Gavin
3108 Published Stories
Gavin's Books and Stories
Ten Years a Ward
Modern For ten years, I secretly loved my guardian, Ethan Hayes. After my family fell apart, he took me in and raised me. He was my entire world.
On my eighteenth birthday, I gathered all my courage to confess my love to him.
But his reaction was a fury I had never seen before. He swept my birthday cake to the floor and roared, "Are you insane? I am your GUARDIAN!"
He then mercilessly tore the painting I had spent a year on-my confession-to shreds.
Just days later, he brought home his fiancée, Chloe.
The man who had promised to wait for me to grow up, who called me his brightest star, had vanished. My decade of desperate, burning love had only managed to burn myself.
The person who was supposed to protect me had become the one who hurt me the most.
I looked down at the NYU acceptance letter in my hand. I had to leave. I had to pull him out of my heart, no matter how much it hurt.
I picked up the phone and dialed my father's number.
"Dad," I said, my voice hoarse, "I've decided. I want to come be with you in New York." The Price of Unrequited Love
Short stories Eighteen days after giving up on Brendan Maynard, Jayde Rosario cut off her waist-length hair and called her father, announcing her decision to move to California and attend UC Berkeley.
Her father, surprised, asked about the sudden change, reminding her how she' d always insisted on staying with Brendan. Jayde forced a laugh, revealing the painful truth: Brendan was getting married, and she, his stepsister, could no longer cling to him.
That night, she tried to tell Brendan about her college acceptance, but his fiancée, Chloie Ellis, interrupted with a bubbly call, and Brendan' s tender words to Chloie twisted a knife in Jayde' s heart. She remembered how his tenderness used to be hers alone, how he had protected her, and how she had poured out her heart to him in a diary and a love letter, only for him to explode, tearing the letter and yelling, "I'm your brother!"
He had stormed out, leaving her to painstakingly tape the shredded pieces back together. Her love, however, didn't die, not even when he brought Chloie home and told her to call her "sister-in-law."
Now, she understood. She had to put that fire out herself. She had to dig Brendan out of her heart. A Wife's Bitter Reckoning
Short stories My husband, Bennett, and I were New York's golden couple. But our perfect marriage was a lie, childless because of a rare genetic condition he claimed would kill any woman who carried his baby. When his dying father demanded an heir, Bennett proposed a solution: a surrogate.
The woman he chose, Aria, was a younger, more vibrant version of me. Suddenly, Bennett was always busy, supporting her through "difficult IVF cycles." He missed my birthday. He forgot our anniversary.
I tried to believe him, until I overheard him at a party. He confessed to his friends that his love for me was a "deep connection," but with Aria, it was "fire" and "exhilarating."
He was planning a secret wedding with her in Lake Como, at the same villa he'd promised me for our anniversary.
He was giving her a wedding, a family, a life—all the things he denied me, using a lie about a deadly genetic condition as his excuse. The betrayal was so complete it felt like a physical shock.
When he came home that night, lying about a business trip, I smiled and played the part of the loving wife.
He didn't know I'd heard everything.
He didn't know that while he was planning his new life, I was already planning my escape.
And he certainly didn't know I had just made a call to a service that specialized in one thing: making people disappear. Five Years, One Devastating Lie
Short stories My husband was in the shower, the sound of water a familiar rhythm to our mornings. I was just placing a cup of coffee on his desk, a small ritual in our five years of what I thought was a perfect marriage.
Then, an email notification flashed on his laptop: "You're invited to the Christening of Leo Thomas." Our last name. The sender: Hayden Cleveland, a social media influencer.
An icy dread settled in. It was an invitation for his son, a son I didn't know existed. I went to the church, hidden in the shadows, and saw him holding a baby, a little boy with his dark hair and eyes. Hayden Cleveland, the mother, leaned on his shoulder, a picture of domestic bliss.
They looked like a family. A perfect, happy family. My world crumbled. I remembered him refusing to have a baby with me, citing work pressure. All his business trips, the late nights-were they spent with them?
The lie was so easy for him. How could I have been so blind?
