The Plane Tickets He Hoarded The Wife He Hid novel Chapter 3
Capítulo 2: Chapter 2 Buried Alive No More
Blanche’s POV
I tucked the pregnancy test results away before stepping into the living room. Zain and Ophelia’s conversation cut off the moment I appeared. For once, I skipped the polite pleasantries I usually forced myself through.
I’d spent years believing that playing the perfect wife and daughter-in-law would finally make my husband see me. Life had shown me how wrong I was.
Even if I tore my heart from my chest and laid it at the Jacobs’ feet, they wouldn’t glance down.
Five years of giving everything to this marriage had left me empty-handed. That ended today.
Zain knew exactly why he’d come home.
He shot Cherry a sharp look. “Cherry, escort Blanche out.” I stood quietly in the corner, but my eyes had gone arctic.
Zain ran Jacob Group like clockwork – efficient, precise, flawless. He honored his elders, stood by his friends, led his team fairly, and genuinely cared for his employees.
Everyone who knew Zain praised him endlessly. Our mutual friends constantly joked that I must’ve saved nations in past lives to land such a man.
But his kindness stopped at his wife. After five years of marriage, I finally grasped the brutal truth. This hollow, frigid marriage wasn’t what I wanted anymore.
Ophelia brushed past me, then paused. Her voice dripped with arctic disdain. “Without a male heir, you’ll never truly be a Jacob.”
Before, I would’ve absorbed those words in silence. Not anymore. I locked eyes with her, every trace of submission gone. “Ophelia, we’re both women. Since when is a baby’s gender solely my responsibility?”
Ophelia had always seen me as some timid mouse she could terrorize at will. My sudden backbone caught her off guard, but she wasn’t about to let it slide. Her palm cracked across my cheek like lightning. “You dare challenge me? Get on your knees. Now.”
Something savage flickered in her expression, backed by absolute certainty that I’d crumble under her dominance. She knew I loved Zain enough to sacrifice dignity, abandon pride, and even grovel like a servant for the Jacobs.
But I was done swallowing pain.
Since the Jacobs had never valued my sacrifices or even my existence, I wouldn’t bow to them anymore.
My eyes turned to steel as they met Ophelia’s. Wordlessly, I stepped closer, raising my hand to strike back.
Before I could connect, a large hand seized my wrist. A deep, reproachful voice rumbled in my ear. “Blanche, do you really need to escalate this?”
Capítulo 3: Chapter 3 A Better Mother Than You
When I finally pulled back to say something, I watched Carry scrub at her face furiously. The gesture killed my words before they could escape.
Tears burned my eyes as I stared at my daughter, my heart churning.
“Mommy, perfect timing,” Carry burst out before I could speak. “I was about to call you. For kindergarten, I want East Street Preschool.” Her entire face glowed with excitement.
I couldn’t grasp why, but seeing Carry so thrilled, I couldn’t refuse. It was just kindergarten, after all. We could switch schools later if necessary. “Alright,” I smiled, “East Street Preschool it is.” Carry immediately began bouncing with pure joy.
I watched my daughter’s radiant expression, my own words suddenly trapped in my throat. Without thinking, my hand moved to my stomach. Then, catching Carry’s gaze, I asked softly, “Baby, would you like a little brother or sister?”
Carry fidgeted restlessly, obviously eager to return to her room, but she stopped to think about my question. After a beat, she nodded firmly. “Sure,” she said, “then I want a brother.”
A knife twisted in my chest. With watery eyes, I asked, “What if Mommy gets scared?”
The physical threat had passed, but my hands still shook remembering those horrifying hours after Carry’s birth. The bleeding, the panicked doctors, the terror that I might never get to hold my baby.
Carry cocked her head, examining my anxious face with unexpected gravity. “Then don’t be selfish, Mommy,” she said. “You weren’t scared to have me, were you?”
I went completely rigid, my face draining of color like I’d been slapped. I remained motionless for what seemed like forever, lips quivering before I managed to breathe, “Don’t you worry about losing Mommy forever?”
For four endless years, I’d handled every parenting responsibility alone—midnight feedings, gentle lullabies, answering every whimper and demand. Through all that time, I couldn’t recall a single full night’s rest. Now, after all that devotion, I just needed to know if my little girl still loved me.
Carry’s face twisted with irritation. “I’m tired now,” she announced. Before I could respond, Carry had darted away, her bedroom door banging shut. Alone on the stairs, I stood paralyzed, an empty coldness creeping through my ribs.
