Free Web NovelChapter 162: Perfect Little Wife
ELLA’S POV
Jason thought he was going to smooth-talk his way out of this? Cute.
If he thought I was going to suddenly forgive and forget, he was delusional.
I made sure to make every second of this marriage a living hell for him.
He tried to talk to me? I ignored him.
He tried to ask if I needed anything? I pretended he didn’t exist.
When he cooked dinner? I ordered takeout and ate it right in front of him.
And when my father called to check in on us, I made sure to gush about how wonderful Jason was, watching the absolute horror on his face as he realized I was setting him up to be the world’s perfect husband.
Did I sleep in the same room as him?
Not a chance.
The guest room was my new home, and I made sure to lock the door every night.
I even bought a new bed. Just to make a point.
One time, he tried to catch me off guard.
"Ella," he had said carefully, cornering me in the hallway. "Can we please—"
I yawned. Right in his face.
Then I turned and walked away.
If he wanted forgiveness, he was going to earn it.
But honestly?
I wasn’t sure he ever could.
There was only one thing more important than making Jason’s life miserable—winning.
And tonight, I was going to win.
My father had planned a grand business gala to introduce me as the future CEO of Kingsley Enterprise. Which meant two things:
I had to look the part. I had to act the part.
And unfortunately, that meant playing the perfect, loving wife to Jason—the very man I wanted to strangle with my bare hands.
Oh well. Sacrifices had to be made.
If I was going to put on a show, I was going to make sure it was Oscar-worthy.
So, I did what any brilliant strategist would do.
I had matching outfits made.
A deep midnight blue suit for Jason, tailored to perfection. And for me? A stunning, floor-length gown in the same shade, with a thigh-high slit that could kill a man.
When Jason saw the outfits laid out on the bed, his eyes narrowed.
"You’re joking," he said flatly.
I smiled sweetly. "Do I look like I joke?"
He exhaled through his nose like a frustrated bull. "Ella, we don’t need to wear matching outfits."
"Oh, but we do." I pouted, stepping closer. "We’re the perfect couple, aren’t we? It’s only natural that we look the part." freēwēbnovel.com
His jaw clenched. He wanted to fight me on this. I could see it.
But then I added the final touch.
"Besides," I whispered, tilting my head. "My father will be watching. And you wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?"
Checkmate.
Jason sighed, running a hand through his hair before finally grabbing the suit and marching off to change.
I smirked. Easy.
The gala was held at one of the most lavish hotels in the city, and the moment we stepped inside, I turned on the charm.
I looped my arm through Jason’s, leaning into him like a woman madly in love.
People gasped. Whispered. Amazed.
"My goodness," one of the investors murmured. "They look incredible together."
Someone else sigh. "They must be so in love."
I had to physically stop myself from laughing.
Jason, to his credit, played along—though I knew he was dying inside. His body was stiff, his smile a little too tight, and I could practically hear his soul leaving his body every time I leaned in closer.
But I?
I was thriving.
I laughed at his jokes. I adjusted his tie affectionately. I even rested a delicate hand on his chest, making sure every photographer in the room captured it.
People swooned. Women sighed in envy.
"My dear," an older woman gushed to me. "Your husband looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky."
I smiled sweetly, my fingers lightly tracing Jason’s wrist. "Oh, he’s just shy with affection in public," I giggled. "But when we’re alone—"
Jason coughed loudly.
The woman winked knowingly before wandering off, and I bit back a grin.
Oh, this was too fun.
Halfway through the night, Jason leaned down, muttering in my ear.
"You’re enjoying this way too much."
I blinked up at him innocently. "Enjoying what?"
His jaw tightened. "Ella—"
"Oh, smile, darling," I cooed, tilting his chin toward the cameras. "People are watching."
Jason groaned under his breath but obeyed, plastering on the fakest smile I’d ever seen.
He looked like he was begging for death.
I was having the time of my life.
And then, just when Jason thought it couldn’t get worse—
My father raised a glass, smiling at us proudly.
"To my daughter," he declared, "and to the wonderful man she has married!"
A round of applause erupted.
Jason looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.
