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His Unwanted Wife's Redemption

His Unwanted Wife's Redemption

Gavin

5.0
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11
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The poison tasted like bitter almonds and the bitter truth of thirty years. I was Ash Vanderbilt, heir to a fortune, and I lay dying. My husband, Ethan Miller, stood over me, a mask of indifference I'd known for three decades. Thirty years shackled to a man I' d loved with fierce passion, then forced into a marriage he never wanted. Our life together was a wasteland of resentment, his heart always belonging to Brittany Larson. Now, he was finally free. With my last ounce of strength, I lunged, plunging a letter opener into his chest. His gasp was raw, his eyes wide, not with anger, but profound, heartbreaking sorrow. "Ash, no," he choked out, pressing a vial to my lips. "It wasn't me. I was trying to help you. Antidote... someone else..." He slumped beside me, the vial rolling away, his last words echoing as the world went dark. Misunderstanding. A monstrous, colossal misunderstanding. I had just killed the man who had been trying to save me all along. Then, I awoke with a gasp, the scent of salt air filling my lungs. My head throbbed, and the sunlight streamed through the familiar Hamptons beach house window. It was the morning after I had cornered Ethan, leveraging every Vanderbilt debt, forcing him to propose. Thirty years before I died. Rebirth. It was real. I was back. The crushing weight of that final, horrifying revelation pressed down on me. This time, I would break the cycle of misery. I would free him from a marriage he never wanted. And this time, I would choose myself.

Introduction

The poison tasted like bitter almonds and the bitter truth of thirty years.

I was Ash Vanderbilt, heir to a fortune, and I lay dying.

My husband, Ethan Miller, stood over me, a mask of indifference I'd known for three decades.

Thirty years shackled to a man I' d loved with fierce passion, then forced into a marriage he never wanted.

Our life together was a wasteland of resentment, his heart always belonging to Brittany Larson.

Now, he was finally free.

With my last ounce of strength, I lunged, plunging a letter opener into his chest.

His gasp was raw, his eyes wide, not with anger, but profound, heartbreaking sorrow.

"Ash, no," he choked out, pressing a vial to my lips. "It wasn't me. I was trying to help you. Antidote... someone else..."

He slumped beside me, the vial rolling away, his last words echoing as the world went dark.

Misunderstanding. A monstrous, colossal misunderstanding.

I had just killed the man who had been trying to save me all along.

Then, I awoke with a gasp, the scent of salt air filling my lungs.

My head throbbed, and the sunlight streamed through the familiar Hamptons beach house window.

It was the morning after I had cornered Ethan, leveraging every Vanderbilt debt, forcing him to propose.

Thirty years before I died.

Rebirth. It was real. I was back.

The crushing weight of that final, horrifying revelation pressed down on me.

This time, I would break the cycle of misery.

I would free him from a marriage he never wanted.

And this time, I would choose myself.

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The Monster They Made Me

The Monster They Made Me

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5.0

My life was perfect. I was Sarah, a loving mom, taking my sweet six-year-old Lily to Kids' Kraft Korner, all smiles and glitter castles. In an instant, my world shattered. A bloodcurdling scream. I raced back inside to find Lily' s lifeless body, her head gone, crafting shears beside her. My heart died. The real nightmare began. My best friend, Jessica, shrieked, pointing at me. Detective Harding arrested me. My own husband, David, abandoned me, highlighting my past postpartum depression. The media branded me a monster; "Suburban Mother Snaps, Murders Daughter" screamed headlines, bolstered by manipulated footage and a janitor's twisted testimony. Under relentless accusations, I plunged into a torturous haze. Dr. Peterson, a psychologist David suggested, hypnotized me. Horrifying images flooded my mind: me, holding the shears, filled with rage, striking Lily. I confessed, truly believing the implanted memory, convinced I was a child killer. The "recalled" physical evidence-Lily' s head, found exactly where I "remembered" it-seemed to seal my monstrous fate. I was lost in self-loathing. Still, even through the despair, a tiny flicker of inner doubt persisted. Could I really have done this? Then, as I was dragged to court, I saw Jessica in the crowd. She wasn't yelling. She was smiling. A small, smug, triumphant smile. It wasn't my madness. That hateful smile ignited something raw. "You did this, Jessica! You set me up!" I screamed, tearing at my restraints. "She's having an affair with my husband! David is the father of her son!" My desperate accusation, fueled by rage, finally started to unravel the terrifying conspiracy, pulling me from the abyss of my false memory.

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