I Was the Rebound Husband - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
You are reading I Was the Rebound Husband, Chapter 1: Chapter 1. Read more chapters of I Was the Rebound Husband.
My wife played the fool—and I was the idiot who fell for it. For three years, I coddled her, protected her, gave her everything. Then, like flipping a switch, she snapped back to reality and became the ruthless CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Overnight, I went from caretaker to trophy husband, showered with grand gestures—million-dollar proposals, public declarations of love.
For a while, I was the envy of every man in the city.
Then he came back.
Dylan Hughes—her first love, her real love. The moment he reappeared, I was nothing but an obstacle. She tossed me out like yesterday's trash. No money. No dignity. Just a bottle of sleeping pills and the crushing realization that after 25 years of chasing four heroines, I'd lost everything.
The system had promised me one mercy: Die here, and you wake up back home. As the darkness crept in, I heard a voice—sharp, venomous—dragging me back to hell.
"Ryan Scott, I know you're awake."
Luna Wright loomed over me, her glare colder than the grave. "You picked today to kill yourself? The day Dylan comes home? Pathetic. Were you hoping your corpse would ruin his celebration?"
Ah, Luna. My beloved wife. The woman who'd once clung to me, whispering "I can't live without you."
Funny how things change.
When we first met, she'd played the perfect fool—wide-eyed, fragile, dodging her family's blood-soaked power struggles by pretending to be broken. I fell for it. For her. Three years of devotion, and the second the last heir choked on their own ambition, she "recovered." Took the empire for herself.
And me? I was the punchline.
She begged me to stay, of course. Dropped millions on a spectacle of a proposal, petals swirling, cameras flashing. "Ryan, please—I love you." Lies tasted sweeter when wrapped in roses.
Then Dylan waltzed back into her life, and suddenly, I was the problem. "Why can't you understand?" she'd sneer, dodging my calls. "I'm doing this for us."
Right. Us. That's why I walked in on her bent over her desk, Dylan's hands mapping territory I'd once owned. Condoms on the floor like confetti.
She didn't even let me pack. Just tossed me out—penniless, reputation in shreds. Dylan sealed the deal with a theatrical dive into the ocean and a viral tweet: "Ryan drove me to this." The internet sharpened their pitchforks. My own sister disowned me. "You're a monster," she spat.
No one listened. No one cared.
So why did Luna drag me back from the edge?
Gasping, I met her hate-filled stare. "Just... kill me."
Her hand cracked across my face. "If you want to die, do it quietly," she hissed. "You're disgusting."
The bodyguards hurled me onto the street. Luna stood framed in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me like I was roadkill. "Dylan wouldn't have jumped if you hadn't tormented him. Rot somewhere else."
I almost laughed. They destroy me, and I'm the villain?
Fine.
Staggering to the nearest intersection, I eyed the rush of traffic. One step—that's all it'd take.
Tires screeched. A hand fisted in my hair, wrenching me backward. "What the hell are you doing?!" Luna's voice shook—not with fear for me, but fury.
I blinked up at her. "I'm leaving you alone. Isn't that what you want?"
Her palm struck my cheek again. "Dylan drives this route. You think I'll let him see your guts on the asphalt?"
Ah. Of course.
I turned toward the river. No audience here. No mess. Just quiet.
And this time—no interruptions.
For a while, I was the envy of every man in the city.
Then he came back.
Dylan Hughes—her first love, her real love. The moment he reappeared, I was nothing but an obstacle. She tossed me out like yesterday's trash. No money. No dignity. Just a bottle of sleeping pills and the crushing realization that after 25 years of chasing four heroines, I'd lost everything.
The system had promised me one mercy: Die here, and you wake up back home. As the darkness crept in, I heard a voice—sharp, venomous—dragging me back to hell.
"Ryan Scott, I know you're awake."
Luna Wright loomed over me, her glare colder than the grave. "You picked today to kill yourself? The day Dylan comes home? Pathetic. Were you hoping your corpse would ruin his celebration?"
Ah, Luna. My beloved wife. The woman who'd once clung to me, whispering "I can't live without you."
Funny how things change.
When we first met, she'd played the perfect fool—wide-eyed, fragile, dodging her family's blood-soaked power struggles by pretending to be broken. I fell for it. For her. Three years of devotion, and the second the last heir choked on their own ambition, she "recovered." Took the empire for herself.
And me? I was the punchline.
She begged me to stay, of course. Dropped millions on a spectacle of a proposal, petals swirling, cameras flashing. "Ryan, please—I love you." Lies tasted sweeter when wrapped in roses.
Then Dylan waltzed back into her life, and suddenly, I was the problem. "Why can't you understand?" she'd sneer, dodging my calls. "I'm doing this for us."
Right. Us. That's why I walked in on her bent over her desk, Dylan's hands mapping territory I'd once owned. Condoms on the floor like confetti.
She didn't even let me pack. Just tossed me out—penniless, reputation in shreds. Dylan sealed the deal with a theatrical dive into the ocean and a viral tweet: "Ryan drove me to this." The internet sharpened their pitchforks. My own sister disowned me. "You're a monster," she spat.
No one listened. No one cared.
So why did Luna drag me back from the edge?
Gasping, I met her hate-filled stare. "Just... kill me."
Her hand cracked across my face. "If you want to die, do it quietly," she hissed. "You're disgusting."
The bodyguards hurled me onto the street. Luna stood framed in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me like I was roadkill. "Dylan wouldn't have jumped if you hadn't tormented him. Rot somewhere else."
I almost laughed. They destroy me, and I'm the villain?
Fine.
Staggering to the nearest intersection, I eyed the rush of traffic. One step—that's all it'd take.
Tires screeched. A hand fisted in my hair, wrenching me backward. "What the hell are you doing?!" Luna's voice shook—not with fear for me, but fury.
I blinked up at her. "I'm leaving you alone. Isn't that what you want?"
Her palm struck my cheek again. "Dylan drives this route. You think I'll let him see your guts on the asphalt?"
Ah. Of course.
I turned toward the river. No audience here. No mess. Just quiet.
And this time—no interruptions.
End of I Was the Rebound Husband Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to I Was the Rebound Husband book page.