Dear Wife, I Hate You (by Josephine Mbanefo) novel Chapter 24

Lilith’s Pov

I don’t even know why I went to Killian’s office.

I shouldn’t have.

The second his voice turned cold in that boardroom, I knew I had made a terrible decision. And yet, there I was, standing in front of powerful men and women, holding a warm food flask like some hopeful fool trying to win over a brick wall.

Now I’m sitting in the backseat of the car, staring out the window like the main character in a heartbreak music video. “Take me home,” I’d told the driver, and that’s exactly what he was doing–driving me back to a house that didn’t feel like mine.

As the streets rolled past, I kept thinking of things I could do. Dumb things. Wild things. Sweet things. Anything that could get him to lower the icy walls around his heart. But what if he never does?

By the time we pulled into the driveway, I was drained, emotionally, mentally. I climbed out of the car slowly and made my way upstairs like a ghost.

Back in my room, I stared at the painting leaning against the wall. I’d painted it for him. I spent two days- fifty–four damn hours working on that piece. And now I didn’t even have the courage to hand it to him directly.

He would never accept it if I gave it to him. I knew that. So, I quietly walked into his bedroom and hung it up anyway. Right there on his wall. It belonged there, whether he liked it or not.

Then I left and returned to my room–my safe space.

My temporary corner in this massive, cold house.

I opened my laptop and pulled up the folder I’d been building for months. Catalogs. Ideas. Sketches. Designs. Ever since I was fifteen, I’ve wanted to open an art gallery–not some showroom filled with pretentious critiques, but a space where emotions could breathe and people like me could find healing in color.

But of course, Dad didn’t believe in that dream.

He called it “a waste of time.”

So I stopped telling him about it.

Now, I’m doing it on my own. I don’t know how long it’ll take–months, maybe years–but I will get there. With or without anyone’s help.

I scrolled through websites, flipped through digital galleries, stared at pictures of my art heroes. Hours passed. I didn’t even notice until someone knocked softly at the door.

“Come in,” I called without looking up.

It was Rose. “Your husband is back,” she said.

I paused, closed my laptop slowly, and looked at her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Did he… bring the food back?”

She nodded. “Yes. Untouched.”

That stung more than I wanted to admit.

“Okay,” I muttered.

Rose lingered for a moment. “Lilith… maybe food isn’t the issue. Maybe there are deeper things you need to do to get to him, Anyways, your lunch is ready.”

I nodded. “I’m coming. I just need to do something first.”

She left, and I sat there quietly for a moment. I felt ridiculous. I had cooked with my own hands. I didn’t know how to cook much, but I’d tried. And he didn’t even touch it.

But I wouldn’t show him that it hurt. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

I stood and decided to check on him–not because I wanted to see if he was okay, but because I wanted to piss him off a little. A small, immature part of me still wanted to rattle his carefully controlled world.

I got to his door and stopped in my tracks.

The painting.

It wasn’t on the wall anymore.

It was leaning outside his door. Like trash.

What the actual hell?

I pushed the door open and walked in.

Killian was sitting in his chair, eyes glued to his phone like the room wasn’t suddenly charged with tension.

“Why did you put the painting I made on the floor outside?” I asked, arms folded.

Without even looking up, he said, “It’s my room. I don’t want your painting here. Take it out.”

I blinked.

Rejecting the food was one thing.

But rejecting my painting? My masterpiece?

“Okay. Fine,” I said through gritted teeth.

I turned to leave, grabbing the painting like a wounded soldier lifting their fallen flag. As I stepped into the hallway, I heard a voice behind me.

“Is that the painting thing you made for Killian?”

I turned. Nolan.

I sighed. “Yeah. But unfortunately, His Majesty didn’t accept it.”

Nolan smiled. “I would.”

“What?”

“I would accept it. I’m going back to my house today…Zoey and I. Renovations are done. I’d be proud to hang it.”

I blinked at him. “Really?”

He nodded

And just like that, I laughed. Not a big laugh. But a real one.

“Then it’s yours,” I said, handing it over like an offering.

After giving Nolan the painting, he nodded with a small smile and took it from me. Then he headed out.

I just stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do next. Then I turned around and started walking back to my room. I didn’t really have a plan. I just felt like being alone.

As I entered my room and reached for the door to close it, someone stopped me.

It was Zoey.

I raised my brows. “What do you want?”

“You don’t have to be rude,” she said.

“Oh, I don’t?” I let out a dry laugh. “You’ve been acting like a bitch for God knows how long and I haven’t even done anything to you.”

Zoey looked down. “Can I at least explain? I’m sorry for acting like that.”

I paused. Then stepped aside. “Fine. Go ahead.”

She came in, and I shut the door behind her.

“I’ll explain everything,” she said. “But not here. I don’t feel comfortable. What if Killian walks in? Let’s go to Nolan’s place. I’ll talk properly there.”

I gave her a skeptical look. “Are you sure Nolan won’t mind you bringing me over?”

She smiled weakly. “You’re my friend. And you’re Killian’s wife.”

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