I called the Zurich Architectural Fellowship, a prestigious program I had deferred for him. "I' d like to accept the fellowship," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I can leave immediately." The Negotiator's Cruelest Game
Short stories My husband, Harrison Phelps, was the FBI's golden boy, the hero negotiator who never lost his cool. To the world, we were the perfect couple.
Then a bank robbery went wrong. The desperate kidnapper grabbed two women as human shields: me, and Harrison's colleague, Brooke. He gave my husband a choice: save one.
Through the megaphone, my husband's voice boomed, clear and decisive for the whole world to hear.
"Let Brooke Shelton go! She is a national asset!"
He rushed to embrace her, shielding her with his body, never once looking back at me. The kidnapper, enraged, turned his gun on me. I saw the flash before the world went black.
I woke up in the hospital and the first thing I did was call a lawyer. I wanted a divorce. But he returned from retrieving our marriage certificate with a strange look on his face.
"There's a problem, Mrs. Phelps," he said, sliding the document across the table. "According to official records, this was never filed. Legally, you were never married."
Six years. Our home, our friends, our life-all built on a lie. It was all for her. He built a perfect, fake life with me just so he could wait for Brooke to come back. Coma, Cruelty, and Caleb's Betrayal
Short stories After donating bone marrow to save my brother, a rare complication put me in a coma for five years.
When I woke up, I found my family had replaced me. They had a new daughter, Hailie, a girl who looked just like me.
They told me my jealousy over her caused a car crash that forced Hailie and my parents into hiding. To make me atone, my fiancé, Caleb, and my brother locked me in an isolated villa for three years. I was their prisoner, their slave, enduring their beatings because I believed my suffering was the price for my family's safety.
Then, a doctor told me I had terminal lung cancer. My body was failing, but my tormentors decided on one last act of "kindness"-a surprise birthday trip to a luxury resort.
There, I saw them all. My parents, my brother, my fiancé, and Hailie, alive and well, drinking champagne. I overheard their plan. My torture wasn't penance. It was a "lesson" to break me. My entire life had become a cruel joke.
So, on my birthday, I walked to the highest bridge on the island, left behind my medical diagnosis and a recording of Hailie's confession, and jumped. When Love Turns to Ash
Short stories My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend.
From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down."
That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny.
But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded.
I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said."
Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off."
My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers.
I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal.
Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing.
As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury.
In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho."
How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me?
Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault?
Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred?
I would not be his victim.
Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done.
I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties.
This was not an escape; this was my rebirth.
Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises. His Secret Son, Her Stolen Fortune
Short stories I found the document by accident. Aiden was away, and I was looking for my mother' s old earrings in the safe when my fingers brushed against a thick, unfamiliar file folder. It wasn't mine.
It was the "Herrera Family Trust," and the primary beneficiary of Aiden' s massive fortune wasn't me, his wife of seven years. It was a five-year-old boy named Leo Herrera, and his legal guardian, listed as the secondary beneficiary, was Haven Herrera-my adopted sister-in-law.
My family lawyer confirmed it an hour later. It was real. Ironclad. Established five years ago. The phone slipped from my hand. A cold numbness spread through me. Seven years. I had spent seven years justifying Aiden's madness, his rages, his possessiveness, believing it was a twisted part of his love.
I stumbled through the cold, silent mansion to the east wing, drawn by the sound of laughter. Through the glass doors, I saw them: Aiden, bouncing Leo on his knee, Haven beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. And with them, smiling and cooing at the child, were Aiden's parents. My in-laws. They were a perfect family.
"Aiden, the final transfer of the Knox assets into Leo' s trust is complete," his father said, raising a glass of champagne. "It's all airtight now."
"Good," Aiden replied, his voice calm. "Charlotte's family money should have always belonged to a true Herrera heir."
My inheritance. My family's legacy. Transferred to his secret son. My own money, used to secure the future of his betrayal. They had all known. They had all conspired. His rage, his paranoia, his sickness-it wasn't for everyone. It was a special hell he had reserved just for me.
I backed away from the door, my body cold as ice. I ran back to our bedroom, the one we had shared for seven years, and locked the door. I looked at my reflection, at the ghost of the woman I used to be. A quiet vow formed on my lips, silent but absolute.
