Dear Wife, I Hate You (by Josephine Mbanefo) novel Chapter 3

Lilith's Pov

Rose led me down a quiet hallway. Everything about this house felt like a whisper, rich, quiet, and cold. Like every corner held a secret.

When we finally stopped in front of a door and stepped in, I was stunned.

The room was… beautiful.

Spacious. Clean. The bed looked like something out of a luxury hotel, draped in soft white sheets. There was a chandelier above, glittering faintly. The curtains swayed gently from the night breeze coming through the slightly opened balcony door.

It was more than anything I had back home. I could live here forever. I really could.

But the beauty of the room only made the ache in my chest worse. Because for a moment—just a tiny, cruel moment—I imagined what it could feel like to actually belong here. To be in love. To have romance bloom in such a perfect place.

But that wasn’t my story.

“This is your room,” Rose said gently, pulling me out of my thoughts. “If you need anything, anything at all, just tell me. There’s hot water available if you’d like to shower. I’ll bring up some dinner soon.”

I shook my head quickly. “No need for dinner. I’m fine. Really. I just need to change… and sleep.”

Rose gave me a small, understanding smile. “Alright. Rest well then.” And with that, she left, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

I took slow steps toward the bed and sat down, pressing my fingers into the edge of the mattress as I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

You have to get through this, Lilith. No matter what, you have to get through this.

I stood up after a moment, walking over to the large wardrobe and opening it. A few clothes hung neatly inside, none of them mine, but clearly bought for me. Probably chosen by someone else. Maybe Rose. Maybe someone hired to make this prison look pretty.

I thought about calling Rose to bring up my actual bags, but I was too tired to care.

I reached behind me and began to unzip my dress, desperate to shed the heavy weight of the day—both literally and emotionally.

The zipper came down slowly, the back of the gown sliding open, and just as I began to pull the sleeves off my shoulder—

The door opened. No knock. No warning.

And there he was. My husband

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I was halfway undressed, the back of my gown halfway down, my skin exposed to the cool air, and to him.

He stood there, like he owned everything, because he probably thought he did.

I grabbed the top of my dress, clutching it tightly to my chest and twisting around, eyes wide with disbelief.

A normal human would have knocked!!” I snapped. My voice was shaky but sharp. “Please knock next time!”

He didn’t say anything immediately. He just stood there, his jaw clenched, his eyes unreadable.

Then, finally, in that cold, low voice of his, he said, “It’s my house. I can do whatever I want.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. My dress still held tightly in place.

“Well, it’s our house now,” I shot back. “We’re married, remember? You might not like it, but that’s the truth. And we are going to acknowledge that fact whether you want to or not.”

His brows twitched, just slightly. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and you’re already trying to boss me around. Watch it.”

“Watch it?” I repeated, a bitter laugh escaping me. “You barge into my room uninvited and I’m the one who needs to watch it?”

He didn’t answer that either.

I straightened up, trying not to let the shake in my fingers show as I adjusted my dress. “Since you're not staying in this room, Killian, what are you even doing here?”

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