled up, a stark contrast to her pale skin.

"Jessie," she whispered, the name a painful sob. "I'm so tired."

She remembered how Jessie would always scold her for being clumsy, how he would gently take things from her hands and do them himself, his touch always so warm.

After cleaning up the mess, she stood up, taking a deep breath. Almost there, Claire. Just a little longer.

"What are you crying about now?"

The cold voice made her jump. Cameron stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, his face a mask of irritation.

"Putting on a show for me? Donating blood, fainting, now this? Do you ever get tired of these pathetic games?"

She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.

"I don't care, Claire. I've told you a thousand times. I will never have feelings for you."

She fell silent, her gaze dropping to the floor. It was easier this way.

Her silence seemed to annoy him even more. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"Why didn't you call the maid to clean this up?" he snapped, but then he did something that stunned her. He strode forward, scooped her into his arms, and carried her upstairs.

His touch was rough, but his voice, when he spoke again, was softer.

"You're an idiot. You should be resting."

Claire was too confused to struggle. He laid her on the bed in her room, a room he had never once entered in ten years.

She looked at his profile, so painfully similar to Jessie's. The same strong jaw, the same dark hair.

Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"Stay," she whispered, her voice small and weak. "Please. Just for tonight."

He froze, misinterpreting her plea. A flicker of something-was it temptation?-crossed his face before it was replaced by his usual cold mask.

Just then, his phone rang, the shrill tone shattering the moment.

He answered. It was Cassandra. Her voice, weak and fragile, drifted from the speaker.

"Cam... I'm scared. Can you come back?"

Cameron looked at Claire, a brief, fleeting moment of hesitation in his eyes.

Claire saw it. She understood. She let go of his wrist.

"Go," she said, her voice flat. "She needs you."

He seemed almost relieved. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her hair in a startlingly gentle gesture.

"I'll be back later," he promised.

Then he turned and walked out of the room without a second glance.

He didn't come back.

Cameron returned the next afternoon.

He wasn't alone.

Claire came downstairs to find Cassandra Foreman curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a cashmere blanket, looking pale and fragile.

"Claire," Cassandra said, her voice a sweet, innocent whisper. "I hope you don't mind. The doctor said I need someone to look after me, and Cameron insisted I stay here."

Claire knew it was a lie. Cameron would never "insist" on something so troublesome. This was Cassandra's own doing.

"I don't mind," Claire said quietly.

Cameron came down the stairs then, adjusting the blanket around Cassandra' s shoulders with a tenderness that made Claire' s stomach clench.

"Claire," he said, not looking at her. "Cassandra needs to rest. You can take care of her."

It wasn't a request. It was an order.

Cassandra smiled sweetly. "Oh, I couldn't possibly impose. I'm sure Claire is still weak from... everything."

"She's fine," Cameron said, his tone dismissive. "She's got nothing better to do anyway."

The words were a casual gut punch. He saw her as nothing more than a servant, a convenience.

Claire bit her lip, tasting blood. She nodded silently.

"I'm a little hungry," Cassandra said, looking up at Claire with wide, innocent eyes. "Could you make me some porridge? The kind you make for Cameron. He says it's his favorite."

Claire' s hands clenched into fists. She had never cooked for anyone but Jessie and, by extension, Cameron. She was an artist, a painter. She had been coddled and cared for her entire life.

She wanted to say no. She wanted to scream.

But then she felt Cameron's eyes on her, cold and warning.

She unclenched her fists and turned toward the kitchen without a word.

It took her half an hour to make the porridge. When she brought it out, Cameron was gone, having taken a work call in his study.

Cassandra was alone in the living room. The sweet, fragile mask was gone. Her eyes were sharp and mocking.

"You really are a pathetic dog, you know that?" she sneered. "Ten years, and he still treats you like dirt."

Claire set the bowl on the coffee table.

Cassandra wrinkled her nose in disgust. "This is too hot. I can't eat it. Make it again."

Claire hesitated. She took the bowl, intending to go back to the kitchen.

Suddenly, Cassandra grabbed the bowl from her hands and deliberately poured the hot porridge all over her own arm.

She let out a piercing shriek.

"Ahh! It burns!"

Cameron burst out of his study, his face dark with fury. He saw Cassandra clutching her red, scalded arm and Claire standing over her with the empty bowl.

He didn't ask what happened. He lunged forward and grabbed Claire' s wrist, his grip like a vise.

"What the hell did you do?" he roared.

Cassandra was already crying, her voice choked with fake tears. "It's not her fault, Cam! I just said it was a little hot... I didn't mean to make her angry."

"I didn't-" Claire started, but Cameron was already shaking her, his eyes blazing.

"Shut up! I warned you. I warned you not to touch her."

He threw her hand away from him with such force that she stumbled backward, hitting the wall. The impact jarred her teeth.

He carefully lifted Cassandra into his arms, his voice softening. "It's okay. I'll get a doctor."

As he carried her away, Cassandra looked over his shoulder at Claire. Her lips curved into a triumphant, vicious smile.

Claire slid down the wall, her body trembling. The fight drained out of her, leaving only a vast, hollow exhaustion.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, making herself small.

"Jessie," she whispered into the silence. "Please... come and get me."