Free Web NovelChapter 1: The Idol’s Secret Wife
The morning sun spilled golden light across the rolling hills of Sterling Village.
Nestled among colorful flower gardens stood a cozy two-story house, peaceful and warm against the quiet countryside.
Inside the kitchen, a young woman stood frozen in front of the counter.
Her green eyes narrowed behind thick glasses.
A single breadcrumb sat near the edge.
Just one.
Yet, Liliana St. Claire stared at it as if it had personally offended her.
Her eyes twitched.
Three seconds later, the unfortunate breadcrumb vanished beneath a cleaning cloth.
"There."
She exhaled in satisfaction.
"Perfect."
Only then did she relax.
The kitchen sparkled from floor to ceiling. Every surface gleamed under the sunlight. The cabinets were spotless, the dishes perfectly arranged, and even the fruit bowl seemed organized by size.
Most people would think it looked more like a showroom than an actual kitchen.
Liliana disagreed.
This was simply how a kitchen should look.
She carefully folded the cleaning cloth and placed it inside its designated drawer.
Second compartment. Left side. Folded neatly. Exactly where it belonged.
A small smile appeared on her lips. Because now she could finally continue making breakfast.
The twenty-four-year-old housewife hummed softly as she fried eggs.
Her brown hair was tied into her usual pigtails, and she wore a simple floral dress beneath a white apron.
She looked like an ordinary country girl.
Sweet. Simple. Harmless.
No one would ever guess she carried one of the country’s biggest secrets.
No one knew she was married. And absolutely no one knew who her husband was.
A ringtone suddenly shattered the peaceful silence.
Liliana glanced at her phone. And the moment she saw the caller ID, her heart skipped.
Chris. Her husband.
THE Chris St. Claire.
The twenty-seven-year-old main vocalist of PULSE, the most popular boy band in the world.
Millions of fans adored him. Countless magazines called him the face of a generation.
With his striking blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and towering six-foot-two frame, he was the kind of man who attracted attention simply by walking into a room.
His voice sold out stadiums across continents.
His face appeared on billboards, luxury brand campaigns, and magazine covers in dozens of countries.
Yet music was only part of his identity.
Because Chris was also the sole heir to St. Claire Entertainment, the largest entertainment network in the country. A media empire that controlled television stations, film studios, music labels, streaming platforms, and talent agencies.
To the public, he was an untouchable superstar.
A man who seemed to have everything.
Fame. Wealth. Power. Beauty.
The type of man ordinary people only saw through television screens.
Which made it even more unbelievable that his wife was a simple woman who lives in the countryside.
"Oh!"
Liliana nearly dropped the spatula.
Thankfully, the eggs barely survived the tragedy.
Her cheeks warmed as she hurriedly wiped her hands on her apron before answering.
"H-Hello?"
A familiar deep voice drifted through the phone.
"Good morning."
The nervousness in her chest immediately melted away. A smile spread across her face without permission.
"Good morning."
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Yet the silence felt comfortable.
Warm and safe.
The kind of silence that only existed between people who knew each other well.
People who had become each other’s home.
"Did I wake you?" Chris asked.
Liliana couldn’t help laughing.
"It’s already seven in the morning."
"Oh."
A pause.
"I forgot."
"You always forget."
Chris chuckled softly.
The sound made her heart flutter. Liliana immediately blamed the heat from the stove.
Certainly not because her husband’s laugh sounded unfairly attractive.
"I’ll be in Paris for another few days," Chris said.
Liliana glanced toward the calendar hanging on the wall.
Another overseas schedule. Another country. Another city. Another stage filled with screaming fans.
Pulse’s world tour had been going on for months.
Even after five years of marriage, she still wasn’t used to how far away his life often felt.
"How was the concert?" she asked.
"It went well."
Relief flickered through her chest.
"That’s good."
"Did you watch it online?"
Liliana froze.
Of course she watched it. She watched every concert. Every interview. Every live stream. Every award show. Every performance and appearance.
She had notifications enabled on every official Pulse account.
She even knew which member forgot choreography the most.
Unfortunately, admitting that would be embarrassing.
"A little."
Chris laughed.
"A little?"
"...Maybe the entire thing."
His laughter grew louder.
Liliana felt her face burn. Even through the phone, she could practically picture his teasing smile.
"I knew it."
"How?"
"You always leave comments."
Her body froze.
"What comments?"
"Your account."
Liliana suddenly had a very bad feeling.
"What account?"
"The one named GardeningQueen88."
Silence.
Her soul nearly left her body.
’No. No. No!’
That account was supposed to be a secret.
Hidden from him.
She had spent years supporting Pulse through that account. She had defended Chris against online haters.
She had liked every official post. She had even argued with antis one time at three in the morning.
Nobody was supposed to know.
Especially not Chris.
"You know that account?"
"I’ve known for years."
Liliana covered her face with both hands. Embarrassment flooded her entire body.
"Please pretend you never said that."
Chris laughed openly.
The rich sound echoed through the phone, making her chest tighten strangely.
"I can’t."
"I am hanging up."
