Her Pregnancy, My Exodus

Her Pregnancy, My Exodus

Gavin

3.5
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I was Chloe, a frontwoman of "Nightingale & Guitarist," a life I'd painstakingly built with Liam, the struggling musician I'd saved. For five years, I was his muse, his partner, his wife, having chosen him over my original, shattered reality. Then, Liam began his affair with Kendra, our ambitious tour assistant. For three unbearable years, I lived a grotesque parody of a marriage, enduring his blatant betrayals, his gaslighting, and Kendra's open triumph, as if I had somehow deserved this calculated heartbreak. The final, crushing blow came on my birthday, backstage, when Kendra callously announced her pregnancy, a child she claimed was Liam's, right after he'd publicly blamed me for her distress. How could I have given up everything, every piece of my true self, Elara the cellist, only to be reduced to this, a discarded note in their discordant symphony? Why did I allow myself to be consumed by such a bitter, endless performance? But a lifeline appeared: The mysterious Dreamweaver system, which had first sent me to Liam, offered a way to finally go back. To my real life. To myself. For ten days, I methodically dismantled every trace of "Chloe," liquidating all the assets, severing every tie, until my final, quiet disappearance at midnight, as gracefully as a fading echo. Yet, even in my true world, peace was fleeting; Dreamweaver demanded I return, one last time, to quell Liam's destructive grief, which threatened to unravel the very fabric of his reality. I had to finish what I started, to play the final, unburdened note.

Introduction

I was Chloe, a frontwoman of "Nightingale & Guitarist," a life I'd painstakingly built with Liam, the struggling musician I'd saved.

For five years, I was his muse, his partner, his wife, having chosen him over my original, shattered reality.

Then, Liam began his affair with Kendra, our ambitious tour assistant.

For three unbearable years, I lived a grotesque parody of a marriage, enduring his blatant betrayals, his gaslighting, and Kendra's open triumph, as if I had somehow deserved this calculated heartbreak.

The final, crushing blow came on my birthday, backstage, when Kendra callously announced her pregnancy, a child she claimed was Liam's, right after he'd publicly blamed me for her distress.

How could I have given up everything, every piece of my true self, Elara the cellist, only to be reduced to this, a discarded note in their discordant symphony?

Why did I allow myself to be consumed by such a bitter, endless performance?

But a lifeline appeared: The mysterious Dreamweaver system, which had first sent me to Liam, offered a way to finally go back.

To my real life.

To myself.

For ten days, I methodically dismantled every trace of "Chloe," liquidating all the assets, severing every tie, until my final, quiet disappearance at midnight, as gracefully as a fading echo.

Yet, even in my true world, peace was fleeting; Dreamweaver demanded I return, one last time, to quell Liam's destructive grief, which threatened to unravel the very fabric of his reality.

I had to finish what I started, to play the final, unburdened note.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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4.5

I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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