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Chapter 48: The Breaking Point
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2025-10-05 07:05:54The ride back to the penthouse was the longest I’d ever endured.
The driver kept his eyes straight on the road, silent as a stone. Miguel had stayed behind in that hotel suite—too smug, too sure of himself—and yet his presence clung to me like smoke I couldn’t wash off. Ethan sat beside me, his shoulders rigid, one hand gripping his knee so tightly the tendons strained. He didn’t speak. Not a word. His silence filled the space between us, louder than any argument. I stared out the tinted window. The city lights blurred together, streaks of gold and red smeared by the rain. My own reflection stared back at me—hollow-eyed, pale, lips pressed into a thin line. I almost didn’t recognize her. When the car stopped at the building, I stepped out first. The air was damp, thick with the scent of asphalt and wet pavement. Paparazzi flashes sparked near the gates, but the guards kept them back. Still, I felt exposed, as if their camer
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The silence in the penthouse was unbearable. Even the city outside—its muted hum of horns, laughter, and occasional shouts drifting up from the street below—seemed too far away, too detached, as though mocking the storm that brewed inside me. I paced across the living room, barefoot on the cool marble floors. My skin prickled with the remnants of the argument I’d had with Ethan hours ago, his words replaying in a loop inside my head. “You think love alone can keep you safe? Ariana, the world I live in will devour you if you keep searching for truths that are better left buried.” That voice, clipped and cold, still lingered in the air like smoke. Yet beneath it, I had seen it—the flicker in his eyes, the hesitation that betrayed the iron walls he constantly built. I wrapped my arms around myself as if I could shield my heart from breaking any further. But the truth was, I was tired. Tired of running after answers. Tired of c
The Billionaire's Broken Bride Chapter 49: The Things We Don't Say
The house felt too big that morning. I woke to silence—not the peaceful kind, but the kind that made your chest tighten. The sheets beside me were still warm, so Ethan must have slipped out of bed not too long ago. I could still smell his cologne faintly on the pillow, that sharp, clean scent that used to comfort me. Now it only reminded me of how close he was and yet how far he felt. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the air-conditioning and the faint sounds of the city outside. Cars honking in the distance, a dog barking somewhere beyond the gates. Normal life kept moving, while inside me everything had slowed to a crawl. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I wrapped the silk robe tighter around my body. My skin felt cold, though the sun was already spilling light through the tall windows. Downstairs, the staff moved quietly, like they knew something was wrong but didn’t dare speak it. Every
The Billionaire's Broken Bride Chapter 48: The Breaking Point
The ride back to the penthouse was the longest I’d ever endured. The driver kept his eyes straight on the road, silent as a stone. Miguel had stayed behind in that hotel suite—too smug, too sure of himself—and yet his presence clung to me like smoke I couldn’t wash off. Ethan sat beside me, his shoulders rigid, one hand gripping his knee so tightly the tendons strained. He didn’t speak. Not a word. His silence filled the space between us, louder than any argument. I stared out the tinted window. The city lights blurred together, streaks of gold and red smeared by the rain. My own reflection stared back at me—hollow-eyed, pale, lips pressed into a thin line. I almost didn’t recognize her. When the car stopped at the building, I stepped out first. The air was damp, thick with the scent of asphalt and wet pavement. Paparazzi flashes sparked near the gates, but the guards kept them back. Still, I felt exposed, as if their camer
The Billionaire's Broken Bride Chapter 47: A Door Between Us
The sound of his voice froze me in place. “Ariana.” Ethan’s tone wasn’t angry, not yet—but it was deep, steady, the kind that carried weight. The kind that could unravel me with just one word. My pulse hammered against my ears. I could feel Miguel’s gaze on me, sharp as a blade, savoring the tension. He didn’t move to open the door. Instead, he tilted his head and whispered, almost smug, “Seems your husband doesn’t trust you after all.” I wanted to slap that smirk off his face. Instead, I took a breath and crossed the room, each step heavier than the last. My heels sank into the thick carpet, my throat constricting with every second Ethan stood on the other side of the door. My fingers brushed the cold brass handle, but before I could turn it, Miguel’s hand landed on my wrist. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was enough to stop me. His voice dipped low. “Think carefully, Ariana. Open that door, and you
The Billionaire's Broken Bride Chapter 46: The Trap At Hotel Valencia
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, but the sound felt unnaturally loud against the silence pressing around me. My heels clicked softly on the polished marble floor as I stepped out into the twelfth floor of Hotel Valencia. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood mixed with the sharp tang of disinfectant—an odd combination that made my chest tighten. Everything here gleamed: the golden sconces casting warm light across beige walls, the thick carpet that muffled footsteps, the faint hum of central air conditioning. It was beautiful, elegant, the kind of place people chose for secret affairs or high-stakes deals. And maybe that was exactly why Miguel had chosen it. I forced my hands to stay steady as I smoothed the front of my dress, but inside, my pulse was erratic, each beat hammering against my ribs like it wanted to escape. The memory of Ethan’s warning replayed in my head—his voice low, commanding, edged with frustration: Don’t dig into thi
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The storm had passed by morning, but the air in the mansion was heavier than before—thick, metallic, as though the walls themselves had absorbed every scream, every silence, and now they were bleeding it back into the air. I hadn’t slept. Not really. I had curled up on the farthest edge of the bed while Ethan remained on the other side, his back turned, his body rigid as stone. The space between us had never felt wider. When I finally rose, the curtains were still drawn. The faint glow of daylight seeped through, pale and gray. My body felt like lead as I stood, dragging myself toward the mirror. My reflection startled me. Hollow eyes, lips cracked from the salt of dried tears, skin pale against the dark silk of my nightdress. I didn’t look like Ethan Navarro’s wife. I didn’t even look like Ariana De Leon anymore. I looked like someone’s shadow—fading, fragile, waiting to be erased. A knock startled me. Too soft to be Ethan
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