The Unwanted Wife's Spectacular Ballet Comeback
Helena endured two years of a sterile, loveless marriage to billionaire CEO Dante Velasquez, playing the role of the perfect, invisible wife.
The fragile illusion shattered when she found microscopic holes systematically poked through her entire box of condoms.
When she confronted Dante, he coldly accused her of trying to trap him with a baby, then immediately abandoned her to comfort his ex-girlfriend.
But the truth was far more twisted.
At the hospital, Helena overheard her mother-in-law's horrifying plan.
"She has to get pregnant. We need the stem cells to save Julian."
They didn't want an heir. They needed Helena to be a walking incubator to harvest spare parts for Dante's sickly younger brother.
When Helena tried to fund her escape, Dante dragged her back, froze all her accounts, and forced a humiliating blood test to prove she wasn't scheming.
"You're nothing without me," he sneered, locking her inside their penthouse.
Sitting in her gilded cage, watching the media parade Dante and his ex as society's "golden couple," Helena felt her heartbreak completely evaporate.
She had sacrificed her prestigious ballet career for a family that viewed her as literal livestock.
The tears stopped, leaving behind only a cold, razor-sharp resolve.
She printed out her divorce papers, marched straight into the crowded headquarters of Velasquez Corp, and prepared to burn his empire to the ground.
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Chapter 3
The VIP wing of NewYork-Presbyterian was quiet at this hour. The halls were empty, the floors polished to a mirror shine that reflected the harsh fluorescent lights.
Helena stood outside Julian's room, her back against the wall. The admitting doctor had kicked her out while they ran tests, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the lingering smell of rubbing alcohol.
She pulled her phone from her pocket, scrolling to her contact list. Sloane Adler, her best friend and the only person outside this mess who understood. Her thumb hovered over the call button, but she hesitated. What would she even say? "Hey, my mother-in-law sabotaged my birth control, my husband is with his ex, and I just asked for a divorce"? It sounded like a bad soap opera.
She shoved the phone back in her pocket and pushed off the wall, needing to move. She walked down the corridor, her footsteps echoing softly. At the end of the hall, a small alcove housed a vending machine and a window overlooking the East River.
As she rounded the corner, she heard a voice.
It was low, hissing, and unmistakable. Debora.
Helena froze, pressing herself flat against the wall, just out of sight.
"I don't care how you do it, Brenda," Debora snarled into her phone. "The plan failed. That idiot woman found the holes."
Helena's heart stopped. She pressed a hand over her mouth, forcing herself to breathe through her nose.
"She has to get pregnant," Debora continued, her voice vibrating with a manic intensity. "Julian's match still hasn't been found. We need the umbilical cord blood. The stem cells are his only chance. Do you understand? Make it happen."
The world tilted sideways.
Helena gripped the edge of the wall, her fingernails scraping against the plaster. It wasn't about an heir. It wasn't about securing the Velasquez line. She was just a vessel. A walking incubator for spare parts. Debora wanted a baby so she could harvest its stem cells to save Julian.
A wave of nausea rolled through her, hot and violent. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to vomit right there on the hospital floor.
Debora's heels clicked as she walked away, the sound fading down the stairwell.
Helena stood there for a long moment, her legs trembling. Any lingering doubt, any tiny sliver of hope that maybe-just maybe-Dante was simply misled, evaporated. This family didn't see her as a person. She was livestock.
She turned blindly, her mind spinning, and found herself in a deserted corridor. The signs on the wall read "Physical Therapy & Rehabilitation." She leaned against the wall near an empty nurse's station, trying to catch her breath, when her eyes caught a flicker of movement on one of the small security monitors on the desk. She leaned closer.
She looked inside.
Dante was there.
He wasn't on the phone. He wasn't pacing like a CEO. He was down on one knee on the linoleum floor.
Sitting in a wheelchair was Kinsley Spencer. She was wearing a thin hospital gown, her pale blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looked fragile, beautiful, like a porcelain doll that had been broken and glued back together.
Dante's hands were wrapped around Kinsley's calf. He was massaging her leg, his thumbs working the muscle with a tenderness that Helena had never felt from him. Kinsley smiled, reaching out to run her fingers through Dante's dark hair. He looked up at her, and the expression on his face hit Helena like a physical blow.
