Too Late For "I Love You"

Too Late For "I Love You"

Gavin

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My career as a restorative artist thrived, a perfect mask for the gaping hole my estranged mother left. For years, I'd demonized Eleanor, especially after my father's tragic death, blaming her for everything. So, when a Jane Doe, brutally disfigured, landed on my marble slab, it was just another case. Until I saw it: a familiar, faint burn scar on her forearm. I dismissed it – "evil people live forever," I'd sneered. Then, the pieces clicked. The police timeline, a chilling echo of my last, dismissive phone call with my mother. My colleague pointed out the scar was deliberately removed. Sam, an old family friend, ambushed me, his words a painful hammer. Eleanor had longed for reconciliation, had baked my favorite apple pie for her birthday – for me. He confessed that my father, Richard, had lied about everything. A detective's grim call confirmed the worst. My heart seized. The woman I'd just worked on, the "Jane Doe," was my mother. The woman I'd scorned, the woman whose death I'd scoffed at, was now lying on my table, her face meticulously rebuilt by my own hands. My last words to her, "Stop trying to ruin everything with your drama!", rang in my ears. How could I have been so blind, so cruel? This was the horrifying truth staring back at me. This was Eleanor. And now, I would find out what truly happened.

Introduction

My career as a restorative artist thrived, a perfect mask for the gaping hole my estranged mother left.

For years, I'd demonized Eleanor, especially after my father's tragic death, blaming her for everything.

So, when a Jane Doe, brutally disfigured, landed on my marble slab, it was just another case.

Until I saw it: a familiar, faint burn scar on her forearm.

I dismissed it – "evil people live forever," I'd sneered.

Then, the pieces clicked.

The police timeline, a chilling echo of my last, dismissive phone call with my mother.

My colleague pointed out the scar was deliberately removed.

Sam, an old family friend, ambushed me, his words a painful hammer.

Eleanor had longed for reconciliation, had baked my favorite apple pie for her birthday – for me.

He confessed that my father, Richard, had lied about everything.

A detective's grim call confirmed the worst.

My heart seized.

The woman I'd just worked on, the "Jane Doe," was my mother.

The woman I'd scorned, the woman whose death I'd scoffed at, was now lying on my table, her face meticulously rebuilt by my own hands.

My last words to her, "Stop trying to ruin everything with your drama!", rang in my ears.

How could I have been so blind, so cruel?

This was the horrifying truth staring back at me.

This was Eleanor.

And now, I would find out what truly happened.

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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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