"No, you’re not."
Liliana sighed dramatically. Unfortunately, he was right. Again.
A warm feeling spread through her chest. Because simple moments like this always made her happy.
No cameras. No fans. No headlines.
Just the two of them talking about nothing like a normal married couple.
A sudden knock echoed from the front door.
Liliana looked up.
"Someone’s here."
"That early?"
"I think so."
There was a brief pause.
Neither of them spoke.
For some reason, neither seemed eager to end the call.
Finally, Chris sighed softly. "I’ll let you go."
Liliana smiled. "Take care of yourself."
His voice gentled. "You too."
The call ended.
The kitchen suddenly felt much quieter. Liliana stared at her phone for several seconds. Then she caught herself smiling.
Her smile widened before she quickly shook her head.
Why was she smiling so much? It was just a normal phone call.
A perfectly normal conversation between husband and wife. Nothing special.
Ignoring the warmth in her chest, she walked toward the front door.
The moment she opened it, she nearly jumped.
A tall man wearing sunglasses and a black suit stood outside. Behind him were several workers carrying enormous boxes.
Lots of boxes.
"Liliana St. Claire?"
"Y-Yes?"
The man handed her a tablet.
"Delivery."
Liliana blinked.
"Delivery?"
"There are thirty-seven boxes."
"Thirty-seven?"
The workers immediately began unloading them. Then she began counting softly.
One.
Two.
Five.
Ten.
Twenty.
Thirty-seven.
Within minutes, her peaceful front yard looked like a warehouse.
Liliana stared blankly. And her brain stopped functioning.
"What is all this?"
The man checked his tablet.
"Sent by Chris St. Claire."
Of course. Who else could create this level of chaos?
Several minutes later, after thanking the workers, Liliana began opening the boxes.
The first box contained luxury handbags. Her jaw dropped.
The second contained designer shoes. The third held sparkling jewelry. The fourth contained expensive dresses. The fifth was filled with cosmetics. And so on. All luxury things.
By the time she finished opening everything, her living room looked like a luxury department store.
Liliana sat on the floor. Completely speechless.
Then her phone vibrated.
A text message appeared.
Chris: Did the packages arrive?
Liliana immediately typed.
Liliana: What is all this?
Chris: Gifts.
Liliana stared.
Liliana: There are enough gifts here to open a shopping mall.
Several seconds later:
Chris: You looked at a handbag online three weeks ago.
Her eyes widened. How did he know that?
Chris: So I bought it.
Liliana blinked.
Liliana: You bought one handbag?
Chris: I bought every color.
Liliana buried her face in her hands. This man was impossible.
Another message appeared.
Chris: Do you like them?
Her fingers paused above the screen. She looked around the room. At the handbags. The dresses. The jewelry.
Then she remembered something far more important.
The fact that despite being thousands of miles away, he had remembered something she herself had forgotten mentioning.
A warmth spread through her heart. Not because of the gifts. But because he had noticed.
Because he always noticed.
A small smile curved her lips.
Liliana: Yes.
Almost instantly, three dots appeared.
Chris: Good.
Just one word. Simple. Ordinary.
Yet somehow it made her heart feel full.
As if she had just received something much more valuable than thirty-seven boxes of luxury gifts.
Thousands of miles away in Paris, Chris St. Claire sat backstage staring at his phone.
The corners of his lips lifted. A genuine smile.
One of his staff members nearly fainted. Because Chris rarely smiled like that.
Not during interviews. Not during photoshoots. Not during concerts.
And certainly not while looking at his phone.
Ivan, a fellow Pulse member, approached suspiciously.
"What’s got you smiling?"
Chris locked his phone.
"Nothing."
The man stared.
"You are literally smiling."
"I’m not."
"You absolutely are."
Chris ignored him. His gaze drifted toward the wallpaper on his phone.
A photograph taken years ago.
A woman wearing thick glasses stood in a garden holding a basket of tomatoes.
Her cheeks were puffed in annoyance because she had caught him taking the picture.
Even now, the memory made him smile.
Ivan groaned. "There it is again!"
"What?"
"That smile!"
Chris calmly slipped his phone into his pocket.
"Mind your own business."
The man narrowed his eyes. Then realization struck. His jaw dropped.
"No way..."
Before he could continue, the concert manager entered.
"It’s time."
The conversation ended immediately.
Chris rose from his seat and walked toward the stage entrance.
The deafening roar of thousands of fans echoed throughout the stadium.
Spotlights illuminated the darkness. The crowd chanted his name. The world waited for him beneath the spotlight.
Yet as he stepped toward the stage, only one thought occupied his mind.
Home. Liliana.
The woman who had never cared about his fame. The woman who saw Chris before she saw the idol. The woman who unknowingly occupied more of his thoughts with each passing day.
Neither of them realized it yet. Neither understood why their hearts lingered a little longer after every conversation.
Why every goodbye felt slightly more difficult.
Why every reunion felt increasingly precious.
But the quiet affection they had nurtured for five years was slowly changing into something neither of them could ignore.
Something impossible to hide forever.
Love.