It was devotion. Pure, unadulterated worship.
Helena stared at them, the image burning into her retinas. She thought of the condoms, of Debora's plot, of the black card thrown on the nightstand. She thought of the two years she had spent trying to be the perfect wife, invisible and obedient.
She didn't cry. The tears wouldn't come. It was as if the well inside her had run completely dry, leaving nothing but a hollow, echoing cavern.
She backed away from the desk, her footsteps silent. She turned and walked down the dark corridor, her posture rigid, her face blank.
When she reached Julian's room, the doctor was just coming out. "He's stable, Mrs. Velasquez. We're moving him to a regular room. You can see him in the morning."
"Thank you," Helena heard herself say. The voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else.
She walked out of the hospital into the freezing night air. The wind hit her face, sharp and biting, but she didn't flinch. She stood on the pavement, staring at the city lights, feeling absolutely nothing.
And in that nothingness, she found perfect clarity. Her heart wasn't broken. It was dead. And a dead heart couldn't feel pain. It could only plan.
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7.6
Isolde Mitchell knew her wealthy husband was cheating on her, but the true nightmare began when her mother-in-law summoned her.
The older woman coldly announced that the mistress was pregnant with a boy and would be moving into their estate.
Because Isolde's family had gone bankrupt and she had only given birth to a frail daughter, she was deemed completely worthless.
When Isolde packed her bags and demanded a divorce, her husband Clark just laughed.
He threatened to use their ironclad prenup to leave her penniless and take full custody of her daughter just to torture her.
To make matters worse, he forced Isolde to secure a failing business deal with the ruthless billionaire Jacques Valdez, essentially ordering her to sell her body to get the signature.
"If you fail, you will never see Bria again."
He even sent his goons to snatch the little girl from her preschool to prove his point.
Isolde was completely cornered, trembling with a mix of rage and absolute despair.
How could the man she married be such a monster? She would rather die than let them destroy her daughter, but how could a bankrupt mother fight a powerful dynasty with absolutely nothing?
Out of options, she looked at the private business card the terrifying billionaire Jacques had unexpectedly given her daughter.
Swallowing her pride, she decided to make a deal with the devil himself, ready to use his power to tear her husband's family apart.
8.0
I sat at a table for two in the center of Le Coucou, clutching a gift box that had cost me two months of savings. It was our three-year anniversary, and I was waiting for Gavin to finally ask the big question.
But when the heavy oak doors opened, Gavin didn't walk toward me with a ring. He walked in with a polished blonde heiress tucked under his arm, her hand resting protectively over a small baby bump.
"This is Tiffany Stone. My fiancée," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He didn't apologize for being late or for the three years we'd spent together. Instead, he pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a number, and slid a ten-thousand-dollar check across the white tablecloth.
"Consider it severance for your time," he added, as Tiffany mocked my cheap drugstore dress. "Don't contact me again. Tiffany doesn't need the stress." I was the entertainment for the entire restaurant—the pathetic girl dumped for a better model. By the time I walked out into the rain, I had lost my boyfriend, my home, and the funding for my secret medical research project.
I was an orphan with no safety net, facing an eviction notice and a ruined career. I had given Gavin everything, and he had discarded me like a broken tool. The injustice burned in my chest, a hot, sharp rage that replaced my tears.
Desperate and freezing, I ducked into a coffee shop where I met Colton Bentley, a reclusive billionaire in a wheelchair. After I defended him from a cruel date, he offered me a contract: a marriage of convenience and a seven-figure payment to act as his shield. I signed the papers that night, ready to use his wealth to rebuild my life. But as I watched my new husband navigate his penthouse, I noticed his "paralyzed" legs tense with a strength that shouldn't exist.
8.7
I was trapped in a greasy diner by my own mother.
She was forcing me to marry my abusive cousin because he had paid her twenty thousand dollars.
To escape, I used a contract marriage app and begged a complete stranger to marry me at City Hall that very day.
Ethan drove a cheap Ford and wore a plain suit. I thought he was just an ordinary guy needing a fake wife.
When my mother found out, she brought thugs to destroy my flower shop—my only home and livelihood.
To protect Ethan from her endless extortion, I shielded him and screamed that he was bankrupt and drowning in credit card debt.
