Todos os capítulos de The abandoned wife : Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 19

Gracias The fire crackles softly. I listen to this sound the way one listens to a language one doesn't know but whose intentions one can guess. The warmth reaches my numb fingers. I still feel as though my skin is damp, even after the shower. I feel the weight of the blanket on my shoulders, its discreet scent, a blend of wool and wood. It's not the kind of scent one notices, but it's the kind that soothes. I didn't think I would eat tonight. Yet a plate awaits me on the coffee table: steaming soup, with bread. Nothing spectacular. But I think that's what moves me. No effort to impress me, just… enough to stay standing. I pick up the spoon. The warmth tears a sigh from me. I don't realize I'm still trembling a little until he glances at me over his book. "Are you alright?" His voice is low, almost cautious. I nod, because it's simpler than explaining the truth. I eat slowly, aware of his eyes sometimes resting on me, sometimes not. When the plate is empty, I stay for

Inès She dared to wear that dress and she's with that man! That entrance , like a slow-motion film, as if the entire lobby were nothing but a set arranged for her, the columns and marble simply there to serve as backdrop for her new skin. I feel my lips stretch into a smile, a social automatism I've mastered to perfection. But behind that mask there's an interior movement, something grinding, scraping the metal of my pride. I thought I knew Gracias by heart — the quiet little sister, a bit faded, always content with crumbs, with whatever one was willing to leave her, standing beside but never in front. And now… now she advances, heels sharp on the floor, chin slightly lifted, with the air of someone to whom everything is owed by right. And him, at her side… It's not just his build or the perfect cut of his suit. What strikes me is the way he looks at her. Not like a conquest on display, not like a trophy brandished to crush others, but like a rare possession one protects, s

Inès The room is glacial despite the soft light filtering through the windows. The smell of paper, ink, and new leather mingles with the heavy silence. The conference table seems a battlefield where every pen is a weapon, every signature a bullet fired. Gracias sits opposite, with implacable elegance. Her dark tailored suit hugs her silhouette with an almost provocative assurance. At her side, the man. That stranger who has said nothing from the beginning, who observes everything with an icy distance. His eyes betray nothing — not even a spark of hesitation. Marius stares at the document in front of him. His hand trembles slightly, but he forces himself to maintain a straight posture. I know him too well: that rigidity is his armor, the one he wears when he feels himself collapsing inside. The lawyer gently pushes the contract toward Gracias. She takes the pen, spins it between her fingers like a dancer savoring the final step. Then, with a firm gesture, she signs. That dr

GRACIAEverything is signed. The sound of the pen fades away, but in my chest it still echoes like a clap of thunder. It's only the friction of ink on paper, and yet I feel as though I have broken an invisible chain. An entire chapter of my life has just closed, but I don't yet dare to turn the page.When we step outside, the cool air bites at my cheeks. I could stagger, but he is there, one step behind, at exactly the right distance. Not to support me. To anchor me. His presence is a shadow that does not crush, but envelops.The limousine devours the streets as if the city were parting to let us through. I watch the façades pass by and feel as though nothing belongs to me, except this fragile second between two breaths. When the vehicle finally comes to a halt, I raise my eyes.A building rises before me, all glass and steel, standing like a challenge hurled at the sky. I recognize the place: the most renowned restaurant, the one where

GRACIASThe car rolls through the silence, a silence heavy with unknowns. The city drifts past behind the tinted windows, its trembling lights like fireflies trapped in the night. I hardly dare ask where he is taking me. Ezran does not speak, but his hand rests near mine, within reach, like an invisible thread that keeps me from surrendering to panic.When we leave the avenue, I understand that we are going farther than the usual neighborhoods. Higher. More isolated. The gates of a majestic entrance open at our approach, without a sound, as if they already recognized his passage.The car stops before a vast dwelling with pale façades, illuminated by the lanterns of the garden. It is not an ostentatious palace, but a house that breathes solidity, calm, protection.He steps out first, then opens the door for me, a simple, almost gallant gesture."Come," he says softly.My footsteps echo on the stone path. The air smells of jas