Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Substitute Bride's Revenge : Kabanata 81 - Kabanata 90

MICHAELI watch Aria disappear into the bathroom, her footsteps unsteady and her shoulders hunched forward like she's been physically beaten.The door clicks shut, and her struggle breaks something inside me.The silence that follows is deafening—more painful than if she were screaming or crying. It's the silence of someone whose world has just flipped over.Dr. Winters sits across from me, trying to maintain her calm demeanor, but I can see the genuine pain in her eyes."I know this is devastating news.” Her voice barely carry across the room. "Take all the time you need to process this."I can barely hear her over the thunder of my own heartbeat.HIV. Three letters that just changed everything. Three letters that bastard Xavier weaponized against the woman I love.Three letters designed to destroy Aria's very soul."What happens now?" I manage to ask. My throat feels like I've swallowed broken glass. I need to focus on something concrete, something I can grasp onto while everything

ARIAThe hospital room feels like it’s closing in on me by morning. The air’s too still. Too heavy. My eyes are raw from crying through the night, but the ache in my chest is worse. I’ve never felt this shattered. Not even close.I grab my phone again, praying for something. Anything. But the screen is blank. No calls. No messages. Nothing from Michael. Just silence, cold and endless, staring right back at me.I refresh it for the hundredth time, hands shaking and still hoping.The battery percentage drops lower with each desperate check. 72%. 71%. Counting down like my own dying hope.I can see reporters gathering like vultures outside my window. They've been there since someone leaked my diagnosis to the press.The headlines flash across my social media feeds faster than I can block them with #Tages like, "Harrington Former Executive Harbors Hidden Disease" and "Reckless Ex-Wife Endangers Business Partners." Each notification feels like a knife twisting deeper into my chest.I try t

VIVIANThe hospital room door swings open and the sight of her almost makes me smile, but I catch myself.Aria looks terrible. Pale and small on top of the white sheets. Her skin has a grayish tinge, her once-lustrous hair limp around her face. The IV in her arm makes her look fragile. Nothing like the confident woman who stole my place at Harrington Consolidated. Nothing like the usurper who took the husband that should have been mine.The satisfaction that floods through me is almost physical in its intensity.I remember how she looked at the charity gala a few months back, radiant in Valentino, commanding the room, accepting the Businesswoman of the Year award that should have been mine.How everyone fawned over her success, her brilliance, her beauty. Now look at her. Broken. Defeated. As she always should have been."Aria, darling," Mom coos, rushing to her bedside. "We came as soon as we could get through those dreadful reporters. How are you feeling?" She takes Aria's hand betwe

ARIAThe morning light filters through the hospital blinds, casting prison-bar shadows across my bed.The kind nurse enters with discharge papers and a plastic bag containing my personal items."The doctor has approved your release, Ms. Taylor. Someone will be in shortly with a wheelchair to escort you out.""Thank you." My voice sounds mechanical, detached. I've barely spoken since signing those papers yesterday.I dress slowly, my body still weak. The clothes they brought hang loose on my frame.The Armani suit that once symbolized my power now drapes over me like a costume.I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely recognize myself. My skin looks ashen against the crisp white collar. The dark circles under my eyes make them appear sunken and my hangs limp despite my attempts to style it.A different nurse arrives shortly with the wheelchair. "Hospital policy," she explains when I protest that I can walk. Her kindness feels like pity, which makes it worse somehow."My

ARIAThe rain hits me again, somehow colder than before.The brief respite in the café has only made the contrast more painful.Midnight approaches. The streets empty as even the most dedicated night owls seek shelter from the relentless storm.I walk because stopping seems worse somehow, though each step becomes harder than the last.My expensive shoes that once cost more than some people's monthly rent are ruined, squishing with each step and rubbing blisters on my soaked feet.A violent shiver runs through me. The cold has moved beyond discomfort into something more dangerous.My thoughts begin to scatter, focus slipping away like water down a drain. I need to find shelter, any shelter before hypothermia sets in.Downtown buildings offer few options. Unfortunately, everything is locked, alarmed, protected against intruders like me.I finally find a recessed doorway of a closed boutique, a small space barely protected from the direct downpour and huddle into the corner, making myself