His Last Surprise

His Last Surprise

Gavin

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My seven-year relationship ended with a deepfake, meticulously crafted to ruin my indie game developer career. Then my mother's health rapidly declined, baffling doctors. My childhood best friend, Liam, emerged as my rock, supporting me through profound grief. Three years later, married and eight months pregnant with his child, I overheard a horrifying truth: Liam, my doting husband, orchestrated everything. He had my mother murdered for a lung transplant for my stepsister, Chloe, and engineered the deepfake to isolate me. I was just a pawn in his sick obsession with Chloe. The man whose child I carried was a monster. My life was a meticulously constructed lie. Then, Chloe, the fragile invalid, confessed more: Liam had caused my two previous miscarriages and planned to give our baby to her. When I confronted her, she staged a fake miscarriage, and my own father, encouraged by Liam, broke my hand for it. My art, my solace, shattered. The pain was unbearable, but a steel resolve hardened within me. How could the man I trusted, loved, orchestrate such depravity? Why was I, my mother, my children, mere collateral in his twisted game? The injustice burned. I ended my pregnancy, enduring unbearable agony, then placed the preserved fetus in an ornate gift box. I donned a prosthetic belly, began divorce proceedings, and secured a new identity. On the day of my "delivery," I walked away, leaving him a chilling surprise, ready to forge a new life as Grace Jordan, a survivor reborn.

Introduction

My seven-year relationship ended with a deepfake, meticulously crafted to ruin my indie game developer career.

Then my mother's health rapidly declined, baffling doctors.

My childhood best friend, Liam, emerged as my rock, supporting me through profound grief.

Three years later, married and eight months pregnant with his child, I overheard a horrifying truth: Liam, my doting husband, orchestrated everything.

He had my mother murdered for a lung transplant for my stepsister, Chloe, and engineered the deepfake to isolate me.

I was just a pawn in his sick obsession with Chloe.

The man whose child I carried was a monster.

My life was a meticulously constructed lie.

Then, Chloe, the fragile invalid, confessed more: Liam had caused my two previous miscarriages and planned to give our baby to her.

When I confronted her, she staged a fake miscarriage, and my own father, encouraged by Liam, broke my hand for it.

My art, my solace, shattered.

The pain was unbearable, but a steel resolve hardened within me.

How could the man I trusted, loved, orchestrate such depravity?

Why was I, my mother, my children, mere collateral in his twisted game?

The injustice burned.

I ended my pregnancy, enduring unbearable agony, then placed the preserved fetus in an ornate gift box.

I donned a prosthetic belly, began divorce proceedings, and secured a new identity.

On the day of my "delivery," I walked away, leaving him a chilling surprise, ready to forge a new life as Grace Jordan, a survivor reborn.

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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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