My mother fled in disgust, and Ethan took me into his apartment for the night.
But out of trauma and habit, I locked my bedroom door, muttering that he must be old and desperate.
He stormed out into the freezing night, leaving me terrified that I had ruined my only lifeline.
I didn't understand why he was so furiously offended, completely unaware that my "broke" husband was actually the most ruthless billionaire in New York, and I had just trampled his massive ego.
The next morning, his face was a mask of ice as he dragged me back to City Hall to annul the marriage and get rid of me.
"Annulment. Now," he demanded.
But the clerk just popped her gum and slid a pink paper across the counter.
"State law changed. Mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period."
7.9
Valerie Ashford, a girl who had just turned twenty-one, was introduced by her father to his business associates at a grand party, where she met a frightening, cold-blooded man.
That man was none other than her father's business partner, the CEO of a major corporation. He was taken with Valerie and had wanted her from the moment he first laid eyes on her.
For Rovano Morvane, whatever he desired was absolute and he had to have it, even by the worst means possible.
That night Valerie vanished without a trace and Rovano became the prime suspect, yet the Ashford family could not prove their allegations.
"P-please, I don't want to die, sir..." Valerie whispered so softly that Rovano had to bend down even lower.
"Didn't you just say you didn't care whether you were kidnapped or not? So shut your mouth." Rovano ordered.
Cold, Valerie felt the other side of the folding knife pressed against her cheek.
Rovano was going to mark Valerie.
It felt like something was missing if Rovano didn't take out his psychopathic urges on someone.
And this time, for the first time, he wanted a girl: Valerie Ashford.
Would Valerie's life end here?
7.3
I woke up in a sweltering attic, my body covered in overlapping whip scars.
I was Alice Morrow, a top-tier occultist, but now I was trapped in the body of a girl who served as a human punching bag for the wealthy Wallace family.
Before I could even catch my breath, my adoptive sister Britney Wallace kicked the door open.
She pointed a silver revolver right at my forehead.
She had been siphoning my luck through a parasitic karmic tether, using me as a sink for all her misfortune.
"Go to hell, you useless freak," she screamed, pulling the trigger.
But she didn't know the absolute rule of the tether: any malicious attack reflects back to the sender.
The massive recoil blasted backward, snapping her wrist in half.
I walked out of that hellhole and was found by my biological family, the incredibly powerful Morrows.
But Britney wasn't done. She sent them deepfake photos to frame me for cursing them, and even planted a deadly amulet to kill my biological grandfather.
My own uncle threw the photos at me, his eyes full of disgust.
"She's a rabid dog raised by the Wallaces! She's been cursing her own blood!"
I didn't argue. I simply rolled up my sleeves to reveal the mangled flesh, burn marks, and protruding bones the Wallaces had left me with.
As my real family broke down in tears of agonizing guilt, I smiled and gripped my ancient copper coin.
It was time to show the Wallaces what real karma looked like.
8.5
Kelsi Owens stood in front of the mirror in a six-figure gown, ready to marry into the wealthy Harrington family.
But her fiancé, Jeb, didn't even look at her. He abandoned her right in the middle of the fitting because his widowed sister-in-law, Seraphina, called crying.
That same night, Kelsi collapsed on her apartment floor with a ruptured appendix. Sweating and in blinding agony, she called Jeb for help.
Instead of concern, she heard Seraphina laughing and party music blaring in the background. Jeb just snapped at her.
"Stop being dramatic. Seraphina is the guest of honor tonight. I can't leave."
He hung up, leaving her to call her own ambulance. Kelsi woke up from emergency surgery completely alone, only to receive a cold text from Jeb calling her fragile.
To make matters worse, her toxic adoptive family didn't care that she almost died. They demanded she crawl back and apologize to Jeb just so they could keep leeching off her connections and trust fund.
Lying in that cold hospital bed, the illusion finally shattered. For three years, she had always been the one left waiting. She realized she meant absolutely nothing to the people she loved.
Kelsi didn't cry, and she didn't beg.
She calmly texted Jeb to call off the engagement, blocked his number, and cut ties with her greedy relatives forever.
She was finally walking away. What she didn't know was that the city's most ruthless billionaire had been watching her, and he was already weaving a golden net to claim her for himself.