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My Husband's Dirty Little Secret

My Husband's Dirty Little Secret

Gavin

5.0
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Scarlett May Johnson could sing a heartache, but she could also be hungry. So, when Nashville record mogul Silas Blackwood offered her a deal – and a marriage proposal – she said yes. It wasn't love, just a shortcut to her dreams. Soon, her life became a gilded cage: cold marble, silent halls, and a husband who rarely touched her. Her one escape was Blackwood Ridge Lodge, a wild retreat where she found raw, forbidden passion with a rugged guide named Cody. Then the truth shattered everything. "He shows us... those ATV action videos," a drunk business associate slurred to me one night. My blood ran cold. Videos? Later, I found a hidden folder on Silas's tablet: high-quality, multi-angle recordings of Cody and me at the lodge. Every intimate moment, captured. And according to his friends, he'd been *sharing* them. My escape, my passion, my secret life – all a twisted performance for his sick profit. When I confronted him, Silas didn't deny it. He simply handed me divorce papers, a paltry payout, and an iron-clad NDA. "$100,000. You breathe a word, and your music career is dead." The humiliation was a physical ache, hotter than any ambition. I was no longer an artist; I was a pawn in an old man's twisted game, violated, discarded without a care. The naive country girl was gone, replaced by a cold, searing rage. And then, a package arrived. From Cody. Inside, a small device and a note: "Sometimes the prey has to become the hunter." Silas Blackwood thought he had won. He was dead wrong. I was ready to hunt.

Introduction

Scarlett May Johnson could sing a heartache, but she could also be hungry. So, when Nashville record mogul Silas Blackwood offered her a deal – and a marriage proposal – she said yes. It wasn't love, just a shortcut to her dreams. Soon, her life became a gilded cage: cold marble, silent halls, and a husband who rarely touched her. Her one escape was Blackwood Ridge Lodge, a wild retreat where she found raw, forbidden passion with a rugged guide named Cody.

Then the truth shattered everything.

"He shows us... those ATV action videos," a drunk business associate slurred to me one night. My blood ran cold. Videos? Later, I found a hidden folder on Silas's tablet: high-quality, multi-angle recordings of Cody and me at the lodge. Every intimate moment, captured. And according to his friends, he'd been *sharing* them. My escape, my passion, my secret life – all a twisted performance for his sick profit.

When I confronted him, Silas didn't deny it. He simply handed me divorce papers, a paltry payout, and an iron-clad NDA. "$100,000. You breathe a word, and your music career is dead."

The humiliation was a physical ache, hotter than any ambition. I was no longer an artist; I was a pawn in an old man's twisted game, violated, discarded without a care. The naive country girl was gone, replaced by a cold, searing rage.

And then, a package arrived. From Cody. Inside, a small device and a note: "Sometimes the prey has to become the hunter." Silas Blackwood thought he had won. He was dead wrong. I was ready to hunt.

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Love's Final Condemnation

Love's Final Condemnation

Short stories

5.0

The antiseptic smell of the hospital clung to me as I watched my brother, Leo, fight for every shallow breath-his life fading, his only hope an experimental surgery with an impossible price tag. My art, once my passion, gathered dust, while my father' s legacy, his architectural masterpiece, was brazenly stolen. Julian Vance, my father' s apprentice, stood before the towering Skyline Spire, a perfect replica of my dad' s unpatented dream, "Helios." He smiled, sharp and confident, taking all the credit at its grand unveiling. Rage, hot and sharp, coursed through me. He had stolen my dying father's masterpiece, building an empire while Leo lay dying. I confronted him, shouting the truth amidst flashing cameras. He dismissed me as distraught, a hysterical girl consumed by grief, his hand on my shoulder a public brand of instability. The crowd believed him, the powerful mogul, not the desperate girl in frayed denim. His eyes, though, flickered with a fleeting, inner turmoil that I inexplicably heard, a frantic whisper of guilt and terror. Humiliated, abandoned by my own family who valued Julian' s influence over my truth, I stumbled into the cold night. A sharp pain seized my chest, and blood stained my palm. It wasn't just Leo who was sick; I was too, and time was running out. He bought my silence, evicted me, and forced me into his gilded cage. I was now his servant, subjected to endless degradation by his cruel lover, Isabella, and Julian himself, whose every action, though outwardly cold, seemed driven by a terrifying internal war. I found myself trapped, desperately trying to survive, with a new life unexpectedly growing inside me, a secret I couldn't keep.

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