The Replacement Wife Conspiracy

Chapter 3: Wealth Vs Warmth

Four Weeks Earlier

“God, you’re so handsome, Gabe…” Ella whispered with a teasing smile, her paintbrush pausing mid-stroke. She tilted her head, studying the canvas as though it were him, flesh and blood. “And me—look at me, just beaming next to you like a schoolgirl with a crush.”

She chuckled softly, dipping her brush into the lightest pink on her palette.

“You’d probably roll your eyes if you saw this,” she murmured. “But I don’t care. I still remember how you looked at me that day.”

Her gaze lingered on the painted version of her husband. Sharp jaw. Kind eyes. That smile. She brought it to life with every gentle sweep of her wrist, like he was smiling just for her again.

“And you said,” she deepened her voice to mimic his, “‘Ella, if you smile any wider, your cheeks will freeze that way.’” Another laugh escaped her, this one tinged with something a little sadder.

She sat back, sighing. The silence of the room stretched around her like an echo. Just the ticking clock and the faint city sounds outside her window.

“Wow,” she said aloud, eyes still on the painting. “Talking to myself now. Great. I’m becoming that lonely housewife cliché.”

A small blue streak of paint had landed on her cheek without her noticing. Her long brown hair fell around her shoulders in loose waves, and her soft face held a quiet kind of beauty, the kind that didn’t ask for attention but always received it.

She let the brush fall onto the table and leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I miss him,” she said softly. “Even when he’s around, I miss him.”

A beat of silence passed, and then, still talking to no one but her aching heart, she whispered, “I just want him to look at me like this again.”

Her eyes fell to the almost finished painting—of a man lost in her, and a woman glowing in love. A memory captured in colour, more vivid than the life she was now living.

The bedroom was large and beautiful, filled with soft light from the golden lamps on each side of the bed. The walls were painted a calm cream colour, and tall windows were covered with thin, flowing curtains that moved gently in the breeze.

Ella’s eyes focused on the painting in front of her. She wore a silk nightgown that rested gently against her skin, making her look even more delicate.

Suddenly, she heard a soft car horn outside. Her heart skipped. She knew that sound—two quick honks.

“My husband is home!” She says excitedly.

Quickly, she set the brush down and stood up. She picked up the painting gently, careful not to mess up the wet parts, and carried it into her walk-in closet. She leaned it against the wall behind a row of her red bottom heels, then closed the door quietly. She didn’t want him to see it yet—not until it was perfect.

Ella walked over to the full-length mirror and checked herself. She rushed into the restroom to wash the paint off her face, now looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, memories flashed her brain, sweet memories of Gabe wrapping his arms around her and kissing her neck while she tries to sprinkle water on her face every night, and he whispers sweet words like,

“My beautiful wife. If I had five lives to live, I would marry you in four and on the fifth, I’ll write all about you”.

She realized she had missed those moments, but this is not time to sulk on the past, rather to make things better.

She rushed back to the bedroom and back to the full-length mirror and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and straightened the strap of her nightgown. She looked okay. She looked like the version of herself she wanted him to see—the version he used to love coming home to.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing her hands over her nightgown. Her heart was beating a little faster now, full of hope. She loved him so much and always anticipated his return every day he goes to work.

Then the door opened.

Gabe stepped inside, and even after all these years, Ella’s breath caught just a little. He looked as if he had stepped out of a magazine—tall, confident, and effortlessly handsome. In his early thirties, he carried the charm of a man who knew both power and style. His jet-black hair was slightly messy, like he’d run a hand through it on the way home, and somehow that made him look even better.

He loosened his dark blue tie with one hand, and the fabric of his crisp, white shirt stretched lightly over the muscles in his arms and chest. The soft light from the chandelier above flickered across his face, casting gentle shadows that made his sharp jawline and full lips even more noticeable. His eyes—those deep, stormy eyes that once made her heart race with a single glance—met hers for a moment. Intense. Focused. Tired.

Dark circles under his eyes, the slump in his broad shoulders, the slight drag in his steps—it all screamed weariness. Her heart ached. She wanted to cradle him, soothe him, be the balm to whatever weight he carried from his endless workdays.

He looked every bit the billionaire CEO the world admired—clean-cut, polished, and powerful. To Ella, he’s just her husband that she loved so much and the man whom she would catch a grenade for.

“Hey, babe.” His voice was a low hum, rich and velvet-smooth, the kind that curled around her spine and lingered in the air long after the words were gone.

“Hey, you’re late,” she said softly, rising to her feet.

Gabe didn’t answer right away. He tossed the tie onto the armchair and rubbed a hand over his face. Visibly overwhelmed.

