Lahat ng Kabanata ng THE WIFE HE CHOSE FOR REVENGE: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 17

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

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

CelesteThe blinking red light on the smoke detector was smaller than a grain of rice, but in the quiet dark of three in the morning, it felt as loud as a siren.I lay perfectly still on the silk sheets, keeping my breathing even and slow. In through the nose, out through the mouth. A steady, rhythmic rise and fall of my chest that would look to anyone watching like a woman deep in dreamless sleep. My body was exhausted, but my mind was operating at a fever pitch, tracking every tiny anomaly in the East Wing.It had taken me four days to notice the pattern. Four days of living in this gilded cage before the subtle, unnatural details stopped looking like luxury and started looking like prison bars.The smart mirror in the bathroom took a half-second too long to activate when I walked in, its camera lens making an imperceptible click behind the tinted glass. The digital thermostat on the wall clicked on whenever I spoke above a whisper, its internal microphone adjusting to the change in