Dear Wife, I Hate You (by Josephine Mbanefo) novel Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Lilith’s Pov

My heart wouldn’t just calm down.

I hadn’t even done anything that dramatic–okay, maybe moving into my husband’s room was a bit much- but I wasn’t going to sit around being treated like a ghost bride.

“This is for the best,” I mumbled to myself as I paced into my room. “Either I fight now, or I let that man step on me with his devilishly expensive shoes for the rest of this marriage.”

I sank into my bed, let out a long sigh, and stared at the ceiling like it owed me answers. Then I grabbed my phone and called the only person who wouldn’t call me crazy: Emily.

“Hey girl! What’s up?” came her voice, loud and bright as always.

“I just declared war,” I said.

There was a pause. “…Like, on a nation? Or Killian?”

“Same difference.”

“Spill it.”

“I moved my things into his room.”

Another pause,

followed by a slow, wicked laugh. “No. You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. I’m tired of being this quiet little bride. He keeps talking down to me like I’m some lost puppy. So I figured… time to bark.”

Emily laughed again. “That’s what I’m talking about! Alpha energy! Keep me updated–I want all the tea.”

“You’ll get it. In hot cups.”

We hung up, and I smiled. For once, I felt in control. But the adrenaline was already fading, and I needed something to calm my buzzing thoughts. Painting. That always worked.

I packed up my brushes, palette, and a fresh canvas, then headed to the garden. I needed air. Color. Something other than Killian’s annoyingly perfect face in my head.

The breeze was soft, just right. The trees swayed like they had secrets, and I started painting. It felt like breathing again.

But then… I felt it. Eyes.

I turned my head slowly and saw Zoey.

She was standing there, rubbing her eyes like she just woke up in the wrong dimension. Then–without a

word–she turned and walked off.

I blinked. “Okay… that wasn’t awkward at all.”

What was her deal? It’s not like I snitched on her and Nolan. I mean, sure, I knew something weird was going on, but I wasn’t the town crier.

I shook it off and kept painting.

Until I heard footsteps.

Soft ones, slower than Zoey’s. I looked again, expecting her.

It was Nolan.

“Hey,” he said. “You look… better now. I didn’t really get to ask at the dining table.”

I smiled. “Yeah. Much better. Thanks.”

“Can I sit and watch?” he asked, pointing to the bench beside me.

“Why not? I could use some company that doesn’t glare at me like I burned down their mansion.”

He chuckled lightly and sat. I kept painting.

“You know, I paint too,” he said.

I paused, side–eyeing him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, prove it, Da Vinci.”

He raised a brow. “Challenge accepted.”

I shifted over, giving him space. Our arms brushed, and he froze for a split second.

Huh. Okay. Maybe personal space was sacred to him. I moved away a bit and handed him a clean canvas.

He began. Slow. Focused. In about ten minutes, he’d created something haunting–a flower that looked like it was both alive and dead.

I stared. “That’s… beautiful. Creepy. But beautiful.”

He didn’t even smile. “Thanks.”

“Why didn’t you go professional with this?”

He glanced at me. “Painting? As a career? I own one of the top cybersecurity companies in the country. You want me to swap that for oils and brushes?”

I grinned. “I’m just saying. The world could use more tortured flower art.”

We talked. And talked. Surprisingly, Nolan wasn’t bad company. His vibe was different from Killian’s–less intense, more subtle. He still gave those one–word, cold–ish answers, but he didn’t feel… guarded. Not completely, at least.

It was weird, this connection. Unexpected.

Then Rose appeared out of nowhere, like a real–life popup ad.

“Dinner is ready, ma’am.”

I looked at Nolan. He looked at me. We both stood.

“Let’s go,” I said with a smile, already knowing that I’ll be seeing Killian soon.

Dinner was quiet–too quiet. Nolan had retreated back into his default “mysterious robot” mode, chewing in silence like we were strangers again. I didn’t mind. I had other things on my mind… like a certain emotionally constipated husband.

My fork paused mid–air when I spotted him, tall and stormy, heading upstairs.

Oh. So Mr. Broody was home early?

Before I could eat anymore, I stood up, smiled at Nolan, and said, “See you around, Nolan.”

Nolan glanced at me. “Are you going to see your husband?”

Wait, what?

The question hit me sideways. It was weird coming from him–casual but edged with something I couldn’t place. I blinked, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I… I’m going to see him.”

There was a flash across his face, something tight and unreadable—but it vanished almost immediately. I probably imagined it. Probably.

“Can I go now?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

He just nodded.

Cool. Awkward. I bolted.

I didn’t even knock when I got to Killian’s room–I just pushed the door open like I owned the place. He was there, mid–tie removal, looking like a damn Calvin Klein ad without even trying.

“Wow, husband,” I said, closing the door behind me with an exaggerated sigh. “You didn’t even check on your poor, delicate wife. What if I was dying or worse…bored?”

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