Todos los capítulos de The Abandoned Bride: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

The next morning, Elena woke to a sharp pain twisting deep inside her lower belly. At first, she thought it was just from the stress, but when the ache returned—sharper, stronger—her heart began to race.Her hands flew to her stomach. No… please, not the baby.She sat up slowly, trying to breathe through the pain. A thin layer of sweat covered her forehead. The room felt colder than usual, her chest tight with fear.For a moment, she thought of calling Damien—but the memory of his cold words the night before stopped her hand mid-air. She had learned the hard way that he no longer cared.So, she dressed herself quietly and booked a cab to the hospital.******The waiting room smelled faintly of disinfectant and hope. Elena sat on the edge of the plastic chair, her hands protectively clasped over her stomach. Around her, happy couples filled the room—smiling, holding hands, whispering to each other as they waited to see their doctors.She watched one man rest his palm on his wife’s bell

Inside the villa, the air was heavy—thick with unspoken words and the quiet hum of resentment. Elena stood by the window, her back to Damien, the sound of the waves faint in the distance. He loosened his tie, his movements calm but his eyes sharp as steel. “Elena,” he began quietly, “I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want you to listen.” She turned to him, exhausted. “Then say what you came to say, Damien.” He hesitated for a moment, then said it flatly—like it was nothing. “Avery will be moving into the house.” Elena blinked, confused. “What?” He didn’t look away. “You heard me. Avery will be staying here. I need you to move into the guest room.” For a second, she thought she’d misheard him. But when she saw the cold certainty in his eyes, her heart dropped. “You’re joking,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m not,” he replied simply. “It’s what’s best—for everyone.” “Best for everyone or for you and your whore?” she repeated, her voice rising. “How can you eve

A few days later, the doctor walked into Elena’s hospital room with a gentle smile.“Elena,” he said, flipping through her chart, “you’re recovering well. You can be discharged today.”Elena’s heart pounded. She sat up quickly, clutching the blanket to her chest. “Doctor, before I go… please, tell my husband the truth.”The doctor frowned, puzzled. “The truth? What truth are you referring to, Mrs. Salvatore?”She looked at him, her eyes brimming with desperation. “The lie they told about me—not being pregnant. You were there that day. You told Avery yourself!”The doctor blinked in confusion. “I’m afraid there must be a mistake. I’ve never had any conversation with anyone about my patients. Confidentiality is my priority.”Elena’s heart dropped. “Then who was that doctor? The one who said I faked my pregnancy?”The man hesitated for a moment, seeing the desperation in her eyes. “If someone used my name or position to spread such a claim, I’ll find out who. Come with me.”He led her to

Weeks went by, and Elena had settled into her second trimester. Full of renewed strength, she often worked double shifts just to keep up.One night, the nightclub manager handed her a tray of wine bottles to serve in the private rooms.The patrons were generous—especially with beautiful women. Elena, who usually didn’t wear makeup or dress up, had a quiet grace that stood out. But tonight, under the dim lights and her soft curls framing her delicate face, she looked strikingly beautiful.The guests noticed. Some tipped her more than her wages for the night.When she returned to the bar, holding the last bottle of wine, the manager smiled, clearly impressed. He swapped it for the club’s most expensive bottle and suggested she try her luck in the VIP room. “That’s where the high rollers are tonight,” he said. “If you sell this, you’ll earn a ten-thousand-dollar commission.”The number made Elena’s heart race. Though she felt unwell and longed to go home, the thought of her baby gave her

Elena barely remembered how she got back to her small apartment that night. Every step felt heavy, her legs trembling under the weight of exhaustion and pain. Her clothes clung to her skin, torn and damp, while her body ached with bruises that told stories of cruelty.Once inside, she locked the door behind her, leaning against it for a long moment. The silence of the tiny room pressed around her, broken only by the sound of her uneven breathing.She stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the light. The reflection staring back at her in the mirror made her heart sink—her eyes were swollen, her cheek bruised, her lips cracked and pale. She looked like a ghost of herself.Slowly, she cleaned the dried blood on her hands and arms, wincing each time water touched a cut. She used the small first-aid kit she kept under the sink, wrapping her wounds with trembling fingers. Every touch sent waves of pain through her body, but what hurt most was the thought of Damien’s eyes—cold, merciless,