My Unconventional Bride

My Unconventional Bride

Gavin

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Eleanor Hayes, my godmother, sat across from me in her familiar study, presenting glossy portfolios for my future. "It's time you thought seriously about settling down," she said, gentle yet firm. My heart slammed against my ribs, a desperate drum. This conversation. This room. I knew it. A cold dread, sharp as a winter blade, pierced through me, an echo from a life already lived. Isabelle Vance. Her beautiful, cruel face flashed, bringing with it the suffocating memories of my first existence. "You were never good enough for me, Ethan," she' d hissed, her eyes like ice, a final cut. That bitter, public divorce, her humiliating betrayal with Julian Croft. Then, the shouting, the chaotic confrontation, and her spoiled child' s reckless prank. The fall. Darkness. A chilling plunge into an ornamental lake, drowning amidst the detached laughter of society. My own death, undeniably real, my last breath choked with bitter regret and public ridicule. Now, I was back. Years earlier. At this exact, pivotal moment that began my first life' s spiral into ruin. I could feel the ghost of that past betrayal, the hollowness of a future wasted, screaming at me. I had been a fool, desperate for acceptance from the wrong woman. But this time, a second chance pulsed with terrifying clarity. This time, I would defy expectations. This time, I would choose my own destiny, no matter how unconventional.

Introduction

Eleanor Hayes, my godmother, sat across from me in her familiar study, presenting glossy portfolios for my future.

"It's time you thought seriously about settling down," she said, gentle yet firm.

My heart slammed against my ribs, a desperate drum.

This conversation.

This room.

I knew it.

A cold dread, sharp as a winter blade, pierced through me, an echo from a life already lived.

Isabelle Vance.

Her beautiful, cruel face flashed, bringing with it the suffocating memories of my first existence.

"You were never good enough for me, Ethan," she' d hissed, her eyes like ice, a final cut.

That bitter, public divorce, her humiliating betrayal with Julian Croft.

Then, the shouting, the chaotic confrontation, and her spoiled child' s reckless prank.

The fall.

Darkness.

A chilling plunge into an ornamental lake, drowning amidst the detached laughter of society.

My own death, undeniably real, my last breath choked with bitter regret and public ridicule.

Now, I was back.

Years earlier.

At this exact, pivotal moment that began my first life' s spiral into ruin.

I could feel the ghost of that past betrayal, the hollowness of a future wasted, screaming at me.

I had been a fool, desperate for acceptance from the wrong woman.

But this time, a second chance pulsed with terrifying clarity.

This time, I would defy expectations.

This time, I would choose my own destiny, no matter how unconventional.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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