Not A Trophy Wife

My name was Savannah Lewis.

Once I was a princess.

Not of royal lineage. But for years, I floated through life as if I wore a crown on my head.

I met my husband, Dominic, in college. Back then, I dreamed of building a career in accounting and finance. But after we married, I realized that Dominic's vision for our life was different from mine. As the heir to a multi-billion-dollar company, he came from a family where the men ran the business and wives were placed on golden pedestals — cared for, pampered, adored. The twenty-two-year-old me, head over heels, set aside her own ambitions without hesitation and stepped into the role expected of her. At the time, I couldn't imagine any future except one built together with Dominic.

It wasn't hard, I admit. The kind of life many girls dreamed of.

My days followed a strict yet beautiful routine. Every morning, our family hairdresser arrived at our three-story mansion to style my hair. Then came coffee with my best friends, shopping, and lunch. Afternoons were filled with sports, yoga, and massages. Dominic always encouraged me to keep my body in perfect shape. He liked things a certain way, and I took pride in never disappointing him.

Most weeknights, we dined at fine restaurants. Fridays were reserved for ladies' night — cocktails in luxury bars while Dominic hosted poker with his buddies from the golf club.

As for our intimate life, over the years, the passion had slightly faded, but that was what Wednesdays were for. Every Wednesday night, my husband was mine alone. No work, no phone calls, no business. Just the two of us. My favorite time.

Living by such a strict schedule, even regarding intimacy, felt strange at first. But Dominic couldn't stand chaos or spontaneity. Everything had to be planned. Even love. So, over time, I embraced it.

And so five contented years of marriage passed.

Everything seemed perfect. I loved my husband more than anything in the world. And he loved me.

Or so I believed. Until May 13th.