The Paper Wife’s Empire novel Chapter 1

In the second year of her marriage, Ramona Jarrett accidentally tore her marriage license while tidying up a drawer.

When she went to the registry office to get a replacement, the clerk peered at her, perplexed. “Ma’am, there’s no record of your marriage in the system.”

“That’s impossible. I’ve been married for two years!” Ramona protested, thrusting the ripped halves of her marriage license toward the window.

The clerk, trying to be patient, checked three times, then turned the monitor for Ramona to see. “There’s really nothing here. And look—this notary seal is crooked… I’m afraid this is a fake.”

Ramona staggered out of the registry office in a daze. Just then, her phone rang.

“Ms. Jarrett? Hello, I’m your father’s estate attorney. Would you be able to come to Justice Law Firm to sign some inheritance paperwork?”

Where did this scammer come from?

Ramona was about to hang up when the caller continued, “Ms. Jarrett, your mother’s name is Xanthe Jarrett. Twenty years ago, she left you at the entrance of Aegis Welfare House. We’ve confirmed that you’re the only biological child of the late Benedict Covington, once the richest man in Havencrest City.”

Ramona froze. She turned on her heel and went straight to the appointment.

What the attorney told her next was the most outlandish thing she’d ever heard in her life:

Her biological father, Benedict Covington, was a financial titan who’d passed away last month. His stocks, real estate, and companies were worth billions, and she was his sole blood heir.

Her mind was still reeling when the attorney suddenly asked, “Are you married? Any children?”

Her husband’s face flashed through Ramona’s mind.

Thinking of the shredded, fake marriage license tucked in her bag, she gripped the pen in her hand. “Give me two hours. I need to clarify something first.”

As soon as she left the firm, Ramona headed straight for her husband’s company.

Jotham Holt’s office door was ajar. Just as she reached for the handle, a sultry, sophisticated woman’s voice drifted out:

“Jotham, we’ve been together for five years now. When will you finally make our relationship public?”

Ramona froze on the spot.

That voice—she knew it all too well. It belonged to Brianna Prescott, their college advisor.

Brianna was six years older than Jotham, but aside from her age, she was the picture of elegance and beauty, practically a living goddess.

Back at university, Brianna was wildly popular, adored by both men and women, and known as the best advisor on campus.

Ramona held her breath so tightly it hurt. The next moment, she heard her husband’s familiar, gentle baritone—warm, with that unique magnetic timbre:

“The company’s about to go public. There are still a lot of things I need her help with. Besides, my grandfather left a will saying you weren’t allowed in the family. If we go public now, my grandmother might make things hard for you, and I don’t want to see you hurt…”

Ramona felt like her ears had exploded. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle any sobs that might escape.

That ripped, fake license—she’d pieced it together, treating it like a precious treasure.

Turns out, from the very beginning, she’d been the clueless fool in this farce.

For that promise, they’d weathered storms of opposition from the Holt family elders.

She’d seen her father-in-law smash a coffee mug in fury: “Bringing home a woman who can’t give us grandchildren? Are you out of your mind?”

She’d heard her mother-in-law, Winnie, sobbing at family gatherings, complaining, “Jotham’s completely lost his senses.”

Yet every time, Jotham would just smile and say, “Ignore them. As long as I’m here, nothing else matters.”

For two years, Winnie’s snide remarks—“useless hen,” “what’s the point of marrying a woman who can’t even have a child?”—had haunted Ramona through countless sleepless nights.

*

Jotham rushed to the hospital when he heard Ramona had been in a car accident. He arrived in a crisp white shirt, tall and handsome, his concern written all over his face.

As he hurried down the corridor toward her, Ramona’s mind drifted back over their six years together.

They’d first met in Brianna’s office—she was dropping off some papers for a classmate, Jotham was there discussing something with Brianna. He glanced up, their eyes meeting briefly, and nodded politely before returning to his conversation.

After that, Jotham had pursued her relentlessly for four years. He was the campus heartthrob—good-looking, top of his class, from a wealthy family.

And with his intense pursuit and gentle, considerate nature, hardly any woman could resist him.

Ramona was no exception. She’d grown up an orphan, withdrawn and aloof by nature, but even she couldn’t withstand Jotham’s determined advances.

Jotham talked to her for ages, but Ramona barely responded. Thinking she was still shaken from the accident, he tried to pull her into his arms, only for her to jerk away on reflex and stand up, putting distance between them.