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The Contract Wife's Reckoning

The Contract Wife's Reckoning

Gavin

5.0
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18
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My marriage was a transaction, a cold business deal. For four years, I, CEO Ava Sterling, barely tolerated Liam Hayes, the man I married for convenience. I thought I was finally free when the divorce papers arrived, signed by him, a strange relief washing over me. But then, a familiar face stormed into my penthouse, her eyes burning with grief and hatred, the words striking me like a physical blow: "He' s dead, Ava!" "Liam jumped!" "From his balcony! It' s your fault!" The man I' d just discarded, the one I told I'd feel more for a stray dog, was gone, and his friend, Chloe, accused me, his "widow," of killing him with my indifference. The city morgue confirmed it: a suicide. My newfound "freedom" felt tainted, replaced by a bizarre possessiveness when I cradled his ashes, even forbidding his burial. I wasn' t grieving, how could I for someone I'd wished gone, yet I couldn't let go. Was I losing my mind, clinging to traces of a man I supposedly hated? Then, the final rupture: Liam's urn shattered, his ashes maliciously scattered by Ethan Vance, the man I had mistakenly perceived as a sympathetic friend, turning my detachment into a chilling rage. It wasn't just my husband and his last remnant gone; it was an act of pure evil, screaming of deeper manipulation. Now, fueled by this cold fury, I will uncover the truth behind Liam' s death and Ethan's twisted role, making him pay for everything. This is no longer about grief; it is about justice.

Introduction

My marriage was a transaction, a cold business deal.

For four years, I, CEO Ava Sterling, barely tolerated Liam Hayes, the man I married for convenience.

I thought I was finally free when the divorce papers arrived, signed by him, a strange relief washing over me.

But then, a familiar face stormed into my penthouse, her eyes burning with grief and hatred, the words striking me like a physical blow: "He' s dead, Ava!"

"Liam jumped!"

"From his balcony! It' s your fault!"

The man I' d just discarded, the one I told I'd feel more for a stray dog, was gone, and his friend, Chloe, accused me, his "widow," of killing him with my indifference.

The city morgue confirmed it: a suicide.

My newfound "freedom" felt tainted, replaced by a bizarre possessiveness when I cradled his ashes, even forbidding his burial.

I wasn' t grieving, how could I for someone I'd wished gone, yet I couldn't let go.

Was I losing my mind, clinging to traces of a man I supposedly hated?

Then, the final rupture: Liam's urn shattered, his ashes maliciously scattered by Ethan Vance, the man I had mistakenly perceived as a sympathetic friend, turning my detachment into a chilling rage.

It wasn't just my husband and his last remnant gone; it was an act of pure evil, screaming of deeper manipulation.

Now, fueled by this cold fury, I will uncover the truth behind Liam' s death and Ethan's twisted role, making him pay for everything.

This is no longer about grief; it is about justice.

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The 21st Birthday Loop

The 21st Birthday Loop

Short stories

5.0

For sixteen years, I was a phantom in the Miller house, my entire existence centered on raising Caleb. My destiny was sealed: on his 21st birthday, I was to become his wife, a debt my family couldn't pay. In my first agonizing life, that wedding day led to a decade of imprisonment in their dark basement, then a horrific sale to the depraved Scrap Yard Joe, who brutally murdered me and my two young daughters. But then, a miracle: I jolted awake, it was Caleb' s 21st birthday party again. I was back. This time, I vowed to escape, coldly telling Caleb the "deal was off." His fury, fueled by his new girlfriend Chloe, erupted. They dragged me to their root cellar, where Chloe actively tried to crush me with cinder blocks. Escaping a terrifying encounter with Scrap Yard Joe, Chloe's eerie accomplice from my past, I returned to the party only to be publicly framed. A panicked confrontation led to the tragic, accidental death of Caleb' s mother-a death later revealed to be orchestrated by Chloe' s slow poison. I was beaten, battered, and finally, locked in the basement again as Chloe set it on fire, intending to burn me alive. Lying amidst the flames, every fiber of my being screamed. Why had my attempt at freedom only resulted in such a brutal, fiery trap? Was this wretched family, and the ghosts of my past, truly inescapable? Yet, fate had a cruel twist. I miraculously survived, forcing Caleb to believe me dead, consumed by guilt. He began a meticulous, horrifying revenge on Chloe, mirroring the torment I endured. Then, in the climax of his depravity, just as he raised a hunting knife over Chloe' s pregnant belly, a scarred, living ghost walked into the room: Me. And his world shattered.

My Ruthless Uncle's Justice

My Ruthless Uncle's Justice

Short stories

5.0

My alarm buzzed, a cheerful tune that mocked the dread in my stomach. Today was the day: our family road trip to Vegas. Last time, it was the day I died. I remembered the screech of tires, shrill against hot asphalt. The sickening crunch of metal, the world swirling upside down. Then, the suffocating smell of gasoline, my own blood. Frank – my father – had orchestrated it all. He'd meticulously sabotaged our car, intent on murdering my mother and me for our organs. His mistress, Jessica, had a dying son, Leo, and we were merely unwilling donors for their twisted scheme. I gasped, shooting bolt upright in my cramped suburban bedroom. The morning sun streamed through the cheap floral wallpaper, a cruel contrast to the grim reality that had just resurfaced. The gruesome memory of my death, brutally betrayed by my own flesh and blood, washed over me like a tidal wave of ice and raw panic. My blood ran cold. This wasn't a nightmare; it was today. The same day he planned to carve me up for parts. How could a father, the sworn protector, conceive such a monstrous act for another woman' s child? The sheer injustice, the chilling horror of it, was unbearable, turning my stomach. But then, the nausea receded, replaced by something cold, hard, and sharp: pure, unyielding rage. I wasn't that naive 19-year-old anymore. I was a ghost with a score to settle. This time, there would be no crash. No organs harvested. This time, they would be the ones to feel pain.

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