He Left Me Pregnant and Grieving—Now He’s the One Begging - Chapter 50: Chapter 50
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—VALERIA POV—
The cemetery was quiet. Peaceful. But I didn’t feel peace.
I knelt before Amara’s grave, running my fingers over the cold marble. My little girl. My everything. The wind rustled through the trees, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to grieve.
Then, the feeling of eyes on me shattered the moment.
I tensed.
Not alone.
A rustle. A shadow shifting. I didn’t flinch.
Instead, I raised my gun, aiming straight at her heart. “Last chance, Isabella. Run while you still can.”
“No, sweetheart. That’s my line.”
She flicked her wrist.
Gunfire exploded.
I ducked behind a marble headstone, bullets ricocheting around me. The sharp scent of burning lead filled my lungs as dirt and stone shattered beside me.
Damn it. Outnumbered.
I fired back, my bullet hitting one of the men square in the chest. He let out a strangled gasp before dropping.
Five left.
I rolled to another cover, my heartbeat a steady, violent rhythm in my ears. They were closing in. My mind raced—calculating, planning. I needed an opening.
A voice rang out. “Give up, Valeria! You’re surrounded!”
Rage surged through me. I fired. One man collapsed. Four left. I darted between graves, avoiding gunfire. Think. I couldn’t let them corner me. Rolling to cover, I took another shot—missed. Damn it.
A sharp pain exploded in my shoulder as a bullet grazed me. I bit back a scream, gripping the wound.
Another voice—deeper, colder.
“Valeria!”
Darius.
Gunfire ripped through the graveyard, drowning out the howling wind. Shadows darted between tombstones, bodies falling, blood staining the earth meant for the dead. Darius’s men fought ruthlessly, protecting me with unwavering loyalty. Isabella’s assassins were just as relentless, fueled by desperation and the promise of my death.
I ducked behind a stone angel, breath ragged, heart pounding. I had faced war before. But never like this. Not in the place where my daughter lay buried.
A gun clicked near me.
I spun, firing without hesitation. My bullet met flesh. The man crumpled. Three left.
A shadow moved in the distance. I aimed—
But froze.
Lorenzo.
He stood at the edge of the chaos, suit torn, blood staining his knuckles. His hair was disheveled, face unreadable.
My heart lurched.
He escaped.
For a moment, we just stared. I had chained him. I had tortured him. I had broken him. Yet, he was here. Not with a gun. Not with vengeance. But something else in his eyes. His gaze flickered toward the grave—the marble headstone that bore Amara’s name.
I knew why he came.
He came to beg.
To kneel.
To whisper apologies to the child who had once called him her hero.
But there was no time for forgiveness.
Because Isabella wasn’t done.
She emerged from the shadows, gun raised, lips curled in a sneer. “This ends tonight, Valeria,” she hissed.
I smirked. “Then pull the damn trigger.”
I saw it the moment she made her choice.
Her finger tightening on the trigger. The gun flaring to life. The bullet aimed for my heart.
I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
Because in that single breath of silence—
Lorenzo moved first.
“No!”
A gunshot.
Not mine.
Not Isabella’s.
A single, deafening crack.
And then—blood.
A hot, wet splatter hit my face.
Time froze.
Lorenzo’s body jerked violently as the bullet tore through him.
No.
His eyes widened. Shock flickered in them as he stumbled—toward me.
And then he collapsed against me.
I caught him instinctively, my arms wrapping around his heavy body as we sank to the ground.
No. No. No.
“Lorenzo!” My voice cracked. I pressed my hand against his side—so much blood. It was pouring out, soaking through his clothes, staining my fingers.
Why?
Why did he—?
A cold chill crawled up my spine. I turned my head slightly—and saw Isabella staring.
For the first time, she looked… shaken.
“Why?” I whispered. My voice was barely audible over the gunfire, but I knew she heard me.
Lorenzo coughed, blood trickling down his lips. His fingers weakly grasped my wrist, his grip slipping. His lips moved, but at first, I couldn’t hear.
Then I realized—
He was whispering my name.
A sharp pain twisted in my chest.
He… protected me.
Why?
Why would he—
Gunfire snapped me out of it.
Darius’s voice roared through the graveyard, followed by the sound of men falling. His men had arrived.
“Valeria, move!” Darius’s voice was sharp, commanding.
But I couldn’t.
I was still kneeling there, holding Lorenzo.
Darius yanked me back. “We need to go! Now!”
I struggled. “No! I—”
Lorenzo wasn’t moving.
His body was slumped, his breathing shallow. His hand, still clutching my wrist, was slipping.
“Lorenzo!”
His eyelids fluttered. “V-Valeria…”
And then—nothing.
His grip fell away.
A second gunshot rang out.
I turned in time to see Isabella’s body jerk as a bullet pierced her chest. She collapsed.
Lazarus, one of Darius’s best men, lowered his gun, expression impassive. “It’s over,” he muttered.
Isabella’s body lay crumpled on the cold ground, blood pooling beneath her. The once-powerful woman, who had destroyed so many lives, now lay in the very graveyard she had tried to turn into my tomb.
But she wasn’t done.
Her lips trembled, blood bubbling from her mouth as she struggled to speak.
“Y-you think… y-you’ve won?” she choked out, her dimming eyes locking onto mine. “Y-you… haven’t met my sister.”
A smirk forming on my lips.
Sister?
