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Chapter 12: The Battle of Wills
Date de publication:
2026-10-04 23:25:22
Dernier chapitre
THE WIFE HE CHOSE FOR REVENGE Chapter 12: The Battle of Wills
Celeste’s POVThe tablet screen in Rossi’s hands hummed with a low, continuous chime of incoming press alerts, but the sound felt miles away, drowned out by the sudden, violent roar of blood in my ears.A video confession. An open transmission. A dead man's switch.My father hadn't sold me to settle a debt. He hadn't thrown me to Victor Moretti out of cowardice or desperation. He had handed me over as a primed grenade, waiting for the exact moment when pulling the pin would save his own empire and blow Victor’s to pieces. I was never a bargaining chip to him; I was collateral damage he had calculated months ago.A wave of nausea hit me so fast the cold marble floor seemed to tilt beneath my bare feet. My fingers dug into the wall behind my back, searching for anything solid to keep me upright.Victor didn't scream. He didn't smash the glass or bark out panicked orders. That was the most terrifying thing about him—his anger didn't explode; it froze. The oppressive, feverish heat that h
THE WIFE HE CHOSE FOR REVENGE Chapter 11: Cought in the Dark
Celeste’s POVThe hard line of Victor’s arm clamped around my waist before my mind could register the physical reality of him behind me. He didn’t yank me backward; he moved me with a heavy, practiced authority that made resistance feel useless before I even tried."Out," he growled low against my temple, his breath a warm, dangerous contrast to the ice trickling down my spine.Before I could drag air into my lungs to protest, he guided me backward out of the design suite. The heavy oak door glided shut with a soft, magnetic clack, sealing my sanctuary—and my midnight-blue organza—behind lock and iron.We were out in the open stretch of the east wing corridor now. The hallway was vast, paved in continuous slabs of imported black marble that sucked every drop of warmth from my bare feet. The low baseboard lighting cast long, skeletal shadows across the walls, turning the luxury of his penthouse into something cold and subterranean.I dug my heels in, refusing to be herded like cattle.
THE WIFE HE CHOSE FOR REVENGE Chapter 10: Breaking Protocol
Celeste’s POVThe silence in the penthouse wasn’t just quiet; it was heavy. Suffocating. It pressed down on my chest like a physical weight, making every breath feel shallow and stolen.I stared at the ceiling of the master bedroom, tracking the faint, distorted shadows cast by the city lights filtering through the bulletproof glass. Three hours. I had been lying in this massive, cold expanse of a bed for three hours, the Egyptian cotton sheets feeling more like a shroud than comfort.Sleep was a luxury I couldn’t afford anymore. Not since the ink dried on the marriage contract. Not since I was forcefully folded into the dark, violent world of a man who looked at me not as a wife, but as a calculated acquisition.My fingers twitched against my thighs. An anxious, restless energy buzzed under my skin, starting at my wrists and climbing up my throat. I needed to move. More than that, I needed to create. Whenever my life spiraled out of my control, I turned to the only thing I could dict
THE WIFE HE CHOSE FOR REVENGE Chapter 9: The First Night
Celeste POVThe heavy crystal glass hit the mahogany bar cart with a sharp, hollow crack. I flinched. I couldn’t help it. My nerves were frayed down to the very last fiber, snapping under the suffocating weight of his presence."Welcome home, Celeste."Victor’s voice was dark and smooth, scraping against my skin like rough velvet. He didn’t look up as he poured the scotch, his broad shoulders shifting beneath the impeccable tailoring of his dark suit. The amber liquid splashed over a single sphere of ice. It was a casual, domestic motion, yet everything about the man doing it screamed violence.He picked up the glass and turned to face me. He was too tall for the room, too broad, taking up all the oxygen until my lungs burned with the lack of it. His dark eyes—so entirely devoid of warmth they looked like chips of black obsidian—locked onto mine.He held out the drink. The ice clinked gently against the rim."Take it," he said softly. Not a request. A command dressed up as hospitality
THE WIFE HE CHOSE FOR REVENGE Chapter 8: The Contract Term
POV: CelesteThe silver fork in my right hand felt like a lead weight, so heavy my fingers trembled against the polished stem. I forced my posture straight, digging my fingernails into the meat of my palm beneath the linen napkin on my lap. Pain was useful. Pain kept the tears locked behind my eyes where they belonged.Across the long mahogany dining table, Victor Vance hadn't touched his wine.The dining hall of his estate was suffocatingly quiet, save for the rhythmic tick of a grandfather clock in the corner and the soft clink of his knife against the porcelain plate. Everything about this room screamed ancient, untouchable wealth—from the intricate crown molding to the flickering crystal chandelier above us. But to me, it felt like a gilded execution chamber."You aren't eating, Celeste," Victor said, his voice smooth, low, and devoid of any warmth.He didn't look up from his plate. He cut his pan-seared sea bass with clinical, terrifying precision, as if performing surgery rather
THE WIFE HE CHOSE FOR REVENGE Chapter 7 : The Gilded Fortress
POV: CelesteThe elevator didn’t just close; it sealed with a soft, pneumatic hiss that sucked every last molecule of air out of my lungs.Eighty floors up. Eighty-one. Eighty-two.Every glowing white number on the digital display felt like the strike of a judge’s gavel, steadily confirming my sentence. My palms were damp inside my lace gloves. I squeezed my fingers into tight fists, forcing my spine straight, but the sheer silk of my evening gown offered zero protection against the sub-zero blast of the air conditioner humming overhead.Turn back, a voice screamed inside my head. Hit the emergency stop button, force the doors, run back out into the chaotic, rain-slicked city streets where nobody knows your name.But running wasn't an option anymore. Not after the call this morning. Not after my father’s desperate, tear-stained face flashed in my mind. The folded contract resting in my satin clutch was heavy—a paper anchor dragging me straight into the deep end. I had signed my life a
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