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Chapter 15: Rumours At the Fitting
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2026-10-11 18:36:43
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THE WIFE HE CHOSE FOR REVENGE Chapter 15: Rumours At the Fitting
Celeste’s POVThe silk felt like a lie under my fingertips.It was a brilliant, liquid emerald—a fabric so expensive it seemed to carry its own weight as I draped it over the shoulders of Mrs. Evelyn Vance. My atelier in the heart of the city was supposed to be my sanctuary, the only place where I wasn't just the collateral damage of my father’s sins or the captive bride of Victor’s empire. Here, with a mouthful of silver pins and a tape measure draped around my neck, I was just a designer. I had control.Or at least, I pretended I did."A little tighter around the bodice, Celeste, darling," Evelyn murmured, inspecting her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She was the wife of a federal judge, a woman whose blood ran as cold as the diamonds resting against her collarbone. "I have a gala on Friday, and I refuse to let that dreadful Moretti woman outshine me again.""Of course, Mrs. Vance," I replied smoothly, dropping to my knees to adjust the hemline. The cold marble floor see
THE WIFE HE CHOSE FOR REVENGE Chapter14: The Masked Billionaire
Celeste’s POVThe heavy weight of emeralds felt like a cold blade resting against my collarbone.I stood on the glass balcony of the Sovereign Lounge, looking down into a cavernous ballroom dripping in gold leaf and black crystal. Down below, the world’s elite moved like polished ghosts—men in hand-tailored tuxedoes, women draped in haute couture that cost more than my family’s entire estate. These weren't mere local elites or wealthy socialites. I recognized three sitting state governors, two foreign ambassadors, and the CEO of the world’s largest defense contractor mingling casually beside champagne towers.And yet, none of them were the center of gravity in this room.That honor belonged to the man standing behind me, his hand resting lightly against the small of my back.Victor’s palm was warm through the thin satin of my gown, but his touch carried no tenderness. It was an anchor. A reminder of ownership. He wore an immaculate, obsidian-black tuxedo with no lapel pin, no flashy w
THE WIFE HE CHOSE FOR REVENGE Chapter 13: Public Performance
Celeste’s POVThe emerald silk of the gown felt less like haute couture and more like tailored armor. The back was cut impossibly low, exposing the faint, sensitive skin on the small of my waist where Victor’s fingers had dug into me hours earlier in the dark hallway. Now, under the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the vanity mirror, I stared at my own reflection, barely recognizing the woman staring back. My lips were painted a fierce, unapologetic crimson. My dark hair was pinned into a sleek, impenetrable crown.I looked serene. I looked expensive. I looked like the beloved bride of a syndicate titan.And beneath the silk, I was trembling so hard my teeth clicked together."You're stiff," Victor’s voice cut through the soft purr of the limousine engine.He sat across from me in the custom leather interior, impeccably tailored in a dark charcoal suit that hid every trace of the monster who had pinned me to a marble wall standard hours ago. His white shirt was pristine, his silver c
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
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