The Price of Mike's Lies

The Price of Mike's Lies

Gavin

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The coppery taste of blood was a phantom memory, chilling me to the bone as I jolted awake. I knew this day; it was etched into my soul, the day Red Rock burned and I died at Mike's hand, a forgotten casualty of his reckless ego. This time, I wouldn't just watch; I'd save Red Rock, starting with the town alarm, a desperate wail echoed by my pounding heart. But the school bus, our only way out for the women and children, was gone, along with the men and our best guns. Mike had taken them, miles away, for a lavish birthday party for his new girlfriend, Lila, completely abandoning us. He'd stripped us of our last hope, dismissing my desperate warnings as cheap jealousy, leaving us vulnerable to the marauding Vulture gang, who were already tearing our town apart. Even his own sister, Chloe, was slapped by him and sent back when she tried to warn him. Later, fiercely pregnant, I rode out alone for help, only to be intercepted by Jake, Mike's blindly loyal deputy, who, brainwashed, believed my pleas were lies. He dragged me, bound, to their drunken desert party, where Mike publicly humiliated me, forcing me to watch while our homes turned to ash. How could Mike be so blind, so cruel, sacrificing everyone for a frivolous celebration? My agony intensified when Red Rock lay in ruins; Mike, feigning shock, turned the mob's grief and rage onto me, blaming me for everything. They descended, a blur of fists and kicks, until a searing, tearing pain in my belly confirmed my worst fear: my baby, violently ripped from me. But this time, I wouldn't die in silent despair. As life drained from me, Chloe appeared, a small, defiant beacon, exposing Mike's selfish lies and turning the tide of vengeance. This time, Mike, you wouldn't get away with it.

Introduction

The coppery taste of blood was a phantom memory, chilling me to the bone as I jolted awake.

I knew this day; it was etched into my soul, the day Red Rock burned and I died at Mike's hand, a forgotten casualty of his reckless ego.

This time, I wouldn't just watch; I'd save Red Rock, starting with the town alarm, a desperate wail echoed by my pounding heart.

But the school bus, our only way out for the women and children, was gone, along with the men and our best guns.

Mike had taken them, miles away, for a lavish birthday party for his new girlfriend, Lila, completely abandoning us.

He'd stripped us of our last hope, dismissing my desperate warnings as cheap jealousy, leaving us vulnerable to the marauding Vulture gang, who were already tearing our town apart.

Even his own sister, Chloe, was slapped by him and sent back when she tried to warn him.

Later, fiercely pregnant, I rode out alone for help, only to be intercepted by Jake, Mike's blindly loyal deputy, who, brainwashed, believed my pleas were lies.

He dragged me, bound, to their drunken desert party, where Mike publicly humiliated me, forcing me to watch while our homes turned to ash.

How could Mike be so blind, so cruel, sacrificing everyone for a frivolous celebration?

My agony intensified when Red Rock lay in ruins; Mike, feigning shock, turned the mob's grief and rage onto me, blaming me for everything.

They descended, a blur of fists and kicks, until a searing, tearing pain in my belly confirmed my worst fear: my baby, violently ripped from me.

But this time, I wouldn't die in silent despair.

As life drained from me, Chloe appeared, a small, defiant beacon, exposing Mike's selfish lies and turning the tide of vengeance.

This time, Mike, you wouldn't get away with it.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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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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