"Aiden Herrera," I whispered to the empty room. "I will never see you again." Discarded Wife, Legal Legend Rises
Short stories For three years, I gave up my life as "Nemesis," the undefeated lawyer, to be the perfect wife for LA's star prosecutor, Keith Sampson. I traded my legal briefs for cookbooks, believing I could heal the man I loved.
On our anniversary, he came home drunk, kissed me desperately, and whispered another woman's name.
"Holly," he breathed. "I knew you'd come back to me."
But the final verdict on our marriage came at a restaurant. When a waiter spilled a pot of scalding coffee, Keith didn't hesitate. He lunged to shield his ex-girlfriend, Holly, from a few drops.
The rest of the pot splashed onto my arm, causing second-degree burns. He panicked over the minor red marks on Holly's hand, rushing her to a private clinic.
He never even looked at my blistering skin. He just handed me his credit card.
"Take a cab to urgent care," he said. "I'll call you later."
That was the moment the devoted wife died. I walked out and never looked back. Three months later, I stood across from him in a courtroom, representing the man he was prosecuting in the biggest case of his career.
He had no idea the quiet housewife he'd discarded was the legal legend known as Nemesis. And I was about to destroy his perfect, undefeated record. From Brokenness To Billionaire Bride
Short stories My father raised seven brilliant orphans to be my potential husbands. For years, I only had eyes for one of them, the cold and distant Damien Paul, believing his distance was a wall I just had to break through.
That belief shattered last night when I found him in the garden, kissing his foster sister, Eve—the fragile girl my family took in at his request, the one I had treated like my own sister.
But the true horror came when I overheard the other six Fellows talking in the library.
They weren't competing for me. They were working together, orchestrating "accidents" and mocking my "stupid, blind" devotion to keep me away from Damien.
Their loyalty wasn't to me, the heiress who held their futures in her hands. It was to Eve.
I wasn't a woman to be won. I was a foolish burden to be managed. The seven men I grew up with, the men who owed my family everything, were a cult, and she was their queen.
This morning, I walked into my father's study to make a decision that would burn their world to the ground. He smiled, asking if I'd finally won Damien over.
"No, Dad," I said, my voice firm. "I'm marrying Hunter Beach." The Truth About His Mistress
Short stories I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch.
Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son."
My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional."
His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp.
Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family."
He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back."
The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized.
How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family?
But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified.
They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation.
They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear.
I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust. Love, Lies, and a Vasectomy
Short stories At eight months pregnant, I thought my husband Derek and I had it all. A perfect home, a loving marriage, and our miracle son on the way.
Then, while tidying his office, I found his vasectomy certificate. It was dated a year ago, long before we even started trying.
Confused and panicked, I rushed to his office, only to hear laughter from behind the door. It was Derek and his best friend, Edison.
"I can't believe she still hasn't figured it out," Edison chuckled. "She walks around with that giant belly, glowing like some kind of saint."
My husband's voice, the one that whispered words of love to me every night, was full of contempt. "Patience, my friend. The bigger she gets, the bigger the fall. And the bigger my payout."
He said our entire marriage was a cruel game to destroy me, all for his precious adopted sister, Else.
They were even running a bet on who the real father was.
"So, the bet is still on?" Edison asked. "My money's still on me."
My baby was a trophy in their sick contest. The world tilted on its axis. The love I felt, the family I was building—it was all a sham.
In that moment, a cold, clear decision formed in the ruins of my heart.
I pulled out my phone, my voice surprisingly steady as I called a private clinic.
"Hello," I said. "I need to schedule an appointment. For a termination." My Escape: A Marriage of Convenience
Short stories For five years, I was the perfect girlfriend. I stood by Adler when his family lost everything, helping him build a tech empire from scratch. I thought our love was real.
But one night, I heard him moaning another woman's name in his sleep-Annika, the ex who abandoned him the second his money was gone. I realized with horrifying clarity that I wasn't his love. I was his placeholder.
The cruelty was a slow burn that became an inferno. When a chandelier fell at a party, he instinctively saved her, leaving me to be crushed. He left me bleeding on the side of the road after a car crash to go comfort her.
He chose her. Every single time. He told me he loved me, but his actions screamed that I was disposable. His love wasn't a home; it was a cage built of comfortable lies.
