The clock glowing on the dashboard showed 2:14 a.m. when the vehicle screeched to a sudden stop. The jolt snapped my neck forward, but the sharp pain tearing through my eight-month-pregnant stomach was far worse.
Outside, a violent November storm battered the deserted city streets, turning the night into a dark, icy void.
Inside the luxury Mercedes SUV, the air smelled sickening—my husband Adrian’s expensive sandalwood cologne mixed with the sugary vanilla perfume of the woman in the passenger seat.
Valeria.
His assistant.
His lover.
“Get out, Elena. I’m done with you,” Adrian said coldly, his voice stripped of any warmth the man I married once had. “I’m not listening to your crying for another second.”
I looked around in confusion, shaking uncontrollably.
We were parked on a deserted industrial road, miles from home. Rain hammered the windshield like stones.
“Adrian, please…” I whispered, tasting blood where I had bitten my lip. “It’s freezing.
The baby… don’t leave me here.”
Valeria laughed softly and adjusted the designer coat I had paid for with my inheritance.
“Oh, Adrian, just get it over with,” she said lazily, brushing her hand along his neck.
Before I could speak again, Adrian stepped out, yanked open my door, and seized my arm.
His fingers dug painfully into my skin.
With one brutal shove he threw me onto the road.
My knees struck the ice-cold asphalt, tearing the skin open and sending agony through my body. Rainwater soaked through my dress within seconds.
“Good luck surviving, you parasite,” Adrian spat before slamming the door.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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