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Love Drenched in Blood Novel Cover

Love Drenched in Blood

Our third wedding anniversary also happened to be the thirty-sixth week of my pregnancy. I didn't wait long enough for Santino Douglas to come home and cut the cake. Instead, I got a phone call from the local police station. "Your husband was caught stealing a woman's undergarments." By the time I arrived, Santino's white shirt was covered in dusty footprints. And a barely-dressed female intern was standing in front of him, guarding him like a human shield. She kept yelling at the officer who was taking notes, "This is a misunderstanding! I bought those for Mr. Douglas! How can you arrest him for that?!" I looked at the black lace garment in Santino's hand-the one he didn't even have time to throw away. My stomach twisted so hard I felt sick. I walked toward him, but he suddenly stepped in front of the intern, Baylee Ford, trying to explain. I slapped him before he even opened his mouth. "Santino, you're disgusting."
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Chapter 3

It was late, and a storm was coming down in sheets. Ride‑shares had a two‑hundred‑plus queue.

I stood by the curb, the cold wind drilling straight into my bones.

The baby in my belly must've felt my anxiety—he kept kicking hard.

I finally managed to flag down a cab.

The driver noticed I was pregnant and kindly pulled right up to the curb so I wouldn't have to step far.

Supporting my lower back, I carefully reached for the door.

That was when a motorcycle suddenly shot out from the sidewalk, swerving to escape the rain.

"Watch out!" the driver yelled.

Instinctively, I jerked back.

My foot landed on the slick tactile paving.

With a sharp crack, I slammed onto the ground.

A wave of pain ripped through me.

Then warmth trickled down my thigh.

I looked down.

Amniotic fluid mixed with blood, soaking through my dress in seconds

"Miss! Miss, are you okay?!"

The cab driver freaked out and rushed over in the pouring rain to help me up.

My face drained of color. Cold sweat mixed with rainwater.

My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone.

I tried to dial 911, but my fingers were trembling so badly I couldn't even unlock the screen.

So out of pure instinct, I hit the top contact.

"Santino, please! Help me. Help our baby.!!!"

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times…

No answer.

I bit down hard, swallowing the pain, and dialed again.

This time, he picked up.

But before I could say anything, his irritated voice cut in, "Charlie, seriously? Again?" I told you, I'm dealing with Baylee. She just got rescued, she's terrified, and it took forever to calm her down. Can you not be so dramatic for once?"

He was comforting another woman to sleep.

And I was lying in the rain, bleeding out, barely hanging on.

My lips parted, voice shaking uncontrollably, "Santino… I fell… there's so much blood… please…"

I expected panic.

I expected him to rush over.

But there was a beat of silence.

Then a cold laugh.

"You fell? You're bleeding? Charlie, the things you'll do to trick me into coming home… unbelievable. Baylee was right. You're just controlling. First you accused me of things, now you're faking injuries. Cry wolf too many times and it stops working. Look outside, it's pouring. You? Falling in the rain? Aren't you at that restaurant having your fancy dinner? Cut the act. I'm not coming back tonight. Think about what you've done."

Beep—

Beep—

Beep—

He hung up.

When I called again, it went straight to voicemail. His phone was off.

My phone slipped from my hand, hitting a puddle.

The screen flickered once, then went dead.

Just like the last bit of hope I had for him.

Rain hammered my face, running into my mouth, salty and nauseating.

I couldn't tell if it was rain or tears.

The pain in my stomach tightened again and again.

But suddenly, I no longer felt pain.

Because in that moment, the love I had for Santino, and the child's hopeful little bond with his father, died by his hand.

Completely.

I no longer wished for him to come.

All I wanted was—

If I survived this, may our paths never cross again.

"Sir…"

I grabbed the cab driver's pant leg, mustering the last bit of strength, my eyes hollow and resolute.

"Call… 911 for me… And… call my lawyer… I'm not calling my husband… I'm calling my lawyer…"

The driver panicked, fumbling for his phone. "Okay—okay! Miss, hold on! The ambulance is on the way!"

I lay in the freezing rain, staring up at the pitch‑black sky.

"Santino, this time, we're done for good."

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