The Wife He Forgot"

My college alumni group chat suddenly exploded with activity over two major pieces of news.

First, the famous actress, Nicollette Cross, had officially announced her divorce. Rumor had it that a top-tier lawyer had handled her case, securing a massive victory in court and winning her half of her cold-hearted ex-husbands fortune.

Second, that very lawyer was none other than her college sweetheart, Luke Bennett.

"He handled his first loves divorce case? That is literally the plot of a romance novel!"

"Please tell me theyll get back together. They were the ultimate couple back in the day!"

During our university years, Luke and Nicollette had sat firmly at the top of the campus couple rankings. Countless people had witnessed their passionate, whirlwind romance.

Including me.

I looked up at our wedding photo hanging on the wall, staring at Lukes cool, sharp eyes.

A quiet, heavy sadness settled over me.

"Luke Bennett usually only takes on high-stakes corporate cases. He never touches ordinary lawsuits. Why would he make such a massive exception for a divorce?"

"Because Nicollette is special to him, obviously. He used to spoil her rotten back then. Of course he would break his own rules for her."

"But hes a senior partner at a top-tier firm now. Is it possible he already has a family?"

The chat went quiet for a few seconds after that question. Then, someone quickly replied.

"No way. If anyone actually managed to marry Luke Bennett, theyd be bragging about it all over social media. You couldn't keep something like that a secret."

"Besides, knowing how intense Luke is about his feelings, hes not the type to settle for a marriage of convenience."

Everyone in the chat simply assumed Luke was single, and the matchmaking comments grew even more frantic.

"Back then, it was the spoiled rich girl and the brilliant, low-income law student. Now, its the gorgeous starlet and the elite law partner. How do these two always look like they walked straight out of a best-selling romance novel?"

"Look at this photo of them leaving the courthouse. Just standing next to each other, the tension is unreal!"

I remained silent, staring at the screen. The image in the chat was a paparazzi shot of Luke holding an umbrella over Nicollette as she walked out of the court wearing a mask and sunglasses.

His own shoulder was completely soaked by the rain.

Their eyes met under the dark canopy of the umbrella. They weren't saying anything, yet it felt as though they were saying everything. It was a simple tabloid photo, but it captured an intimacy that rivaled the private picture Luke kept hidden.

Once, while cleaning his study, I had found a photo tucked away in the deepest corner of his desk drawer.

Nicollette was smiling beautifully at the camera. Luke wasnt looking at the lens; his head was turned toward her, his eyes filled with a quiet, deep tenderness.

If you looked closely at the blurred crowd in the background of that photo, you could see my shadow. But Lukes eyes had never held room for anyone else. He had probably never even noticed I was there.

A light knock on the bedroom door pulled me back from my thoughts.

"Are you having breakfast?" Luke asked, leaning his head in.

The door wasn't locked. But given the polite, careful distance that defined our marriage, he still knocked out of habit.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the faint, sharp outline of veins on his forearms. He looked effortlessly handsome.

"Yes, thank you," I said, getting out of bed.

Breakfast was simple: warm milk and toasted bread.

Luke had always disliked bread crusts. He would always tear them off and leave them on the side of his plate, and because I hated wasting food, I would eat them. Over the past two years, this silent exchange had become a routine.

Today, he automatically placed his discarded crusts onto my plate.

I stared down at them, my fork suspended in the air.

Actually, I didn't like crusts either. But I wasn't Nicollette, and Luke had never bothered to ask about my preferences.

I still remembered seeing him standing outside Nicollettes dorm building during our college days, holding a bag filled with half a dozen different breakfast options.

"My beautiful, stubborn girl," he had said with an indulgent smile. "You didn't finish your breakfast last time because you said it tasted awful. Surely one of these will please you today?"

Living in the room next to Nicollettes, I had occasionally been on the receiving end of those leftover breakfasts, thanks to her casual generosity.

Luke sat across from me now, eating with the same meticulous, deliberate grace he displayed when dissecting an opponent in the courtroom.

He glanced up at me, his voice calm. "Why aren't you eating?"

I pushed the plate aside. "Im not very hungry."

Luke turned a page of his newspaper. "You should at least drink some milk."

"Luke," I interrupted him, "did you take Nicollettes divorce case?"

I had never asked about his clients before. This was the first time.

Luke paused for a brief second before speaking in a low, level tone. "She married the wrong man. As an old classmate, it was only right to help her out. Besides..."

Besides, their relationship went far deeper than mere classmates. They had occupied the absolute center of each others lives for four years.

I didn't want to hear the rest of his explanation. Before he could finish, I stood up from the table.

"Im heading to work."

My focus was entirely gone that day. I moved through my tasks like a ghost, feeling a dull, hollow ache in my chest.

During a team dinner that evening, I remained quiet, trailing behind my colleagues as we walked through a high-end restaurant downtown. Suddenly, a coworker grabbed my arm, her voice buzzing with excitement.

"Oh my god! Isn't that the famous corporate litigator, Luke Bennett?"

I looked up sharply.

A few yards away, Luke was standing by a table, his suit jacket draped casually over his forearm. Sitting across from him was a woman in a tailored cashmere coat.

Even from behind, I recognized the elegant, familiar slope of her shoulders instantly.

I tried to quicken my pace to pass them unnoticed.

"The woman sitting across from him... is that Nicollette Cross? Oh my god, Hazel, we just stumbled onto some major celebrity gossip!" my colleague whispered loudly, using my English name.

Luke looked up from the menu, his sharp eyes scanning the room until they landed on me.

His eyes had always been his most striking feature, intense and deep. Now that he was older, that gaze had only grown more refined and cold.

