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His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Designer's Return

His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Designer's Return

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10 Chapters
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For three years, I played the perfect, obedient trophy wife in my contract marriage with NHL superstar Denver Dickerson. But on the night of our third anniversary, he came home smelling like his supermodel mistress. The tabloids had just leaked her maternity file from a private Manhattan hospital. When I calmly brought it up, he just looked at me with cold disgust. "So what? You knew what this marriage was worth when you forced me to sign that license." He let his mistress humiliate me in public, mocking me for being a barren wife who couldn't give him an heir. But he didn't know that three years ago, I actually was pregnant with his child. His own cousin had pushed me down a flight of stairs, violently killing my baby. Instead of helping me, Denver had locked down the hospital records and coldly accused me of faking a pregnancy scam to tie him down. I swallowed the blood and stayed silent for three years just to keep my brother alive, letting him treat me worse than a dog. He thought I was just a useless gold-digger who couldn't survive a single day without his money. So, I handed him a no-fault divorce agreement, voluntarily waiving every single cent of his ten-billion-dollar empire. I packed my cheap clothes, walked out of his penthouse, and picked up the tailoring shears I had buried three years ago. It is time for the vanished genius designer to make her comeback.

Contents

His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Designer's Return Chapter 1

Erie Dickson POV:

I pushed the last cold plate of Beef Wellington to the edge of the long dining table, rubbing my right wrist as a dull ache radiated up my arm from hours of gripping a sketching pencil.

I forced my stiff fingers to straighten the silver cutlery beside the porcelain plates.

On the wall, the vintage brass clock ticked loudly, its heavy hands crossing midnight and turning my solo preparations for our third wedding anniversary into a complete joke.

I picked up the crystal decanter, poured the dark Bordeaux into my goblet, and gulped it down, letting the burning alcohol slide into my stomach to numb the heavy throbbing in my chest, as if an invisible fist were squeezing my heart.

Suddenly, the digital lock on the front door beeped, and my fingers tightened around the empty glass stem as a tall shadow fell across the foyer.

Denver Dickerson, my husband of three years, the reigning NHL superstar captain and heir to a hundred-billion-dollar sports empire, pushed the door open, carrying the freezing chill of the Madison Square Garden ice rink with him, his black tailored suit jacket slung carelessly over his knuckles.

He didn't even spare a glance at the glowing candles on the table, walking straight to the marble bar while his long fingers yanked his silk tie loose with the lazy arrogance of a man used to ruling every room.

I took a deep breath, stood up from the barstool, and walked toward him, my high heels sinking softly into the Persian rug.

He paused mid-pour, tilting his head as his deep blue-gray eyes locked onto me with pure mockery.

"What little game is Mrs. Dickerson playing tonight?"

That cold title washed over me like a bucket of ice water, freezing me from head to toe, yet I forced a flat smile and stepped within two feet of his towering frame.

He frowned slightly, his massive athlete's build forcing me to tilt my chin up as the sharp scent of his aftershave mixed with locker room frost filled my lungs.

I raised my hand and brushed my fingertips lightly across his stiff lapel, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt tense instantly.

He clamped his hand around my wrist with bone-crushing force, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl.

"You're drunk, Erie."

Riding the buzz of the wine, I didn't pull back, meeting his sharp glare with a soft, breathless whisper.

"It's our third anniversary, shouldn't we do what married couples do?"

Denver's pupils shrank, his Adam's apple bobbing as his grip on my wrist tightened and his breathing hitched.

Catching him off guard, I twisted my wrist free and threw both arms around his broad shoulders, pressing my weight against his rock-hard chest.

He let out a low grunt, his hands coming up to shove me away, only to freeze mid-air the second his palms brushed my waist, as if my skin had burned him.

I stood on my tiptoes, letting my warm breath ghost across his sharp jawline while the pulse under his skin began to hammer wildly.

Suddenly, his large hand gripped the back of my head, dark fire roaring in his blue-gray eyes.

"You asked for this."

The room spun as he slammed me back against the freezing marble bar counter, the chill biting into my spine before his burning body covered mine completely.

His mouth crashed down on mine in a punishing, relentless kiss, stealing every bit of air from my lungs.

I shut my eyes as a single hot tear slipped down my cheek, my fingers clutching his dress shirt tightly to match his loveless frenzy.

A crystal glass was knocked off the counter, thudding onto the carpet just as his muscular arm scooped me up and carried me into the dark master bedroom.

He threw me onto the king-sized bed and came down on top of me before I could even sit up, his heavy shadow swallowing me whole.

He ripped his shirt buttons open, revealing the pale stitched scar from an old hockey skate beneath his left collarbone, radiating raw, suffocating heat.

I turned my head away to dodge his mouth, though my fingers sank into the tight muscles of his broad back.

Sensing my resistance, he paused and let out a cold laugh before his large hand tore my thin silk nightgown open.

Skin met skin with scorching heat, and I bit my lower lip hard to choke back the broken sob rising in my throat.

Displeased by my silence, he bit down hard on my collarbone, leaving a dark red mark before burying his face in the crook of my neck with ragged breaths.

Lightning flashed outside the floor-to-ceiling window, illuminating the cold, detached lust on his face as I squeezed my eyes shut in total despair.

The tangled madness of alcohol and desperation dragged on until he finally rolled off me, leaving only heavy panting in the dark room.

I numbly pulled the duvet over my bruised body, listening to his breathing slow into deep sleep as the last trace of warmth inside me died out.

Sliding out from under the covers, I placed my bare feet on the freezing hardwood floor and walked into the walk-in closet, my legs trembling with every step.

I threw a loose trench coat over my battered frame and pulled a brown kraft folder from the very bottom drawer.

Walking back to the bedside, I stood in the pale moonlight, staring down at the man who was my husband only on paper, ready to use this document to end his delusions of my greed once and for all.

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