Two Hours Before My Wedding, My Fiancé Let His Best Friend Butcher My Mother’s Waist-Length Hair—When He Told Me Not to Make a Scene, I Took Off My Ring and Walked Away… / Chapter 10 / 68

Chapter 10 - The Digital Strike

The obstetrics bay at the Santa Fe clinic was tucked away behind an unmarked door on the penthouse level. Within ten minutes of our arrival, two female nurses had me hooked up to an IV drip while Dr. Vargas, an elderly woman with sharp, kind eyes, performed an emergency ultrasound.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the rhythmic blue glow of the monitor.

My heart was in my throat, each beat a silent prayer. *Please. Please, God, let the baby be alive.*

Dr. Vargas pressed the warm transducer against my lower belly, angling it carefully. The machine whirred, static filling the speakers for a terrifying, agonizing five seconds.

Then, through the darkness, came the sound.

*Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.*

Fast. Strong. Steady. Like the galloping hooves of a tiny, unbroken horse.

I buried my face in my hands, a ragged sob tearing from my chest. Dr. Vargas smiled gently, pointing to the monitor where a tiny, translucent shape was clearly visible, floating safely inside its dark sanctuary.

"A minor subchorionic hematoma from the physical impact," Dr. Vargas explained softly, wiping the gel from my skin. "The placenta held. But you are under strict bed rest for the next forty-eight hours, Miss Morales. One more shock, one more physical blow, and the outcome will not be this fortunate."

"Thank you, Doctor," Mateo said from the shadows near the doorway. He had stood there silently the entire time, his arms crossed, watching over the room like a sentinel.

After the doctor left, Mateo stepped to the bedside, holding out a glass of water.

"Drink," he commanded gently.

I took the glass with trembling hands, sipping slowly. "You should have left me at the clinic. If your father finds out you brought me here—"

"My father is currently celebrating with champagne at his golf club," Mateo said, pulling his laptop from his bag and setting it on the rolling tray table. "He thinks he won. But while you were being examined, my cybersecurity team finished decrypting the flash drive you took from Adrián’s safe."

He spun the screen toward me.

Files were unfolding in cascade: bank transfers, shell corporations in the Cayman Islands, and private WhatsApp chat logs between Adrián and Camila Vega spanning the last twelve months.

My eyes scanned the messages, nausea returning with renewed fury:

*Camila: "Is the Morales girl still crying about her mother's dress?"*

*Adrián: "Let her cry. The IP documents are already routed through the notary. Once we sign at the reception, she can take her mother and move back to the provinces for all I care. Just make sure Bruno keeps the press away."*

*Camila: "I can't wait to see her face when I take the Paris account. I'm going to burn every sketch she ever made in that drafty workshop."*

"This isn't just breach of contract," I whispered, my voice trembling with cold rage. "This is conspiracy to commit corporate fraud, grand larceny, and extortion."

"And tomorrow morning," Mateo said, his eyes glittering like shards of ice, "these chat logs, along with your grandmother's 1968 copyright certificates and the security footage of Bruno assaulting your mother in the bridal suite, will be broadcast simultaneously to every financial terminal in the country."

"You have the security footage?" I looked at him, stunned.

Mateo pulled a small black thumb drive from his pocket and laid it gently on the tray. "The hacienda’s head of security was fired by my father five years ago. He was more than happy to sell me the raw cloud backup for fifty thousand dollars. The entire assault—Camila cutting your mother’s hair, Bruno throwing her into the wall, Adrián forcing you to your knees—is captured in crystalline, high-definition 4K."

I stared at the thumb drive. It was the silver bullet. The absolute, unassailable truth that would shatter their lies into dust.