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