Todos los capítulos de The CEO’s Vengeful Bride: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

POV: Elena Montrose Five years ago, I walked away in flames. Today, I walk back in silence with a vow that will burn him instead. The reflection staring back at me in the full-length mirror didn’t belong to me not really. She was porcelain perfection in silk white, the dress sculpted to a body I no longer recognized. The woman in the mirror had steady hands, hollow eyes, and a mouth painted with a neutral smile just enough to hide the war behind her lips.She looked like a bride. But this wasn’t a wedding. It was a ‘burial’. And Damien Crest just didn’t know it yet. I smoothed the veil down over my shoulders and adjusted the diamond necklace Damien had sent just this morning—another insult dressed as a gift. One carat for each year I had vanished. Each year he thought I was gone for good. Let him think that. Let him think I was nothing more than a socialite with no past, no edge, and no motive. He didn’t recognize me and why would he?The Elena Montrose he’d once known had died the n

Elena Montrose Some says hell is fire, others say it’s cold, calculated silence shared between two people who once knew each other’s hearts.For me, hell has Damien Crest’s last name.And a penthouse with glass walls and steel bones.By the time I returned from a brief meeting with my stylist, my belongings had already been unpacked into a curated corner of Damien’s world. Designer boxes, minimalist palettes, and accessories that whispered wealth and screamed manipulation.Vivienne would’ve been proud.But beneath the glamour, every step into his home felt like walking into a chessboard. The air was heavier here—thick with control. Every object was perfectly placed, not a speck of dust in sight. Like Damien himself, the space had no room for mess, for mistakes, for softness. This wasn’t a home. It was a fortress.I stood at the threshold of what he called “our bedroom.” A term that made my skin itches.It was beautiful—marble floors, high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlookin

POV: Elena MontroseThe air conditioning hissed through the vents like a whisper I couldn’t shake. I’d barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photo in Damien’s study. My face—young, vulnerable—immortalized in that frame.He kept it.That truth clung to my skin like sweat under silk. But I wasn’t here to read into gestures. I was here for the truth—and to burn him down with it.I padded barefoot into the kitchen, the marble floor cold against my feet. A dull ache throbbed at the base of my skull. I hadn’t eaten all day, and my body was beginning to revolt.But before I could reach the fridge, the room tilted.I grabbed for the counter, missed, and stumbled. My vision blurred, and then blackened. I felt the ground rushing toward me—but Amy caught me before I hit the floor.“Hey, Elena?” A voice sharp with panic. “Stay with me.”Damien.The scent of him was undeniable—clean cedar, faint leather, and something darker. I tried to push away, but my limbs didn’t obey. My world

POV: Elena MontroseThe soft hum of chatter filled the ballroom as I stepped out of the elevator, my heart a thrum beneath the layers of silk and satin. The gala was in full swing, the kind of event where perfection was the only currency. Damien was already waiting by the door, the light from the crystal chandeliers casting sharp shadows across his jaw. In this world, where image was everything, I was expected to be flawless. And so, I would be.Damien turned as I approached, offering a smile that could have melted ice—or broken it. His suit was impeccable, as always, tailored to fit like it had been made just for him. The look he gave me wasn’t the cool indifference of our private moments, but something warmer. Approving. Possessive.“You look… stunning,” he said, his voice low and smooth. A perfect lie—because I could see in his eyes that it wasn’t just the dress he admired. It was me. But in this world, appearances were everything. And right now, I had to be his perfect wife.I of

POV: Elena Montrose The countryside estate was as cold as the man who brought me here.Damien’s mansion in the city was an imposing fortress of glass and steel, but this place—this sprawling estate hidden in the hills—was another kind of isolation altogether. Surrounded by acres of thick forest, it stood like a monument to both wealth and solitude, with stone walls and a roof as dark as the sky overhead. A place designed for safety or so he said. I was starting to wonder if he believed in safety at all.The storm had rolled in the night we arrived. Thick clouds swallowed the moon, and the wind howled like a living thing, pressing against the walls of the house. Inside, the crackling of the fireplace was the only sound that dared to compete with the storm outside. I had expected this retreat to be a time of rest, a chance to regroup. Instead, it felt like a cage, albeit one gilded in luxury.I walked through the long hallways, my footsteps echoing in the silence until I reached the ma