"Hazel," Luke called out.

I froze, turning around slowly to meet Nicollettes gaze. She was still as radiant and breathtaking as ever, the kind of beauty that made everyone else in the room feel invisible.

She rose from her seat with a polite, hesitant smile. "...Hazel? From our class?"

Lukes eyes drifted over me as he gave a soft nod of confirmation. He didn't offer any explanation about who I was to him, nor did he look particularly guilty about being seen with her.

I wasn't surprised. But a bitter, heavy ache still swelled in my chest.

Nicollette looked me up and down. "I remember you. You were always so quiet and small back in college. You've grown into such a beautiful woman."

Her words instantly dragged me back to those suffocating college days, when I was a painfully self-conscious orphan, ignored and pushed to the margins of every social circle.

I forced a tight, polite smile. "I should get back to my colleagues."

I turned and walked away, finally escaping the weight of their presence.

During the dinner, my coworkers couldn't stop asking questions.

"You never told us you went to college with a superstar and a celebrity lawyer! That is so cool!"

"We weren't very close," I replied quietly.

"That's a shame. Our company tried to hire Luke's firm for a major restructuring contract last quarter, but the boss couldn't find anyone to get us a meeting. His rates are astronomical."

"But why are those two dining together? Do you think they're having a secret affair?"

I let out a silent, bitter laugh.

Lukes secret spouse was sitting right here at this table. If he were with Nicollette, he would probably want the entire world to know he had finally married the love of his life.

I shook my head and remained silent for the rest of the night.

When our group went to pay the bill, the receptionist informed us that a Mr. Bennett had already settled our tab.

My colleagues immediately began speculating again, wondering if Luke and I had been close friends in college. I couldn't tell them the truth, so I simply offered a vague response.

"He has always been generous."

Nicollette was generous too. Later that evening, she shared a photo of her dinner with Luke in our alumni group chat, delighting the gossips and triggering a fresh wave of excitement.

"Oh my god, I didn't think Luke even looked at this chat! Seeing the two of you together again makes my heart so happy."

"Luke looks even more handsome now. Honestly, Nicollette is the only woman who could ever stand beside him."

As the messages scrolled rapidly down my screen, my chest tightened.

When I arrived home, the house was dark except for a single, warm floor lamp in the living room. Luke was sitting on the sofa, a nearly empty bottle of Romanee-Conti resting on the table in front of him.

He was drinking heavily and quickly.

For a man who was normally the definition of discipline and control, he only ever lost his composure when it came to Nicollette.

My heart ached sharply. I wondered if I needed to see a doctor about this physical pain.

From the shadows of the sofa, Lukes cold voice cut through the quiet room.

"Do you have nothing to say to me?"

The question was so sudden that I stood frozen for a moment before replying.

"No."

Ours was a marriage of quiet convenience, built on polite distance. What right did I have to demand explanations? I knew better than anyone that Luke did not love me.

But Luke didn't let it go. He stood up, walked over to me, and pulled me into his arms.

Before I could react, his lips pressed against mine in a sudden, desperate kiss.

I went completely stiff, my mind racing. Before I could even raise my hands to push him away, he pulled back.

His voice was rough and strained. "We need to talk."

Talk about what? A divorce?

Was this kiss just a parting favor, a sweet transition before the end?

Panic flared in my chest, and my instinct was to run. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to sleep."

Luke didn't try to stop me. But that night, as I lay in bed, he reached out from behind and pulled me against his chest, whispering a quiet, heavy "I'm sorry" into the dark.

A man only says he is sorry when he knows he has done something wrong. It was the last thing I wanted to hear.

The sharp pain in my chest flared up again. It was strange how simple, quiet words could cause such physical damage.

The next morning, I woke up early and went to the clinic for a full check-up. The results showed that I was perfectly healthy.

Confused and seeking peace, I decided to visit Lukes grandmother at her estate on the outskirts of the city.

The villa was vast and quiet. Luke and I had met because of his grandmother, and our marriage had been put together largely through her gentle matchmaking. She had always treated me with immense kindness.

The moment she saw me, her wise eyes softened with concern. "Hazel, sweetheart, did you and Luke have a fight?"

I shook my head. We didn't fight. We didn't even have disagreements.

"That boy has no idea how to cherish a young woman," she sighed, patting my hand. "Ill have a serious word with him."

I knew his grandmother had never met Nicollette. She had no idea how incredibly attentive Luke could be when he actually cared.

During our university years, Luke was the most photographed student on our campus confession boards. He was lean, sharp-featured, and carried himself with a quiet, scholarly distance. Even in a simple, faded t-shirt, he looked like a prince who had stepped out of a classic tragedy.

He was the unattainable, intellectual crush of every girl on campus, keeping everyone at a strict, polite distance.

Yet, he had completely surrendered himself to the schools most notoriously demanding drama queen.

He had met Nicollettes every whim with absolute devotion. He would eat nothing but plain bread for two weeks just to save up enough money to take her to a high-end restaurant she had mentioned in passing, even if she only took a single bite for a social media photo. He had once skipped a final exam to carry her to the campus clinic when she faked an illness just to get out of a physical fitness test.

I had never had the luxury of being high-maintenance.

I had learned at a very young age that nobody has patience for an orphans tantrums. So I grew up quiet, polite, and accommodating. After marrying Luke, I became even more careful. I knew I wasn't Nicollette. I knew he wouldn't tolerate my moods.

"Luke does love you, sweetheart," his grandmother said, her eyes filled with gentle sincerity.

But I felt only a cold, creeping dread. If Luke truly loved me, why was I constantly living in fear?

At that moment, the physical pain in my chest finally made sense.

I was terrified.