My life was a picture-perfect dream. At 21, married to the successful real estate titan Marcus Thorne, I lived in a Manhattan penthouse fit for royalty. He adored me, called me his "Muse," showering me with exquisite art and personal gestures. I was pregnant, and our future, with its "little masterpiece" on the way, felt utterly secure. Then I found a hidden compartment in Marcus's antique desk, revealing a chilling secret. Inside, a leather-bound scrapbook held dozens of photos of a woman strikingly similar to me-Isabelle Vance. A faded concert ticket, inscribed "For Izzy, my only dream, my eternal muse," confirmed my worst fear. My entire relationship, every tender word, every grand gesture, was a meticulously crafted lie, a painful echo of his past love. Humiliation and devastation washed over me, a physical blow to my gut. I, his beloved "Muse," was merely a stand-in. Our unborn child, conceived in this grand deception, twisted my insides. Brad, Marcus's best friend, accidentally revealed the truth: "Izzy's back! Thorne's already ditching the pregnant kid-bride!" Isabelle herself then flooded my phone with gloating photos and videos of her and Marcus, reliving their old haunts. Every cherished gift, every thoughtful act, was revealed to be a cruel mimicry of his love for her. I was trapped in a gilded cage built on a lie. How could I possibly live with this soul-crushing betrayal? Who was I, truly, if my entire existence within this marriage had been a substitute? The raw despair was unbearable, eclipsing everything. My resolve hardened, brutal and swift. I walked out of my illusionary life, leaving New York and Marcus Thorne, and began the painful process of reclaiming my own future.
My life was a picture-perfect dream.
At 21, married to the successful real estate titan Marcus Thorne, I lived in a Manhattan penthouse fit for royalty.
He adored me, called me his "Muse," showering me with exquisite art and personal gestures.
I was pregnant, and our future, with its "little masterpiece" on the way, felt utterly secure.
Then I found a hidden compartment in Marcus's antique desk, revealing a chilling secret.
Inside, a leather-bound scrapbook held dozens of photos of a woman strikingly similar to me-Isabelle Vance.
A faded concert ticket, inscribed "For Izzy, my only dream, my eternal muse," confirmed my worst fear.
My entire relationship, every tender word, every grand gesture, was a meticulously crafted lie, a painful echo of his past love.
Humiliation and devastation washed over me, a physical blow to my gut.
I, his beloved "Muse," was merely a stand-in.
Our unborn child, conceived in this grand deception, twisted my insides.
Brad, Marcus's best friend, accidentally revealed the truth: "Izzy's back! Thorne's already ditching the pregnant kid-bride!"
Isabelle herself then flooded my phone with gloating photos and videos of her and Marcus, reliving their old haunts.
Every cherished gift, every thoughtful act, was revealed to be a cruel mimicry of his love for her.
I was trapped in a gilded cage built on a lie.
How could I possibly live with this soul-crushing betrayal?
Who was I, truly, if my entire existence within this marriage had been a substitute?
The raw despair was unbearable, eclipsing everything.
My resolve hardened, brutal and swift.
I walked out of my illusionary life, leaving New York and Marcus Thorne, and began the painful process of reclaiming my own future.
Introduction
30/05/2025
Chapter 1
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Chapter 2
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Chapter 3
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Chapter 4
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Chapter 5
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Chapter 6
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Chapter 7
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Chapter 8
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Chapter 9
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Chapter 10
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Chapter 11
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Chapter 12
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Chapter 13
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Chapter 14
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Chapter 15
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Chapter 16
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Chapter 17
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Chapter 18
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Chapter 19
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Chapter 20
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Chapter 21
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Chapter 22
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Chapter 23
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Chapter 24
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Chapter 25
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Chapter 26
30/05/2025
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