“Board meeting ran over. Then Anthony had some numbers that didn’t add up, and—”

“You look tired, Gabe.” She stepped closer, fingers brushing his sleeve. “Let me fix you something. You didn’t eat lunch, did you? I could warm the lamb stew from earlier. Or I’ll make something fresh. Is that okay?”

His hand slipped around her waist with practiced ease, pulling her close. His gaze shifted—no longer tired, but something else. Hungrier.

“My lovely and caring wife, I don’t want food.”

She felt the heat in his grip, the way his eyes locked onto hers.

“Gabe…”

“Shh,” he whispered, leaning down to bury his face in the crook of her neck. His cologne—deep and woodsy—wrapped around her like a blanket of memories. It reminded her of stolen kisses behind doors, laughter in bed, whispered promises.

His lips grazed her skin, just below her collarbone. Then he pulled back slightly, reaching into his coat pocket and revealing a small black velvet box. He opened it without a word.

Inside, a diamond necklace sparkled—delicate, intricate, like a constellation captured in gold.

He took it out and stepped behind her, gently clasping it around her neck. His fingers brushed against her skin, lingering just a moment too long. The cold kiss of metal against her throat made her shiver, though not from the temperature.

“You like it?” he asked, his voice low—like a secret shared against her ear.

Ella touched the necklace. Her smile was small but polite, careful.

“It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder, his breath warm and steady.

“We haven’t had time for ourselves in a while.”

Ella exhaled, delighted that finally, he was able to see the gap between them.

“I thought about it and pondered over it today at work and I really want to make it right”

He didn’t wait for her to respond. Instead, he took her hand and led her toward the full-length mirror across the room. The chandelier light flickered softly as they moved, casting golden ripples along the floor.

“Look at you,” he whispered behind her, both hands now on her waist. “My beautiful wife.”

Their reflection stared back at them—her in silk and diamonds, him in shadow and strength. His lips hovered near her neck, his presence wrapping around her like a slow, deliberate fog. She met her own eyes in the mirror and tried to see what he saw. But all she found was a woman dressed in longing for affection, true love affection.

“I’ve missed you, Ella. I’ve been exhausted, yes—but not just from work.”

He let out a smile.

Her eyes lifted to his, confused. “Then what?”

His hands slid slowly down her back.

“From wanting you. Craving you.”

She didn’t speak, her heart caught in her throat.

He kissed her then—slow, familiar, and deep.

For a moment, it felt like it used to. The kind of kiss that said I still want you, even if I don’t know how to say it or do it right. She melted into him, remembering all the times this had been enough. But the ache in her chest reminded her that this passion alone wasn’t the same as love.

She wanted something deeper—something real. Her hands, once resting on his shoulders, now gently cupped his face.

“You’re exhausted, Gabe,” she said softly. “You should eat, and we could talk over dinner. Just let me—”

“Ella,” he said more firmly now, voice low. “I don’t need food or rest. I need you.”

There was desperation in his tone. It wasn’t new, she recognized it. She didn’t like that he always came to her only when he wanted to, but not when she wants to. She wanted to talk to him about it.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, guiding her toward the bed with practiced ease. His hands found the small of her back, her breath caught in the warmth of his mouth, the press of his need. But just as they reached the edge of the mattress, the sudden buzz of his phone rattled across the nightstand.

Ella flinched.

Gabe froze.

A beat of silence passed between them. Then a sigh—long, weary—and he pulled away, reaching for the device.

Ella watched, still half in his embrace, her heart thudding with a quiet dread. His jaw tightened as he glanced at the screen. Something in his face shifted—hardened into the business-like coldness she’d come to know too well.

“Really, Gabe?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

He didn’t look at her. “It’s work. I have to take this.”

And just like that, he slipped out of the room, already pressing the phone to his ear as the door clicked softly behind him.

Ella turned toward the mirror.

The woman staring back at her looked nothing like the girl in the painting in her closet. That girl had eyes filled with light, mouth parted in a laugh, arms tangled in love.

This woman? She was draped in jewels but starving for affection.

“What good is s*x when the fire’s burned down to ash?”

“What good are kisses if they only come when he’s empty, and I just don’t want to ruin the moment?”

She blinked back the sting rising in her eyes, but the truth pushed through the cracks.

“This isn’t what I wanted,” she whispered to the quiet.

She hadn’t married him for the mansions or the diamonds or the perfectly tailored suits. She’d never cared about those things.

She just wanted to be a part of his world.

To hear about his day before he drowned in exhaustion.

To laugh at his frustrations, to offer her thoughts, her presence, her heart.

She wanted to be someone he could come home to—not just for release, but for refuge.

She had loved him fully, wildly, completely. She knows he loved her too, but somewhere along the way, without even meaning to, they had lost each other.

“When did we get here?”.