Married to the Wrong CEO

Chapter 80: A good wife

Llara’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

"Don’t be stupid, Dora! Realistically, you don’t even know who this man is!"

The words hit hard, sharper than Dora expected, even though she knew Llara wasn’t wrong. There was no softness in her tone, no attempt to cushion the truth. Llara had always been like this—brutally honest when it mattered most.

"Have you forgotten the video you had on him?" Llara continued, her voice lowering but growing more intense. "You said it yourself. Billionaires don’t amass that kind of money without getting blood on their hands."

She moved closer as she spoke, her steps deliberate, her presence almost overwhelming. It felt less like concern and more like a final warning, as though she were making sure Dora couldn’t look away, couldn’t pretend not to hear.

"Don’t overreach," Llara said firmly. "It’s not worth it."

Dora shook her head slowly, almost instinctively. Her chest felt tight, her breath shallow. She knew she should listen—she was listening—but something inside her refused to settle.

"What about the baby?" Dora whispered harshly.

The word baby felt strange on her tongue, frightening and grounding all at once. She hadn’t planned for this. None of this had been part of the original agreement, part of the cold, calculated decision she’d made to save her family.

"I didn’t think so much about it at first," she continued, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound composed. "But this baby is becoming a reality. Slowly... day by day."

Her hands shook as she spoke, fingers curling and uncurling as if she didn’t know where to place them. When she finally lowered them to her stomach, the gesture felt instinctive, protective.

"This child is also mine," she whispered.

Llara’s expression hardened. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

She shook her head once before stepping closer—too close. There was no space between them now, no room for retreat. Her voice dropped into a whisper, one meant only for Dora.

"The moment you agreed to the contract, you gave up all rights to this child. Don’t even bring it up with Dante."

The words felt final, like a verdict.

"What if you piss him off," Llara went on, relentless, "and he decides to end the verbal contract and toss you out? Have you forgotten the condition you and your family are in right now?"

Dora swallowed hard.

"You don’t hold any of the cards," Llara added coldly. "Dante does."

Tears burned at the corners of Dora’s eyes, threatening to spill. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall, but Llara saw them anyway. She saw—and chose to ignore them.

Instead, she reached out and grabbed Dora’s hands tightly, grounding her whether she wanted it or not.

"This will sound harsh," Llara said, her grip firm, "but take it for what it is. You can have ten other children if you want—somewhere else. With the family drama surrounding the Bellinis, the last thing you want is to get involved."

Her face finally shifted, concern seeping through the harshness as she stared deeply into Dora’s eyes.

"Dante is bloody rich," Llara said quietly, "and one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen. But get over him. He is not—"

"I understand."

Dora interrupted her, her voice tired but steady.

Llara stopped mid-sentence, surprised.

"I understand," Dora repeated with a sigh as she met Llara’s gaze head-on. "He’s bad for me. And with the situation my family and I are in, I can’t afford to ruin the contract. Not until Tiberio is taken care of."

Llara nodded vigorously, relief flashing across her face.

"That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to say," she agreed.

Dora turned away and walked toward the bed. Her legs felt heavy, as though the conversation had drained whatever strength she had left. She fell onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling, her mind blank and overwhelmed all at once.

Llara followed and lay down beside her. Neither of them spoke.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, filled with everything they didn’t say. The ornate ceiling blurred above Dora’s eyes as she stared without seeing, her thoughts tangled and restless.

Time passed—minutes, maybe more—before Llara finally broke the silence.

"Think of the money," she whispered. "Think of the money and nothing else."

Her voice was low, almost a chant meant to steady them both.

Dora nodded lightly, her lashes fluttering as tears finally coated them. She closed her eyes, letting the tears slip free without making a sound.

They stayed like that for a long time.

It wasn’t until after nine in the evening that Llara finally insisted on leaving.

She tied her long black hair into a bun atop her head, the dark strands still long enough to brush her waist. Dora watched quietly, noting how her own hair—once longer—now barely reached past her chin.

"Are you sure you can’t stay?" Dora asked softly. Worry etched her features. "Tiberio knows about you. That means you could be in danger too."

Llara scoffed lightly.

"Relax. I work in clubs and hotels. If they wanted me, they would’ve acted already—not just stolen my phone."

She adjusted her jacket and continued, speaking more than usual, as if trying to ease Dora’s fears.

"I’m always careful. I run around bad crowds, remember? The key is never allowing yourself to be alone in deserted places."

Dora nodded, unconvinced but comforted all the same. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

"Stay safe," she whispered as they stood outside the mansion, beside the sleek cars waiting to escort Llara away.

She leaned in and hugged her tightly.

Llara hugged her back just as firmly. "Take care of yourself," she whispered with genuine concern. She knew that even inside the mansion, Dora wasn’t completely safe. If a servant could poison her once, it could happen again.

The goodbyes eventually ended, and Llara climbed into the car. Dora stood aside, watching as the door closed and the vehicle pulled away, bodyguards following close behind.

Even after the car disappeared from view, Dora remained standing there.

The estate grounds were beautiful—lush, expansive, meticulously maintained—but Dora didn’t see any of it. Her gaze stayed fixed on the distance, unfocused.

Llara’s words replayed in her mind.

She knew they were true.

And yet...

Her hands hovered over her belly.

"I’m not asking for love," she murmured under her breath. She knew she didn’t love Dante. She didn’t know him well enough for that.

What she wanted was simpler—and perhaps more dangerous.

She wanted a chance.

A chance to fill a space no one else would.

Is that selfish? she asked herself, already knowing the answer.

Turning around, she made her way back to her room, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. With every step, her resolve hardened.

She began thinking—not about if she would act, but how.

How to move carefully. How to ensure she got what she wanted without risking everything.

’Dante is a good man,’ she thought, her eyes lighting up despite herself. ’He’ll make a great father.’

And then, quietly, decisively—

’I’ll show him that I can make a good wife.’