When Best Friends Become Monsters

When Best Friends Become Monsters

Gavin

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I was cramming formulas for the National Innovators Scholarship exam, our ticket to Caltech' s engineering program. Ethan Hayes, my best friend since kindergarten, and I had dreamed of this for years. We were supposed to be a team. But Ethan wasn't here. He was with Jessi Vance, the new, rebellious girl. I overheard her chilling plan: she wasn't just distracting him; she was sabotaging him, plotting to get him wasted so he'd fail the exam. Naive, I interfered, dragging him back to the exam. He got into Caltech, but Jessi soon died in a drunk driving accident. He twisted it, blaming me. His revenge was meticulous: a framed sexual assault, wiping out my future. The public humiliation, amplified by his powerful family, drove my parents to despair. Their car went off the Blackwood Bridge, a tragic 'accident' . My heart, already fragile, couldn't bear his venomous words. He visited me in my cold cell, holding a newspaper headline of my parents' 'tragic accident.' "This is what you get for ruining my life," he hissed. "You and your family paid for Jessi." The pain, the injustice, consumed me. Then, darkness. My eyes snapped open. I was in my own room, my own bed. The clock read 7 PM, the eve of the exam. I was back. This time, Ethan Hayes could make his own damn choices. I' d protect myself. And above all, my family.

Introduction

I was cramming formulas for the National Innovators Scholarship exam, our ticket to Caltech' s engineering program.

Ethan Hayes, my best friend since kindergarten, and I had dreamed of this for years. We were supposed to be a team.

But Ethan wasn't here. He was with Jessi Vance, the new, rebellious girl. I overheard her chilling plan: she wasn't just distracting him; she was sabotaging him, plotting to get him wasted so he'd fail the exam.

Naive, I interfered, dragging him back to the exam. He got into Caltech, but Jessi soon died in a drunk driving accident. He twisted it, blaming me. His revenge was meticulous: a framed sexual assault, wiping out my future. The public humiliation, amplified by his powerful family, drove my parents to despair. Their car went off the Blackwood Bridge, a tragic 'accident' .

My heart, already fragile, couldn't bear his venomous words. He visited me in my cold cell, holding a newspaper headline of my parents' 'tragic accident.' "This is what you get for ruining my life," he hissed. "You and your family paid for Jessi." The pain, the injustice, consumed me. Then, darkness.

My eyes snapped open. I was in my own room, my own bed. The clock read 7 PM, the eve of the exam. I was back. This time, Ethan Hayes could make his own damn choices. I' d protect myself. And above all, my family.

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I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

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The Truth About His Mistress

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Gavin
4.7

I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

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