After he abandoned me on a yacht to save Annika from her own staged drama, I was finally done. So when his sister begged me to help her escape an arranged marriage to a monstrous, disfigured recluse, I saw my escape. I texted her back, "Don't worry. I'll marry him." Chasing a Statue: Eight Years Lost
Short stories I spent eight years of my life trying to warm a statue. For six years, I chased Brooks Kane, the "Saint of Wall Street," and for two more, I lived in a hollow, unconsummated marriage, believing my love could melt his icy heart.
I was wrong. The truth wasn't another woman; it was a doll. I found my husband in a secret chapel, praying to a life-sized doll with the face of his adopted sister, Chastity. He confessed his forbidden love for her, calling our marriage a cage he had to endure.
When I tried to leave, Chastity smashed a bottle over my head. I woke up in the hospital with twelve stitches, but Brooks wasn't there. He was comforting her, tending to a scratch on her cheek while I bled. He even used his power to make my police report disappear, calling it an "unseemly family matter." His Secret Son, Her Public Shame
Short stories I was Aliana Donovan, a resident physician, finally reunited with the wealthy family I' d been lost from as a child. I had loving parents and a handsome, successful fiancé. I was safe. I was loved. It was a perfect, fragile lie.
The lie shattered on a Tuesday when I discovered my fiancé, Ivan, wasn't at a board meeting but at a sprawling mansion with Kiera Reese, the woman I was told had a mental breakdown five years ago after trying to frame me.
She wasn' t disgraced; she was radiant, holding a little boy, Leo, who giggled in Ivan' s arms.
I overheard their conversation: Leo was their son, and I was merely a "placeholder," a means to an end until Ivan no longer needed my family's connections. My parents, the Donovans, were in on it, funding Kiera' s lavish life and their secret family.
My entire reality-the loving parents, the devoted fiancé, the security I thought I' d found-was a carefully constructed stage, and I was the fool playing the lead role. The casual lie Ivan texted me, "Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you. See you at home," while he stood beside his real family, was the final blow.
They thought I was pathetic. They thought I was a fool. They were about to find out just how wrong they were. My Rival, My Only Hope
Short stories On my birthday, my mother told me it was time to choose a fiancé from New York's most eligible bachelors. She urged me to pick Alexander Booth, the man I loved with a foolish passion in my previous life.
But I remembered how that love story ended. On the eve of our wedding, Alexander faked his death in a private jet crash.
I spent years as his grieving fiancée, only to find him alive and well on a beach, laughing with the poor student I had personally sponsored. They even had a child.
When I confronted him, our friends-the men who had pretended to comfort me-held me down.
They helped Alexander throw me into the ocean and watched from the pier as I drowned.
As the water closed over my head, only one person showed any real emotion. My childhood rival, Darrian Golden, screamed my name as they held him back, his face twisted in grief. He was the only one who cried at my funeral.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in our penthouse, just a week before the big decision. This time, when my mother asked me to choose Alexander, I gave her a different name. I chose the man who mourned me. I chose Darrian Golden. Rejection's Fury: A Wife's Return
Short stories I stood in front of City Hall, clutching a marriage license application, waiting for the man I' d loved for five years. He was late. Again.
This was the 99th time Damien Crawford had chosen someone else over me. But this time, a picture on my phone showed him smiling with his high school sweetheart, Hadley Stuart, the woman he' d never gotten over.
When I returned to his mansion, Hadley was curled up next to him, his mother beaming. His mother, Cecil, gave Hadley a family heirloom bracelet, dismissing me as a servant. Damien, instead of apologizing, grabbed my arm, accusing me of a tantrum. He still thought he was in control.
I showed him the torn marriage license, telling him I wanted nothing from him anymore. He responded by dragging me to my room, pushing me against the wall, and trying to kiss me. I told him he was dirty.
Then, my father collapsed. Damien, seeing the jacket a male security guard had given me, refused to let me take my dying father to the hospital, claiming Hadley was having a panic attack. His mother, Cecil, slashed the car tires and threw the keys into a fountain, laughing as my father stopped breathing.
