Helene Richard: The Truth Unveiled

For ten years, I was the perfect wife to Wall Street heir Garrett Wise. I was the polished GNN anchor who cleaned up his scandals, all while his family paid for my mother's mounting medical bills.

But when a photo of him draped over my on-air rival went viral, I finally had enough and served him divorce papers.

His revenge was brutal. He had me fired, framed for taking bribes, and publicly humiliated on my own network.

Even my own son was turned against me, calling me a "bad mommy" after his grandmother and Garrett's mistress poisoned his mind.

Trapped in our penthouse, Garrett offered me a disgusting deal to stay as his quiet, compensated wife while his mistress, Daphne, faked a pregnancy to secure her place.

That's when I discovered the cruelest irony: I was actually pregnant with his child.

As he lunged at me, his hands reaching for my throat, I grabbed the nearest weapon.

"You did this," I whispered, looking him dead in the eye.

Then I plunged the silver letter opener into my own stomach, sacrificing our unborn child to ensure he would carry the guilt, and I would finally be free.

Chapter 1

Helene Richard POV:

The split screen of the newsroom feed burned into my eyes: my face, perfectly coiffed, delivering the evening headlines, and beside it, a grainy paparazzi shot of Garrett. My husband. The man whose name was synonymous with Wall Street royalty. He was draped over Daphne McClure, my on-air rival, her hand tangled in his notoriously expensive hair. The caption screamed: "Wise Capital Heir's Latest Scandal: Is GNN Anchor Helene Richard Next?"

My producer's voice, tight with panic, buzzed in my earpiece. "Helene, we've got a live hit from the Wise Capital PR team in T-minus sixty seconds. Celsa Wise herself is on the line, demanding a statement."

I took a deep breath, the expensive silk of my blazer feeling like a straitjacket against my skin. My smile, practiced over a decade of reporting on other people's disasters, stayed fixed. My heart, however, felt like a trapped bird beating against a cage. This wasn' t just a scandal. This was my life, broadcast live.

The cameras whirred to life. "Welcome back," I said, my voice steady, "to GNN News. We have breaking news regarding the recent allegations surrounding Garrett Wise, heir to Wise Capital." The words tasted like ash. My own husband. My own network. My own rival.

My mother-in-law, Celsa Wise, appeared on the screen, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her eyes, even through the lens, were ice. "My son, Garrett Wise," she began, her voice a low, commanding purr, "has always been a passionate, if sometimes misguided, individual. These regrettable photos are a private matter, being handled within the family."

She paused, turning her gaze directly into the camera, directly at me. "Helene, as Garrett's devoted wife, is fully aware of the steps we are taking to address these... misunderstandings. We stand united."

United. The word hung in the air, a cruel joke. I wanted to laugh. Or scream. Instead, I nodded, a faint, professional smile playing on my lips. My co-anchor, a man whose easy charm usually put me at ease, looked away. Everyone knew. Everyone always knew.

After the segment, the newsroom was a hive of whispers. Eyes followed me, pity mixed with morbid curiosity. I walked straight to my dressing room. The air was thick with the scent of hairspray and betrayal. My assistant, a sweet, naive girl named Chloe, hovered by the door.

"Ms. Richard," she stammered, "Mr. Wise just called. He said he's going to be home tonight. He wants to... talk."

Talk. Garrett' s definition of talking usually involved an expensive gift and a half-hearted apology. Not this time. This time, he' d gone too far. Daphne McClure. My rival. The blonde ambition with the predatory smile.

I looked at my reflection. Ten years. Ten years of cleaning up his messes. Ten years of being the dutiful, poised wife who held the family name together. No more. The decision solidified in my gut, cold and hard.

I pulled out my phone, fingers shaking slightly. I typed a message to my lawyer. "Prepare the papers. I want a divorce. And I want everything they owe me." The message sent. A small, desperate tremor of power ran through me.

That night, the New York skyline glittered outside the windows of our penthouse. The silence in the apartment was heavy, punctuated only by the distant wail of sirens. Garrett usually arrived home late, smelling of bourbon and regret. Tonight, I was waiting.

He finally walked in, his tie loose, his expensive suit rumpled. He saw me sitting on the sofa, divorce papers neatly stacked on the coffee table. He chuckled, a dismissive sound that always grated on my nerves.

"Helene, darling," he slurred, dropping his briefcase with a thud. "Still up? You look lovely, but a bit grim. Don't tell me you actually bought into all that tabloid nonsense." He walked towards me, a careless grin on his face, trying to kiss my forehead.

I recoiled. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "It's not nonsense, Garrett. It's real. And this is real too." I pushed the papers across the table with my index finger. The crisp white sheets slid across the polished wood, stopping directly in front of him.

Garrett' s smile faltered. His eyes, usually clouded with indifference, sharpened as he read the bold print: Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.

"What the hell is this?" His voice rose, a sharp edge replacing the earlier nonchalance. "A joke? After everything Celsa did today to protect you, protect us?"

"Protect me?" I laughed, a raw, bitter sound. "She protected the Wise name. I was just a convenient shield, as always." My heart was pounding, but my resolve held.

His face turned a dangerous shade of red. "You think you can just walk away? With a 'significant portion of the family's assets'?" He slammed his hand on the table, making the papers jump. "You have no idea who you're dealing with, Helene. You have no idea what we can do."

"Oh, I think I do," I countered, my voice dangerously calm. "I've been dealing with it for ten years. And I've finally had enough."

He lunged forward, grabbing my arm. His grip was bruising. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare threaten me or my family. Or our son." His words were a low growl, laced with venom. "Kellen needs his mother. He needs his family intact."

The mention of Kellen should have shattered me. It used to. But not anymore. Not after the way Celsa had poisoned him against me, turning my own child into a weapon. "That woman," Kellen had called me, his small face contorted with disdain, echoing his grandmother' s words. "Daphne is prettier. She likes to play with me." The memory was still a fresh wound, but it no longer swayed me. It hardened me.

"Kellen," I said, pulling my arm free with a sharp yank, "has made his choices clear. And so have I."

His eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed with fury. He raised his hand, and for a fleeting second, I saw the true, unvarnished cruelty beneath the charming veneer. My hand shot out, grabbing the nearest thing, a heavy silver letter opener, and pointed it at him, not to hurt, but to create distance, a barrier.

He stopped, momentarily stunned by my defiance. "You think you can fight me?" he sneered. "You think you can walk away from us with anything but the clothes on your back?" He grabbed my wrist again, twisting it.

A sharp, searing pain shot up my arm. I gasped, dropping the letter opener. It clattered loudly on the polished floor. Before I could react, he shoved me hard. I stumbled backward, my head hitting the edge of the ornate marble fireplace with a sickening thud. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and a warm, sticky liquid trickled down the back of my neck.

He stood over me, breathing heavily, his chest heaving. His eyes, initially filled with rage, now held a flicker of something else. Fear? Regret? It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a cold, calculating resolve.

"You will regret this, Helene," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. "I made you. I can just as easily unmake you. You will lose everything. Your career. Your reputation. Everything." He turned abruptly, stalking towards the door.

With a final, contemptuous glance, he slammed the door shut behind him, leaving me sprawled on the cold marble, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth, and the throbbing pain in my head a stark reminder of the war that had just begun.