His Wife, My Curse

Here’s your Chapter 1 of His Wife, My Curse — about 900 words, formatted and ready to post on Dreame: --- 📖 Chapter 1: “Sign the Marriage Contract or Die” The room smelled of power and expensive cologne. A marble table stood between us, polished so perfectly I could see my reflection — pale, confused, and trembling. “I don’t know who I am,” I whispered. The man across from me didn’t blink. His cold grey eyes fixed on mine like I was a puzzle he had already solved. “You don’t need to,” he said. “You only need to be my wife.” His voice was low, commanding, and too calm for someone asking a stranger to marry him. No — forcing her. “My wife is dead,” he continued, slowly sliding a thick document toward me. “You’ll take her place. No one must know the truth. You’ll smile, walk beside me, stay quiet… and sign this.” I stared at the papers. At the cruel red ink where her name had been scratched out and mine written in. “I—I just woke up yesterday. I don’t even know my name.” “Gift. That’s what they’re calling you now. And from today, you’ll be Gift Solex.” His name dropped like a dagger between us. Solex Zayne. Billionaire. CEO. Dangerous. I had seen his face before — on the flat-screen TV in the hospital room. Headlines screaming about his wife’s tragic death and his billion-dollar empire in chaos. Now he was sitting in front of me, offering me her life. Or maybe her prison. “Why me?” I asked, my voice shaking. “You could buy anyone—any woman—why a girl with no memory, no past?” His jaw tightened, and for a second, something flickered in his eyes. Pain. Or guilt. “You don’t need to know that.” “What if I say no?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His eyes darkened, voice lowered. “Then you’ll be sent back to that hospital. No records. No identity. You’ll disappear, just like you appeared. Do you want to be locked away, Gift?” I swallowed. My hands shook as I looked at the pen he placed in front of me. Gold. Heavy. Like the choice itself. “Why did your wife die?” I asked suddenly. He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded photo. He placed it beside the contract. It was me. Or… her. She looked exactly like me — same eyes, same mouth, same strange scar behind the ear I’d noticed yesterday. The resemblance was terrifying. “She died in a fire,” he said. “They never found the body. Just ashes. But I knew… she was gone.” My hand flew to my throat. It suddenly felt hard to breathe. “This—this isn’t normal.” “No,” he said. “Nothing about you is.” I met his eyes, and something passed between us. Not softness. Not connection. But something older. Colder. Familiar. Like we had been here before. Like I had signed something before. The pen felt heavy in my hand. My fingers hovered over the line. Gift Zayne. It didn’t feel like a name. It felt like a curse. Still… I signed. The air changed. Even the light in the room dimmed slightly, as if something unseen had shifted. “Good,” he said, standing. “Your new life begins tonight. Pack what you need. You’ll move into the Zayne estate before midnight.” “I don’t have anything.” “Then bring nothing.” As he turned to leave, I dared to ask, “What should I call you?” He stopped at the door. “Call me husband. In public.” “And in private?” He turned slowly. His lips twisted, not into a smile — but something darker. “In private…” he said, “call me whatever you want. Just remember who owns you.” He left. And I sat there, staring at the contract, at the woman who looked like me… wondering if I had just signed my death certificate ---