My father died. At the hospital, Damien jabbed an acupuncture needle into my hand, telling me it was what happened when I disobeyed him. He still didn't know the scar on my back was from the skin graft I gave him.
Why did I sacrifice everything for a man who saw me as property, who let my father die? Why did I stay for five years, only to be treated like dirt?
I called Anderson, my adoptive brother, the CEO of the Morrison Group. It was time to go home. It was time for Damien Crawford to pay. Betrayed by My Love, Recruited by His Enemy
Short stories My entire career was riding on one presentation to the formidable CEO of Thorne Industries, Julian Thorne. This project was everything I had worked for.
But my boyfriend and business partner, Mark, showed up late with a rival designer. He then "accidentally" spilled coffee all over my laptop, destroying my only backup.
He proceeded to present a sabotaged version of my work, making me look like an incompetent fool in front of the entire board.
Back at our apartment, he admitted it was all a setup. He had used me from the start, stolen my project, and was now selling it to a competitor.
Then he threw an eviction notice at me. The apartment, the business, everything was in his name. My name was only on the mountain of fraudulent debt he'd taken out to ruin me.
He left me homeless, jobless, and broken on the street with nothing but the clothes on my back.
Just as I hit rock bottom, a sleek black car glided to a stop. The window rolled down. It was Julian Thorne.
His eyes were blazing with a cold fury I hadn't seen in the boardroom.
"Get in the car," he commanded. "We have a mutual enemy. You're going to help me destroy them." His Poisoned Love, My Escape
Short stories My husband, Austen, the man the world saw as my devoted admirer, was the artist of my pain. He had punished me ninety-five times, and this was the ninety-sixth.
Then, a message from my stepsister, Joyce, buzzed on my phone: a photo of her perfectly manicured hand holding champagne, captioned, "Celebrating another victory. He really does love me more."
A second message from Austen followed, "My love, are you resting? I' ve asked the doctor to come. I' m sorry it had to be this way, but you must learn. I' ll be home soon to take care of you."
I had always known Joyce was the trigger, but I never understood the mechanism. I thought it was just Austen' s own brand of cruelty, ignited by Joyce' s lies.
But then, I found a voice recording of Austen's. His calm voice filled the silent room, "...number ninety-six. A broken hand. It should be enough to appease Joyce this time. But my debt must be paid. Fifteen years ago, Joyce saved my life. She pulled me from that burning car after the kidnapping. I vowed that day I would protect her from everything and everyone. Even from my own wife."
My mind went blank. Kidnapping. Burning car. Fifteen years ago. I was the one there. I was the girl who pulled a terrified, crying boy from the back seat just before it exploded. His name was Austen. He had called me his "little star." But when I returned with the police, another girl was there, crying and holding Austen' s hand. It was Joyce.
He didn't know. He had built his entire twisted system of justice on a lie. Joyce had stolen my life-saving act, and I was paying the price. Every cell in my body screamed one word: Escape. His Betrayal, My Erased Memory
Short stories Four years after my son Leo drowned, I was still lost in a fog of grief. My husband, Eli Stark, the tech mogul, was the public' s saint, a devoted father who built a foundation in Leo' s name.
But when I went to finalize Leo' s death certificate, a clerk' s casual comment shattered my world: "Mr. Stark has another dependent child listed."
The name hit me like a physical blow: Cody Sharpe, son of Kasey Sharpe, the woman who had stalked Eli for years. I found them, a perfect family, Eli laughing, a happiness I hadn't seen in years. Then, I overheard Kasey confessing to Eli that his affair with her was why he wasn't watching Leo the day he died.
My world crumbled. For four years, I had carried the guilt, believing Leo' s death was a tragic accident, comforting Eli who blamed himself for a "work call." It was all a lie. His betrayal had killed our son.
The man I loved, the man who had built a prison of grief around me, was living a happy life with another family. He had watched me suffer, letting me blame myself, while his secret festered.
How could he? How could he stand there and lie, knowing his actions led to our son' s death? The injustice burned, a cold, sharp rage replacing my grief.
I called my lawyer, then my former mentor, Casey Long, whose experimental memory erasure research was my only hope. "I want to forget," I whispered, "I need to forget everything. Erase him for me." 
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