No More Chains: The Wife's Escape

No More Chains: The Wife's Escape

Gavin

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My tenth wedding anniversary gala at our lavish Napa Valley estate should have been a dream, but for ten years I'd lived a gilded nightmare crafted by Julian Thorne. Tonight, my tech mogul husband took his public humiliation ritual to new depths, introducing his barely-out-of-her-teens mistress on stage, then demanding I strip my designer gown and a priceless family heirloom necklace to give to her as a "welcome gift." When I finally uttered "divorce," he scoffed, offering a multi-million-dollar "severance package" but coldly emphasized that my ailing father's costly medical care depended entirely on his whims, turning my raw pain into a grotesque public spectacle for the guests to bet on. That very night, fueled by rage, Julian trapped me in the wine cellar, convinced I'd never truly walk away, as my mother lay dying from a car accident I couldn't reach her from, leaving me to beat bloody fists against the locked door. Reaching the hospital too late, and later enduring a final, devastating blow as Julian's mistress orchestrated my father's quiet death with his chilling disregard, left me utterly shattered, yet terrifyingly, undeniably, free from his last cruel hold. With every lifeline severed, and nothing left for Julian to control or threaten, the broken woman he thought he owned finally died, and a new, formidable force awoke, ready to unleash a vengeance he never saw coming, starting now.

Introduction

My tenth wedding anniversary gala at our lavish Napa Valley estate *should* have been a dream, but for ten years I'd lived a gilded nightmare crafted by Julian Thorne.

Tonight, my tech mogul husband took his public humiliation ritual to new depths, introducing his barely-out-of-her-teens mistress on stage, then demanding I strip my designer gown and a priceless family heirloom necklace to give to her as a "welcome gift."

When I finally uttered "divorce," he scoffed, offering a multi-million-dollar "severance package" but coldly emphasized that my ailing father's costly medical care depended entirely on his whims, turning my raw pain into a grotesque public spectacle for the guests to bet on.

That very night, fueled by rage, Julian trapped me in the wine cellar, convinced I'd never truly walk away, as my mother lay dying from a car accident I couldn't reach her from, leaving me to beat bloody fists against the locked door.

Reaching the hospital too late, and later enduring a final, devastating blow as Julian's mistress orchestrated my father's quiet death with his chilling disregard, left me utterly shattered, yet terrifyingly, undeniably, free from his last cruel hold.

With every lifeline severed, and nothing left for Julian to control or threaten, the broken woman he thought he owned finally died, and a new, formidable force awoke, ready to unleash a vengeance he never saw coming, starting now.

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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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