My Wife Tricked Me To Become A Househusband

Five years ago, I lost my memory in a car accident. Eira Jones had claimed she was my beloved.

She saved me, cared for me, and we naturally got married.

For five years, I managed every aspect of our home for her. As I tended to her every need with unwavering devotion, I was convinced I was the happiest husband in the world.

But as I was about to tidy up the study, I overheard Eira and her childhood sweetheart talking.

“Eira, these past five years, Vedran Clarus has been utterly devoted to you. He just hasn’t chewed your food for you! I’m getting jealous.”

Eira kissed his cheek affectionately. “Silly boy, those chores are his responsibility. I’d never let you do them.”

Furious, I burst through the door and accused Reed Harris of being a shameless homewrecker.

But to my shock, he showed his marriage certificate to Eira. He declared that I was the third wheel in their relationship.

As we shoved each other about, my head slammed into the bookshelf, and my memories returned.

Apparently, I was the sole heir to the city’s wealthiest, the Grant family.

I watched as Eira ranted accusations at me, and the fair-faced, pretty boy in her arms feigned hurt.

I turned and dialed my childhood sweetheart’s number. “Elena Gibson, your fiance is being bullied!”

“Vedran! I finally got through to you!

“I’ve pinned the location. In three hours, I’ll be there to take you home.

“Wait for me!”

Elena Gibson’s voice on the phone was familiar and reassuring. It made me feel reassured.

“Okay.”

After hanging up, I washed the bleeding wound on my forehead with cold water.

My reflection in the mirror was deathly pale, yet my eyes no longer held the meekness and confusion of the past five years. Only frigid ice remained.

My name was Vedran Clarus, or rather, I just finally remembered that my name was Vedran Grant, the sole heir of the Grant family.

After treating my wound, I stepped out of the bathroom.

Eira Jones stood on the second-floor corridor while looking down on me. She still protectively clutched Reed Harris in her arms. His expression was twisted with hurt.

“Hey, Vedran, if you’re not dead, stop playing dead!” Her voice dripped with disgust.

“You could have dodged the blow just now. Why did you crash into the bookshelf on purpose? Do you know how scared Reed was? Come over here and apologize to him right now!”

These shameless words felt like a steel needle piercing through my heart.

I had endured five years as the passive “Vedran Clarus” for a woman like this.

Countless memories flooded my mind like a tidal wave. The life of “Vedran Grant” felt as vivid as yesterday.

What followed was a torrent of hatred.

Five years ago, I awoke from a car accident with no memory at all.

Eira had held my hand and gently told me that she had been my fiancee of many years. She said that she was the only person I could rely on in my life.

I had believed her and clung to her like a lifeline as I followed her home.

She did not just erase my past, but also gave me a false identity by obtaining a fake marriage certificate that seemed utterly ridiculous in hindsight.

Over those five years, I had managed every aspect of her household and allowed her to pursue her career without a care.

I had even scrimped and saved for an entire month to buy her the finest gifts, all so she could hold herself with dignity during her social engagements.

I believed my sacrifices would earn her love.

In truth, everything that just happened revealed that my five years of devotion had been nothing but a thrilling game to them.

When Eira caught my unwavering stare, an inexplicable flicker of panic flashed across her face. However, it was quickly replaced by impatience.

She spat, “Hurry up and make dinner. Reed is hungry.”

Then, she swept Reed back into the room and left me alone.

I stared down at my rough hands. Once slender and strong from playing piano, they had since been covered in thin calluses from household chores.

With a bitter laugh, I returned to my room and locked the door.

The time displayed on my phone screen showed two hours and fifteen minutes remaining until the three-hour deadline.

Fine, I would play along with those two a little longer!

When Eira and Reed emerged from their room and saw the empty dining table and cold stove, their expressions darkened instantly.

“Vedran Clarus! Where the hell have you been? Where’s dinner?” She stormed into my room and kicked the door open.

“I’m tired. I don’t feel like cooking.”

Eira snorted as if hearing the biggest joke in the world. “You’re tired? What could possibly tire a man who stays home all day? Get in the kitchen and cook!”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “In that case, why not have your ‘legal husband’ do it?

“After all, I’m just a maniac who’s taken someone else’s place, right?”

I repeated Reed’s exact words back to her, and Eira’s face flushed from pale to crimson.

She probably had not expected me, someone who had always obeyed her without question, to suddenly grow fangs.

Reed stepped out from behind her with his arms crossed. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Eira, look at him. What kind of attitude is that?

“We’re just asking him to cook a meal. He’s acting as if we owed him something.

“You must’ve spoiled him rotten over these past five years!”

He turned to me and thrust his chin out haughtily. “Vedran, I advise you to remember your place.

“You eat our food and live under our roof. Isn’t it only fair to do some chores? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

I laughed. Tears welled up in my eyes.

“Your roof?” I rose and walked toward them. My gaze was fixed on Eira.

“Eira, tell me. Whose villa is this, exactly?”