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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 6
The SUV cut through the Manhattan traffic, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. Inside, the air was thick with a silence so heavy it pressed against Helena's eardrums.
The guards sat like statues on either side of her, their hands folded in their laps. Dante sat across from her, his ankle resting on his knee, his gaze boring into her.
"Tell me," Dante said, his voice slicing through the quiet. "Who put you up to this?"
Helena turned her head, staring out the window at the passing storefronts. She didn't answer.
"Was it Sloane?" Dante pressed, his tone hardening. "Did your lawyer friend tell you to sell the necklace? Did she tell you to file for divorce so you could challenge the prenup and take half my company?"
His words were like poison darts, each one aimed at a specific, painful memory. He truly believed she was a con artist. He had believed it from the very beginning.
"Is that what you think?" Helena asked, her voice flat. "That I'm doing this for money?"
"What else is there?" Dante scoffed. He shifted forward, his presence overwhelming the small space. "You think I don't see the game you're playing? The poor little girl who spilled wine on me at the charity gala, just looking for a rich husband?"
Helena's blood ran cold. The charity gala. The one night she wanted to forget more than anything.
Dante pulled out his phone, but he didn't swipe through photos. He made a call, his eyes never leaving hers. "Alex," he commanded, his voice sharp. "Send me the security stills from the Met Gala, two years ago. The ballroom entrance." A moment later, his phone buzzed. He turned the screen toward her. It was a grainy shot, but unmistakable. Helena, wearing a catering uniform that was two sizes too big, a tray of empty champagne glasses in one hand, a dark red stain spreading across the front of Dante's white tuxedo jacket.
"Quite the performance," Dante said, his lip curling. "The clumsy waitress. The damsel in distress. Except I checked. You weren't on the catering staff that night. You weren't a guest. How did you get in, Helena? How much did you pay someone to let you in?"
Helena's throat tightened. She couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't explain that she had taken the place of a friend who was sick, that she had signed an NDA, that she had promised never to reveal how she had ended up in that room.
She said nothing.
Dante took her silence as an admission of guilt. He put the phone away, leaning back against the leather seat, a look of disgust on his face.
"That's what I thought," he said softly. "You're a fraud, Helena. From the very first second I met you. You saw a mark, and you went in for the kill."
He leaned in close, his face inches from hers. His breath was warm, smelling faintly of black coffee. "But you miscalculated. You think you can take me for a ride? You think you can threaten me with divorce? I own you. I own the roof over your head, the food in your stomach, and the shoes on your feet. And if you ever, ever try to humiliate me again, I will make sure you end up on the street with nothing but the clothes on your back."
He pulled back, his eyes raking over her with a cold, clinical detachment.
Helena felt something inside her snap. It wasn't her heart-that was already dead. It was the last thread of hope she had been clinging to, the tiny, pathetic belief that maybe, if she just explained herself, he would understand.
He didn't want to understand. He wanted to win. He needed her to be the villain so he could justify the way he treated her.
She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since he got in the car. He was a man driven by control, blinded by his own ego. He was pathetic.
She didn't say a word. She just turned her head back to the window and watched the city slide by.
Dante stared at her, waiting for tears, for begging, for anger. When none came, a flicker of annoyance crossed his features. He had expected a fight. He had wanted a fight so he could crush her.
Instead, she gave him nothing.
The car pulled into the underground garage of their building. The driver parked in the reserved spot, and the guards immediately got out, opening the door for Dante.
Dante stepped out, straightening his jacket. He looked at Helena, who was still sitting in the car, her face a mask of calm.
"Let's go," he ordered.
Helena took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. She walked past him toward the elevator, her spine straight, her head held high.
Dante watched her go, a strange, uneasy feeling settling in his gut. He had won. He had shut down her accounts, destroyed her papers, and reminded her of her place.
So why did it feel like he had just lost something important?
You may also like
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.