Within moments, Carry’s animated voice floated from the bedroom. “Miss Joanna, I’m going to East Street Preschool! You can come get me after work. It’s super close to your office. And no babies for you and Daddy, okay? Mommy says it’s risky. She’s done it before with me, so she can do it again. I really miss your bedtime stories and your cuddles.”
I stood outside the bedroom door, my chest burning as I recalled how Carry had scrubbed away my kisses moments ago. I’d assumed that whatever happened with Zain, my daughter would always belong to me. But now Carry was rejecting me too, just like her father had done.
I finally understood all my sacrifices and struggles were nothing but a cruel joke. Nobody gave a damn about what I’d survived. Moving like I was in a trance, I drifted downstairs. Heidi extended her hand when she saw my empty expression, but received only a wordless wave in return.
The second I left Blissfield Villa, I yanked out my phone and dialed Zain. Ring after ring went ignored. Normally I’d give up after several attempts, but tonight I kept hitting redial like I’d lost my mind. When Zain finally picked up, his voice was sharp, “I’m busy. If this matters—”
Zain hadn’t finished when my voice sliced through, brutal as broken glass, “Meet me. Right now.”
The controlled demand exploded into wild shrieks.
Zain’s expression hardened at my meltdown.
When I finally steadied myself, Zain responded in a glacial tone, “Whatever this is, we’ll discuss it next month.”
The call ended before I could answer, leaving me gripping the dead phone.
This was typical Zain—shutting me down, abandoning me to yell at nothing. Five years of this had drained me completely. Divorce was my only option.
But I’d battle fiercely for Carry. Even if Carry seemed to prefer Joanna now, those endless nights calming a cranky infant still mattered. That connection couldn’t be severed so simply.
I’d just steeled my resolve when a Rolls Royce screeched to a halt at the villa entrance.
Through the windshield, I spotted Zain at the wheel with Joanna Vins beside him, a flower arrangement cradled in her arms.
Zain locked eyes with me through the glass, the space between us heavy with silence. Before, I was too terrified to challenge Joanna’s presence. Now, I couldn’t even summon the energy to care.
After an excruciating pause, Zain finally emerged from the car. Completely ignoring me, he moved to open Joanna’s door. But I snapped sharply, “Zain. We need to talk.”
Zain continued moving, his hand already gripping the door handle. I grabbed his wrist and yanked it away. “Screw every woman in this city if you want,” I hissed through gritted teeth, “but that mistress of yours keeps her hands off my daughter.”
Finally, Zain looked at me. His stare was arctic, his voice low and contemptuous, “Joanna would be a better mother than you.” With that, he shoved past me and opened the car door.
I stood frozen in place, the vicious implication sinking in. Did he just suggest Joanna should be Carry’s mother?
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Capítulo 1: Chapter 1 She Can Manage The Danger
Blanche’s POV
I walked through the doors of Alexander Villa at exactly the right time.
The full moon hung overhead, marking the peak of my cycle—ovulation day.
Since Carry’s birth, my in-laws had made their demands crystal clear: they wanted another grandchild.
Most wives would brush off such pressure, joking about royal bloodlines. But the Jacobs weren’t most families. As Oakwood’s richest dynasty, their billion-dollar legacy required a male heir.
I found Zain already waiting in our bedroom, fresh from his shower. No greeting, no conversation—we got straight to the point.
A few minutes passed before he disappeared into the bathroom.
When he emerged, I hadn’t moved from the bed. He pulled on his clothes with his back turned, throwing words over his shoulder like spare change. “Take the test when it’s time. Call if it’s positive.”
Years of marriage, and he’d never given me more than the bare minimum. Our union existed only in legal documents while Zain flaunted his affair with complete openness.
I’d spent countless sleepless hours scrolling through his social media, following every digital trail until I discovered her account. Since then, I checked it obsessively, unable to stop myself from reopening old wounds.
Before this second-child scheme, I barely saw Zain in person. I tracked my husband’s life through his mistress’s posts: fancy dinners, luxury trips, birthday parties. Now we met precisely once each cycle.
I knew Zain was anxious to leave, so I stood quickly. “Hold on,” I said, my voice breaking slightly. “We need to discuss something.” My fists tightened as I stared at his rigid back.
Zain turned slowly, his expression frozen in cold detachment. “Discuss what?” The words cut through the air like shards of ice.
I dropped my voice to barely a whisper. “I want us to try,” I begged, though I suspected it was already too late. Still, I had to attempt it. I’d invested too much in this marriage, in our family.
Carry deserved parents who didn’t fail her.
