Velvet Nights and Broken Vows 1 Summary
Sophia Miller is suffering from severe morning sickness while her husband, Ethan Clark, is far away at a party, passionately embracing his assistant. The pain of her isolation deepens as she imagines Ethan’s indifference, knowing he wouldn’t be there for her even if she were bleeding. Their car later crashes violently, and despite her injury, Ethan coldly removes her from the stretcher to prioritize his assistant’s care, showing blatant favoritism and emotional neglect.
At the hospital, Sophia quietly requests an abortion, feeling numb and resigned. Ethan bursts in angrily, throwing a Claddagh bracelet at her—a symbol of his assistant Chloe’s love—revealing his jealousy and possessiveness. Despite his hostility, Sophia calmly tightens the bracelet on his wrist, highlighting the complex and strained dynamics between them. Ethan’s attention quickly shifts to a video call from Chloe, and he leaves abruptly, ignoring Sophia’s pain when a nurse’s needle slips on her arm.
After the procedure, Sophia waits alone in the cold hospital entrance for Ethan, who never shows up. Nurses nearby comment on the stark contrast between the devoted husband they’ve heard about and Ethan’s current neglect. Sophia discovers Ethan’s changed social media profile, symbolizing his emotional alignment with Chloe, and she decides to book a flight to leave, feeling abandoned and isolated after her surgery.
Ethan returns home in the early morning and tries to connect by reaching for Sophia’s pregnant belly, but she turns away, refusing to engage. His frustration grows, and after a cold exchange, he leaves the room. Sophia remains distant and silent, signaling a shift in their relationship where she no longer rushes to appease him. The next morning, a wine glass with a lipstick stain on the coffee table silently marks the unresolved tension and emotional distance between them.
Chapter 1
While I doubled over, the relentless waves of morning sickness wracking my body, Ethan Clark was miles away, lost in the heat of a party, wrapped tightly around his assistant. The bitter sting of betrayal cut deep as I pictured him holding her close, his arm protectively draped around her while I fought nausea alone. Even if I were bleeding, I knew he wouldn’t be there for me.
Later, as we drove home, fate dealt its cruel hand—our car collided violently. The impact hit me before I even had a chance to comprehend what was happening. Paramedics rushed to place me on a stretcher, but then Ethan’s cold voice shattered the brief comfort I felt.
“You’re tough. Don’t waste medical resources,” he said, his tone void of any warmth.
Before I could speak up, he gently lifted his assistant onto the stretcher instead, cradling her as if she were the only person who mattered. At the hospital, the staff hurried her straight to the emergency room, while I quietly made my way to the gynecology reception, feeling invisible.
“Hello,” I murmured, trying to steady the tremor in my voice. “I need to schedule an abortion. I don’t want to keep this baby.”
The words felt like a death sentence, heavy and final, yet numbness dulled the pain inside me. As I changed into the sterile, pale blue surgical gown, the door suddenly slammed open. Ethan stormed in, fury blazing in his eyes. Without a word, he threw a Claddagh bracelet at me.
“Sophia Miller, who told you to give me this cursed thing?” he demanded, voice sharp and possessive.
I picked up the bracelet calmly, meeting his glare without flinching. “It wasn’t me.”
His hand shot out, snatching the bracelet back with desperate eagerness, slipping it onto his wrist. I recognized it immediately—the same Claddagh bracelet Chloe Davis had given him, a symbol of the love she wanted to claim for herself alone.
Thinking of Chloe, I reached for Ethan’s hand. He stared at me with a mixture of contempt and suspicion as I tightened the loose knot of the bracelet around his wrist. My fingers were cold, causing him to pause for a moment. Then, his voice cut through the tense silence.
“Why are you dressed like that?” he asked sharply.
“Just a minor procedure,” I replied evenly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
His brow furrowed, suspicion flickering in his eyes. He was about to accuse me of faking illness again when a nurse entered to draw blood. Ethan’s mouth opened to question her, but at that moment his phone rang. A video call from Chloe appeared, and I heard her whine about how scary the hospital was at night.
Without a second glance in my direction, Ethan hurried out, bumping into the nurse and causing the needle to slip awkwardly, blood spilling onto my arm. I gasped in pain, but he didn’t even turn back.
Shortly after, the doctor arrived with the surgical consent form. I signed it without hesitation, ignoring the risks and warnings outlined in the fine print. Half an hour later, the procedure was done.
Lying there in recovery, my phone buzzed with a message from Ethan: [Wait for me at the hospital entrance.]
Outside, snow fell relentlessly, blanketing the world in a cold, silent shroud. I sat shivering on a plastic stool, my thin hospital gown doing little to protect me from the biting chill. Two hours passed, but Ethan never came.
Two nurses strolled by, their laughter light and carefree as they chatted about the drama they’d witnessed in the emergency room.
“I’ve worked here for years, and I’ve never seen a man dote on his wife like that,” one said.
“Right? He held her, comforted her through the whole ordeal, and when she had that mark on her leg, he immediately called a helicopter,” the other replied.
Hearing this, I opened our chat and saw Ethan had changed his profile picture—a cartoon image of Nick Wilde wearing sunglasses, perfectly matching Chloe’s Judy Hopps avatar.
With a heavy heart, I closed WhatsApp and opened a ticket-booking app. The earliest flight out was two days away because of the storm. Without hesitation, I booked my ticket, paid, and confirmed.
I left the hospital alone, the cold night air biting into my skin. The woman who had just undergone surgery was left to face everything by herself.
At three in the morning, Ethan finally came home. He quietly opened the bedroom door and slipped into bed beside me. In the darkness, his hand reached out to touch my swollen belly, but I turned away, offering him only my back.
Annoyed, Ethan clicked his tongue, got up, and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
For nine years, whenever he showed even the slightest hint of unhappiness, I had been the one to scramble, to apologize, to make things right. But tonight was different.
After his shower, he found me lying still in bed, refusing to engage.
“Putting on an act,” he muttered coldly before leaving the master bedroom, his expression hard and unreadable.
The next morning, on the coffee table in the living room, I noticed a wine glass with a lipstick stain—the silent reminder of the night’s unspoken tensions and the growing emotional distance between us.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
