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His Unwanted Wife Is A Genius Designer

Chapter 5

Word Count: 739 | Released on: Today at 15:18

r. Her ruined heels clicked sharply against the

rough the gla

her face, instantly stripping away the st

and. A yellow Ford taxi with its roof lig

y door and slid into the

r in the rearview mirror

ed Hook, Brooklyn. The

t the cold glass window. She watched the blurred neon lights streak by, the

ocked h

vate number. She blocked his work number. She open

ed a secure, u

he security protocols for the Brooklyn studio. Wipe all

e, weathered red-brick buildin

driver a wad of c

iron door. Hidden beneath a metal

ed in a complex t

chanical clunk. She pushed the door open and

ter breaker swi

s slammed on, flooding the caverno

ve objects draped in thick, gray canvas dus

one, grabbed the edge of th

loded into the air, catc

ustom sewing machine, a massive drafting

oom and slid back a fake brick panel,

the scanner and leaned in. A

teel door p

rass wax seal stamp. Carved into the meta

gn sketches. They were bold, avant-garde,

e ambition she had suffocated for six years fla

hed bathroom and flipped

ding waves of hair-styled specifically to meet the Castro fami

and pulled out a pair

at the nape of her neck. Without a sin

ck of hair h

t at her jawline. The transformation was instant. The soft, submissi

gown and pulled on a crisp,

ing table and pulled out a s

across the page, slashing dark, aggressive li

ruised purple as the sun rose. The morning light hit th

e and dialed Eleonore

ty to call me at this hour?" the legendary fashi

red at the

ack," she s

Chapter End

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His Unwanted Wife Is A Genius Designer

Fritz Heaney Billionaires

“For six years, I played the perfect, submissive wife to Wall Street titan Francis Castro. I suffocated my own ambitions to fit into his conservative world. But while I waited alone at a Michelin restaurant, a news alert popped up. My husband had just dropped millions on an aquamarine diamond necklace for his "muse," Chanelle. The real nightmare began when I rushed home to find our five-year-old son in severe anaphylactic shock. I frantically called Francis from the ambulance, but he manually rejected my calls. He couldn't leave the bidding war for Chanelle's PR launch. When he finally arrived at the ER, Chanelle was right beside him, wearing that blinding multi-million-dollar necklace. He didn't ask about our dying son. "Why weren't you watching him?" he demanded, his voice hard and accusing. And when my son woke up, hazy from the drugs, he rejected my touch and reached for Chanelle instead. Francis just stood there, praising Chanelle for knowing exactly how to calm him down. I stared at the three of them looking like a perfect, happy family. Six years of swallowing my pride, only to realize my husband would let our son choke to death just to buy another woman's smile. The last thread of my heart snapped. I handed him the divorce papers, demanding zero alimony. Then, I drove to a hidden Brooklyn loft, cut off my hair, and unlocked my safe. It was time to resurrect my true identity-the legendary fashion designer, Ember.J. I am going to burn her empire to the ground.”