Todos los capítulos de The Return Of The Betrayed Bride : Capítulo 141 - Capítulo 150

ALEJANDRO PENTHOUSE ~ SPAIN The morning sun flooded Alejandro’s bedroom in Seville, turning everything golden. Amelia stirred awake in the huge bed, alone. For a second she forgot where she was the dark carved headboard, the heavy velvet curtains, the faint smell of cedar and cigar smoke. Then it hit her. Last night. The long dinner. The signed papers. The quiet walk to this room together.They hadn’t shared the bed. He’d kissed her once slow, deliberate then murmured goodnight and disappeared into his dressing room. She’d lain awake for hours, heart pounding, wondering if she’d made a terrible mistake agreeing to this marriage-for-business arrangement. But the deal was done. No backing out now.She slipped out of bed, pulled on the silk robe that barely reached mid-thigh, and padded barefoot down the hall. The house was still asleep except for the soft clink of porcelain coming from the kitchen.Alejandro stood at the marble counter, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark hair stil

COFFE SHOP ~ NEW YORK Across town, in a quiet, expensive coffee shop, Amelia Stone stirred a latte. She wore large sunglasses despite the indoor gloom, a shield against the world and any potential cameras.Nicholas Hale slid into the seat opposite her, his expression smooth and professional. “The deal is signed. Blackwood Industries is now effectively an asset of the Ariadne Group. The transfer of control has been completed by close of business Friday.”“And the Cortez evidence?” Amelia asked, her voice low.“Buried, as instructed. It will ‘surface’ from an anonymous leak to the financial press in about two weeks. By then, Ariadne will have already begun the asset-stripping process. The resulting scandal will crater any remaining shareholder value and provide perfect cover for the dismantling.”It was a flawless, ruthless plan. Revenge on the Blackwood family for old sins, executed with clinical precision. Amelia should have felt nothing but cold satisfaction.“And Katherine Rodrig

Vivian Ashcroft sat in her new office a smaller, darker space than the one she’d had at Blackwood Industries. The Ariadne Group had taken the top floors. This was the leftovers. But she wasn't defeated. She was just switching tactics. From defending a fortress to leading a guerrilla war.She had the investigator's report. She had the grainy photo of Nicholas Hale meeting the mystery woman. She knew what "N.H." meant. But proof wasn't enough. She needed to weaponize it. She needed to turn his greatest asset into his biggest liability: Katherine Rodriguez.Katherine was the key. She was the bridge. She was the one with access, with trust, with a heart that could be broken. A broken heart makes terrible decisions. It lashes out. It seeks revenge.Vivian pulled out her phone and called her most discreet tech contact."I need a photo. It needs to be plausible. Expert-level work. A man and a woman, intimate. The man is Nicholas Hale. Use his public images. The woman… someone elegant, blur

“It’s… it’s Mr. Favino, ma’am.” The voice on the line hesitated.“Photos. Of Mr. Favino. With another woman. In New York.”The world seemed to tip sideways. Amelia closed her eyes.“Send everything again,” she said, voice calm too calm. “And clear my schedule.”“Yes, ma’am.”The line clicked dead.She opened the email. The headline blared: FAVINO HEIR’S WILD NIGHT! Married Alejandro Caught in Hotel Hookup with Spanish Socialite Gabriella Guerra.Photos followed. Grainy, but clear enough. Alejandro, shirtless, looking dazed, half-carried by Gabriella down a hotel hallway. Another, taken through a slightly open door, showed them in a dim room, tangled in sheets. His back faced the camera. Her face smirking, triumphant looked straight at the lens.The city outside disappeared. All she heard was the pounding of her own blood.Three months. She thought, icy fury gripping her chest. Three months and he couldn’t even wait three weeks.Her cheeks burned, her throat tightened. Every board me

SOHO APARTMENT ~ NEW YORK Gabriella paced the small living room of her rented SoHo apartment. The city lights flickered through the half-closed blinds, throwing shadows across the bare walls and borrowed furniture. An open suitcase sat in the corner, clothes spilling out. Nothing here felt permanent.Her phone lay on the coffee table.Silent.She’d sent the message to Alejandro over an hour ago an apology wrapped in soft words and careful lies and all that followed was silence, no reply, no anger, no accusations, nothing at all.The silence made her chest tighten.The buzzer sounded.She hurried to the door and opened it. Sofia stood there, coat dusted with light snow, a bottle of Rioja tucked under her arm.“Tell me everything,” Sofia said, stepping inside. She kicked the door shut and shrugged off her coat. “And pour us both a drink wine. You look wrecked.” Gabriella followed, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. “He hasn’t answered. I sent the message an hour ago—‘I’m sorry, I