The cemetery was quiet. Peaceful. But I didn’t feel peace.
I knelt before Amara’s grave, running my fingers over the cold marble. My little girl. My everything. The wind rustled through the trees, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to grieve.
Then, the feeling of eyes on me shattered the moment.
I tensed.
Not alone.
A rustle. A shadow shifting. I didn’t flinch.
Instead, I raised my gun, aiming straight at her heart. “Last chance, Isabella. Run while you still can.”
“No, sweetheart. That’s my line.”
She flicked her wrist.
Gunfire exploded.
I ducked behind a marble headstone, bullets ricocheting around me. The sharp scent of burning lead filled my lungs as dirt and stone shattered beside me.
Damn it. Outnumbered.
I fired back, my bullet hitting one of the men square in the chest. He let out a strangled gasp before dropping.
Five left.
I rolled to another cover, my heartbeat a steady, violent rhythm in my ears. They were closing in. My mind raced—calculating, planning. I needed an opening.
A voice rang out. “Give up, Valeria! You’re surrounded!”
Rage surged through me. I fired. One man collapsed. Four left. I darted between graves, avoiding gunfire. Think. I couldn’t let them corner me. Rolling to cover, I took another shot—missed. Damn it.
A sharp pain exploded in my shoulder as a bullet grazed me. I bit back a scream, gripping the wound.
Another voice—deeper, colder.
“Valeria!”
Darius.
Gunfire ripped through the graveyard, drowning out the howling wind. Shadows darted between tombstones, bodies falling, blood staining the earth meant for the dead. Darius’s men fought ruthlessly, protecting me with unwavering loyalty. Isabella’s assassins were just as relentless, fueled by desperation and the promise of my death.
I ducked behind a stone angel, breath ragged, heart pounding. I had faced war before. But never like this. Not in the place where my daughter lay buried.
A gun clicked near me.
I spun, firing without hesitation. My bullet met flesh. The man crumpled. Three left.
A shadow moved in the distance. I aimed—
But froze.
Lorenzo.
He stood at the edge of the chaos, suit torn, blood staining his knuckles. His hair was disheveled, face unreadable.
My heart lurched.
He escaped.
For a moment, we just stared. I had chained him. I had tortured him. I had broken him. Yet, he was here. Not with a gun. Not with vengeance. But something else in his eyes. His gaze flickered toward the grave—the marble headstone that bore Amara’s name.
I knew why he came.
He came to beg.
To kneel.
To whisper apologies to the child who had once called him her hero.
But there was no time for forgiveness.
Because Isabella wasn’t done.
She emerged from the shadows, gun raised, lips curled in a sneer. “This ends tonight, Valeria,” she hissed.
I smirked. “Then pull the damn trigger.”
I saw it the moment she made her choice.
Her finger tightening on the trigger. The gun flaring to life. The bullet aimed for my heart.
I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
Because in that single breath of silence—
Lorenzo moved first.
“No!”
A gunshot.
Not mine.
Not Isabella’s.
A single, deafening crack.
And then—blood.
A hot, wet splatter hit my face.
Time froze.
Lorenzo’s body jerked violently as the bullet tore through him.
No.
His eyes widened. Shock flickered in them as he stumbled—toward me.
And then he collapsed against me.
I caught him instinctively, my arms wrapping around his heavy body as we sank to the ground.
No. No. No.
“Lorenzo!” My voice cracked. I pressed my hand against his side—so much blood. It was pouring out, soaking through his clothes, staining my fingers.
Why?
Why did he—?
A cold chill crawled up my spine. I turned my head slightly—and saw Isabella staring.
For the first time, she looked… shaken.
“Why?” I whispered. My voice was barely audible over the gunfire, but I knew she heard me.
Lorenzo coughed, blood trickling down his lips. His fingers weakly grasped my wrist, his grip slipping. His lips moved, but at first, I couldn’t hear.
Then I realized—
He was whispering my name.
A sharp pain twisted in my chest.
He… protected me.
Why?
Why would he—
Gunfire snapped me out of it.
Darius’s voice roared through the graveyard, followed by the sound of men falling. His men had arrived.
“Valeria, move!” Darius’s voice was sharp, commanding.
But I couldn’t.
I was still kneeling there, holding Lorenzo.
Darius yanked me back. “We need to go! Now!”
I struggled. “No! I—”
Lorenzo wasn’t moving.
His body was slumped, his breathing shallow. His hand, still clutching my wrist, was slipping.
“Lorenzo!”
His eyelids fluttered. “V-Valeria…”
And then—nothing.
His grip fell away.
A second gunshot rang out.
I turned in time to see Isabella’s body jerk as a bullet pierced her chest. She collapsed.
Lazarus, one of Darius’s best men, lowered his gun, expression impassive. “It’s over,” he muttered.
Isabella’s body lay crumpled on the cold ground, blood pooling beneath her. The once-powerful woman, who had destroyed so many lives, now lay in the very graveyard she had tried to turn into my tomb.
But she wasn’t done.
Her lips trembled, blood bubbling from her mouth as she struggled to speak.
“Y-you think… y-you’ve won?” she choked out, her dimming eyes locking onto mine. “Y-you… haven’t met my sister.”
A smirk forming on my lips.
Sister?
End of He Left Me Pregnant and Grieving—Now He’s the One Begging Chapter 50. Continue reading Chapter 51 or return to He Left Me Pregnant and Grieving—Now He’s the One Begging book page.