Zain showed zero response. I couldn’t determine whether he hadn’t heard me or was choosing to ignore my words entirely. He finished with his shirt buttons, snapped his watch into place, and moved toward the door without acknowledgment.
This time, I remained beside the bed. No desperate embraces. No begging him to stay. Those old patterns had finally died.
Just as Zain reached for the handle, my composure crumbled completely. “You visit Alexander Villa once each cycle,” I shouted, my voice splintering. “No phone calls. No shared meals. We’re total strangers. Tell me, Zain—what kind of marriage is this supposed to be?”
Zain paused, turning just enough to catch my eyes. His remained bone dry while mine flooded over. “When you’re pregnant with my son,” he stated flatly, “I’ll come home.” The door shut with a final click behind him.
I stayed motionless. For the first time, I let him leave without a fight.
I had invested everything I had in this marriage.
Carry’s birth had nearly claimed my life, with doctors issuing multiple emergency alerts during my amniotic fluid embolism. Even so, I’d been prepared to face death again for a son. Now, alone in our vacant bedroom, I began questioning whether any of this sacrifice held meaning.
After my shower, I instinctively reached for my phone and opened the video app. My “Frequently Viewed” list contained only one account: Vins Hub, with its bright, smiling profile photo.
A fresh post had appeared just moments earlier. The video showed two silhouettes beneath a street lamp, fingers intertwined, wearing identical bracelets.
The caption read: Two shadows under the light. One belongs to me. The other belongs to me too.
My heart twisted, but gently this time. Where a storm once raged, only small waves remained.
Maybe I’d finally grown used to the pain.
These encounters always concluded identically—with Zain racing off to his other woman.
Yet when the hurt subsided, I held onto one truth. As long as Zain required me to produce his heir, nobody could steal my position as Mrs. Jacob. But this empty marriage was poison I had to swallow every single day.
Some time later, on a cold Tuesday night, I burst into Alexander Villa, the warm pregnancy test report crushed in my damp palm. My pulse raced—not from running, but from those two dark lines that meant everything had changed. Tonight, I finally had something worth sharing.
As I entered the living room, my mother-in-law’s cutting voice sliced through the silence, stopping me cold in the entrance. “Zain, you’re at the prime of your life,” Ophelia Barth declared. “Years married with just one daughter. Seeing your wife once monthly? How do you expect her to conceive? If this isn’t working, let your girlfriend try instead. Any boy carrying Jacob blood will suffice.”
Zain rejected her suggestion immediately. “That won’t happen.”
I stepped backward, melting into the shadows. For one foolish moment, my heart lifted because Zain seemed to be defending me. After all, I was still his legal wife, despite his betrayals. But then his tone became detached and clinical. “Do you remember her embolism during Carry’s delivery?”
Ophelia’s expression soured. “And who invited this curse into our family? The Jacobs never faced such disgrace before.” Her voice climbed to an ear-piercing shriek. “Other women deliver babies effortlessly. But our precious Blanche? One birth and we’re the neighborhood gossip for weeks. Absolutely humiliating!”
Zain completely dismissed his mother’s rant. Instead, he continued explaining, “Pregnancy is risky. Blanche has survived it once already. She can manage the danger. But Joanna is still young. I won’t expose her to that threat.”
I remained frozen outside the doorway, shock running through me like lightning. I felt devastated, but no tears would fall.
Despite knowing Zain had cheated and our marriage lay in ruins, I’d still nursed the foolish fantasy that a second baby might anchor him to me, that bearing the Jacob name would shield me somehow.
Now the truth hit me, brutal and unforgiving.
To Zain, I was nothing more than a vessel for his son. He’d erased how I’d spiraled into darkness after Carry’s birth, how blood made me shake uncontrollably, how doctors had battled to save my life. He worried about his mistress’s safety in childbirth while forgetting that my own risk was infinitely greater.
The conversation inside grew muffled and distant. I smiled bitterly. I’d nearly died delivering the Jacobs a daughter, yet Zain scattered his betrayals like confetti. Gripping the pregnancy report, I realized it might be time to finish this charade.
Today was our scheduled conception appointment, but the routine now felt meaningless. Love hadn’t faded slowly—it had shattered in one decisive moment. Right now, there was no reason to keep the child growing inside me. If nobody else valued my life, at least I could value it myself.
As I turned to go, our housekeeper Cherry Hank spotted me. “Mrs. Jacob, you’re home early?”
I manufactured a smile, thinking that perhaps today was finally the right day to bring up divorce.