And then someone—some traitorous soul in the crowd—shouted the worst thing imaginable.
"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"
I turned to Jason slowly, grinning like the devil himself.
His expression? Pure, unfiltered horror.
But the crowd had picked up the chant.
"KISS! KISS! KISS!"
Jason shot me a desperate look. A plea.
I merely arched a brow. "What’s the matter, darling?" I purred. "You don’t want to kiss your lovely wife?"
The room waited. Watching. Expectant.
Jason sighed. Defeated.
And then—he kissed me.
It was quick. Chaste. Nothing more than a light press of lips.
But the crowd ate it up.
Cheers exploded. Cameras flashed.
And Jason?
He looked like he needed a drink.
I patted his cheek fondly. "See? That wasn’t so bad."
He exhaled through his nose, gripping his glass so tightly I thought it might shatter.
But me?
I simply smirked, swirling the wine in my hand.
Tonight, the world had seen Ella Kingsley and Jason Carter—the perfect couple.
And Jason?
Jason had survived his worst nightmare.
Too bad for him. The show had just begun.
As much as I enjoyed watching Jason squirm all night, there was one thing I absolutely hated—
Pretending.
Pretending that I loved him.
Pretending that I was happy.
Pretending that I didn’t want to strangle him in the middle of the gala.
Jason had played along because he had no choice. I had ever so sweetly whispered in his ear earlier that if he didn’t cooperate, I might just accidentally let slip his little dirty secret to my father.
And we both knew how that would end for him.
So, naturally, he behaved.
Smiled for the cameras. Held my waist. Kissed me—ugh.
And while the world cooed over our "perfect marriage," I was mentally refraining from gagging every time his hand so much as brushed against mine.
THE ART OF PRETENDING
I had mastered the art of appearing in love while feeling absolutely nothing.
Well. Not nothing.
Loathing.
Pure, unfiltered, soul-burning loathing.
Every time I had to lean into his touch, I imagined setting him on fire.
Every time I had to laugh at his jokes, I counted backwards from ten to stop myself from stabbing him with a dessert fork.
Every time I had to kiss him—okay, that only happened once, but trust me, once was too much.
Did I flinch away from his touch? No. That would have been too obvious.
Instead, I had perfected the technique of avoiding his touch without anyone noticing—including Jason himself.
A subtle shift of my arm when he tried to grab my hand.
A perfectly timed sip of wine when he leaned in too close.
A quick step away, making it look like I was just greeting someone else.
The best part?
Jason had no clue.
JASON, THE HUMAN FURNACE OF NERVES
Throughout the night, Jason had been a mess.
Not because of me, of course—though I liked to think I was 90% of the reason.
No, he was jumpy because he knew that at any moment, I could ruin him.
If I so much as leaned close to my father and whispered, "Oh, Daddy, did you know Jason once made a bet on me?"
Boom.
Jason King? Gone.
That fear alone kept him glued to my side, acting like the perfect, devoted husband. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
I almost felt bad for him.
Almost.
But then I remembered the bet.
Then I remembered Jason’s voice in that recording, spilling every detail about how he was the mastermind behind it all.
And I remembered how my stupid heart had almost fallen for him before I knew the truth.
Yeah.
I didn’t feel bad at all.
Oh, I knew I had an audience.
Dylan and Max were here too, lurking at the edges of the event like two guilty criminals trying not to get caught. They had been watching me all night, throwing suspicious glances my way, probably wondering what the hell I was up to.
Because let’s be real—they knew.
They knew I wasn’t "Miss Nice Ella" anymore.
They knew I wasn’t the sweet, gullible girl who used to laugh at their dumb jokes.
They knew I was out for revenge.
And yet, here I was, playing the perfect wife.
They must’ve been dying to know why.
I caught Max staring at me for the fifth time that night. I turned my head ever so slightly, raised my glass of champagne in a silent toast, and gave him my sweetest, most innocent smile.
His eyes widened.
He nudged Dylan, whispering something in his ear, and they both looked even more concerned than before.
Good. Let them wonder.
Let them panic.
Because this?
This was just the beginning.
