The Abandoned Bride

As Elena stepped out of the hospital, her hand trembled while clutching the test results, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes—unsure if they were from joy or worry.“Miss Elena, you’re pregnant.” The doctor’s words echoed in her ears.Three months ago, she had married Damien, the most powerful and desirable man in Sea City. On their wedding day, women across the city were green with envy, and even she felt like the luckiest woman in the world.Since meeting Damien at the age of twelve, a seed had been planted in Elena’s heart. For seven years, she worked hard to improve herself, just for the chance to catch a glimpse of him in a crowd. She always thought they were from different worlds; a wildflower like her, growing up in the dust, could never truly cross paths with a man like him.But whether it was fate or destiny’s cruel play, three months ago she had attended a classmate’s party—and woke up the next morning to find Damien lying beside her. The stark red on the white sheets

After leaving the Avery’s ward, Elena made her way to the Maternity department of the hospital . Her heart was heavy with fear, worried that last night’s encounter with Damien—and the brutal assault that followed—might have harmed her baby.The waiting area was crowded, filled with pregnant women glowing with joy, most of them surrounded by doting husbands or excited family members. Their faces radiated happiness and expectation. The sight pierced Elena’s heart like a knife, making her feel like a cruel joke in comparison.She was carrying the child of the man she had loved her entire life—yet that same man loved someone else. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She remembered his childish words from years ago, the warmth in his young voice as he had held her hand and promised: “When we grow up, I’ll marry you.”Yes, he had married her. But not out of love—only under duress, and with resentment burning in his heart.When the doctor finally examined her, Elena held her breath. Relief w

As Avery’s furious footsteps faded down the hall, silence returned to the hospital room. Elena leaned back against the pillows, her body trembling, her heart heavy with sorrow.Her thoughts drifted—not to Damien, not to Avery, not even to the cruel divorce papers—but to the life she had lived before ever stepping into the Salvatore villa. To the beginning of her story, where all her pain had quietly taken root.She had grown up in an orphanage. A simple, modest place where laughter echoed through the hallways and warmth was found not in riches, but in the love of one woman—the matron. The matron wasn’t her mother, but to little Elena, she was everything. She wiped Elena’s tears, braided her hair, tucked her into bed when nightmares came, and always reminded her, “You are precious, my little star.”Elena never knew her real mother. The matron always looked away whenever she did, her kind eyes clouding with pity and something too heavy for a child to understand.Then, one day, everythin

The next morning, Elena woke up with a newfound determination burning inside her. The pain from last night still lingered, but she refused to let it consume her anymore.She took a warm bath, cooked herself a simple meal, and got dressed for work. For the first time in weeks, she felt a spark of purpose.At the office, however, her mind wouldn’t stop drifting. As she worked on her design sketches, her thoughts tangled hopelessly around Damien. Twelve years of love—deep, innocent, and pure—couldn’t just vanish overnight.Her hand drifted to her still-flat belly, and a soft ache filled her chest. I wish I could give you a complete family, she whispered silently to the life growing within her.“Ping!”The sound of a new message jolted her out of her thoughts.When she glanced at her phone, her heart nearly stopped. The message was from Damien.Her hands trembled as she opened it, a flicker of hope rising—only to die instantly.The message contained a photo: one taken years ago, shortly a

Elena arrived at the Salvatore mansion as quickly as she could. The anniversary party was already in full swing: crystal chandeliers winked above the garden, champagne flutes chimed, and elegantly dressed socialites drifted through clusters of conversation. In stark contrast, Elena—having rushed from home—stood out in a simple gray outfit, feeling small and painfully out of place. She kept her head down and pushed through the crowd, planning to find Damien first. Then a woman spun around and collided with her; red wine sloshed from the woman’s glass and spread across the silk bodice. “My dress!” the woman shrieked, glaring at Elena. “Watch where you’re going! Are you blind? How could the Salvatores have such a careless servant?” The accusation snapped like a whip through the gathered guests. Elena forced herself to stay polite. “Ma’am, you bumped into me. And—I’m not a servant of the Salvatore family.” The woman raised an eyebrow, taking in Elena’s plain clothes. Her haughty expre