His Bride in Chains Chapter 130: Last Chance

The soft hum of the air conditioner drifted through the quiet apartnt, mingling with the faint, comforting scent of cinnamon tea that had long gone cold on the coffee table. The room felt still—too still. Eliana sat curled up on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, wrapped in the oversized hoodie she’d thrown on hours ago. Her honey-brown eyes were fixed on the window, where the city stretched into an endless sea of shadows and light. Neon signs flickered faintly in the distance, their glow bleeding into the night like heartbeat pulses against the darkness.

Her father was asleep in the next room, his gentle snores barely audible through the wall. Every box was packed, every suitcase lined by the door like silent witnesses waiting for tomorrow’s flight. She was supposed to be excited, supposed to feel the thrill of a fresh start waiting on the other side of the ocean.

But her heart felt unbearably heavy.

It wasn’t the thought of leaving that weighed her down—it was the echo of his voice.

Rafael’s words from earlier that day still clung to her like a bruise that refused to fade. Cold. Dismissive. Final.

Her hand drifted down to her stomach, where a quiet miracle was growing beneath her ribs—a tiny heartbeat she couldn’t yet feel but already loved with every fiber of her being. Her palm rested there gently, protectively.

"I promise," she whispered into the stillness, voice breaking on the edges. "You’ll never feel unloved. Not ever. Not even if it’s just and you."

The words lingered in the air, fragile yet fierce.

Maybe leaving for the UK was exactly what she needed. A clean slate. A chance to breathe again without Rafael’s shadow haunting every corner of her heart. A chance to put herself first—for once.

But as that thought ford, a softer one slipped in behind it like a ghost. Should I have told him?

She had wanted to so many tis—to let the truth pour out, to watch the walls around his heart tremble just a little. But at the final mont in that pastry shop, she’d hesitated, too afraid of rejection, too afraid of hearing no.

Now, as doubt coiled tightly around her chest, Eliana picked up her phone with trembling fingers. Her thumb hovered over his na. Just seeing Rafael Vexley on the screen made her throat ache.

She pressed call.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three tis. Then

silence.

No answer.

She let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped inside her all day. It hurt, but she wasn’t surprised anymore. She decided to text instead, the words spilling out like they’d been waiting for this mont:

"Rafael, I don’t know if you’ll believe or not... but what I wanted to tell you all this while is that I’m pregnant. And the baby is definitely yours."

Her thumb hovered a second longer, heart pounding so hard it almost drowned out the sound of the AC. Then—she hit send.

The ssage sent with a soft ping, cruelly quiet for how loud it felt inside her. She set the phone down on the couch, staring at it as though willing it to light up.

This was it.

The last chance she was giving him. If Rafael didn’t respond before morning, that silence would be her answer. And she would get on that plane without looking back.

Minutes bled into an hour. The screen stayed dark.

No call. No text. No him.

Tears gathered, warm and relentless, slipping down her cheeks in silent streams. She covered her mouth to muffle the sound—her father couldn’t wake up to this. She’d already made him worry too much.

When the tears finally slowed, she wiped her face with the back of her hand, the skin around her eyes burning from the salt. A shaky laugh escaped her—bitter and soft. Of course he wouldn’t answer.

Her thoughts drifted to Henry—the one person who, apart from her father, had never made her feel like a burden. Henry, with his quiet patience and kind eyes. He was the only steady thing in the whirlwind her life had beco.

She tilted her head back, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her heart felt splintered but not entirely broken. Sowhere deep inside, a small, fierce ember of strength was still burning.

The wall clock ticked loudly in the silence, each second dragging like a weight across her chest.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

She finally blinked, and her tear-rimd gaze shifted toward the clock.

11:42 p.m.

Henry still wasn’t ho.

Her heart gave a small, traitorous twist—an involuntary flutter that made her fingers tighten. Rationally, she reminded herself there was nothing to worry about. Henry was fine. Henry was always fine. He was the kind of person who felt immovable, steady like the earth beneath her feet—constant in a world that shifted too much and too fast.

But tonight, sothing was different. Sothing in the air carried a quiet unease that she couldn’t quite na. The city, usually a restless hum she had grown used to, felt... off. Tense. Even the wind seed to hold its breath. In the distance, sirens had been wailing for over an hour—shrill, unrelenting cries slicing through the night. Not the routine kind that blended into the urban noise, but the sharp, urgent kind that made your chest tighten before your mind caught up.

She leaned forward slightly, scanning the empty street below through the window. The streetlights created a pale, anemic glow on the wet pavent, and shadows stretched long and thin like they, too, were listening. It was irrational to let panic stir, she knew. But as the sirens rose and fell like the sound of sothing broken, her stomach coiled with the quiet, unspoken truth—sothing was wrong.

She wrapped her arms around herself, whispering under her breath, "Co on, Henry... where are you?"

The front door creaked open. A gust of cold night air followed Henry inside, brushing past her bare feet. He stepped in looking exhausted—tie loosened, shirt slightly rumpled, hair mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it too many tis. There was sothing heavy in the set of his shoulders, a weight that didn’t belong to the ordinary stresses of the day.

"Henry?" Eliana rose from the couch, her voice soft but lined with worry.

He looked up, eyes warm but shadowed. "Hey."

"Hey? It’s almost midnight." Her words ca out more brittle than she intended. She crossed the small living room toward him, trying to read his face. "I was starting to worry sothing happened."

He closed the door quietly, leaning back against it for a brief mont before pushing himself forward. "Sothing did happen. Just not to ."

The seriousness in his tone made her still. "What do you an?"

To be continued...