The Girl Who Wouldn't Break

The Girl Who Wouldn't Break

Gavin

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For three years, I existed as a quiet shadow in Ethan Hayes' s glittering New York world, always present, always available, my life a series of unspoken duties. Each one was a sacred notch on a silent, relentless tally, a life-debt I, Willow Miller, was bound to repay stemming from a long-forgotten act of kindness. But on a brutal winter night, amidst a biting New York blizzard, Ethan' s words cut deeper than the wind: "Scarlett' s back. Not some... substitute." He didn't just dismiss me; he dragged me into his penthouse, then publicly offered me to his business partner, Liam Donovan, with the chilling disdain one reserves for an unwanted stray, before ordering me to "get lost and never bother him again." I stood freezing, enduring every cruel word, every public humiliation, every demand – from wading into an icy river for a worthless charm to being paraded as a scapegoat at a society gallery. Why, you ask, would anyone endure such degradation, such ceaseless torment, for a man who clearly saw me as nothing more than an implement, a disposable stand-in? It wasn't love or devotion, but a binding promise rooted in my secluded Meadowbrook community' s oldest laws: a life-debt, the "Hundred Favors," owed for a simple sandwich given to a starving traveler years ago. Completing this impossible count was my only path home, the sole way to break free from this gilded cage and reclaim my true self. Now, with 97 favors behind me, just three stood between me and my freedom, forcing me to wonder if his next cruel demand would finally shatter me, or if I would endure and return to the home I so desperately yearned for.

Introduction

For three years, I existed as a quiet shadow in Ethan Hayes' s glittering New York world, always present, always available, my life a series of unspoken duties.

Each one was a sacred notch on a silent, relentless tally, a life-debt I, Willow Miller, was bound to repay stemming from a long-forgotten act of kindness.

But on a brutal winter night, amidst a biting New York blizzard, Ethan' s words cut deeper than the wind: "Scarlett' s back. Not some... substitute."

He didn't just dismiss me; he dragged me into his penthouse, then publicly offered me to his business partner, Liam Donovan, with the chilling disdain one reserves for an unwanted stray, before ordering me to "get lost and never bother him again."

I stood freezing, enduring every cruel word, every public humiliation, every demand – from wading into an icy river for a worthless charm to being paraded as a scapegoat at a society gallery.

Why, you ask, would anyone endure such degradation, such ceaseless torment, for a man who clearly saw me as nothing more than an implement, a disposable stand-in?

It wasn't love or devotion, but a binding promise rooted in my secluded Meadowbrook community' s oldest laws: a life-debt, the "Hundred Favors," owed for a simple sandwich given to a starving traveler years ago.

Completing this impossible count was my only path home, the sole way to break free from this gilded cage and reclaim my true self.

Now, with 97 favors behind me, just three stood between me and my freedom, forcing me to wonder if his next cruel demand would finally shatter me, or if I would endure and return to the home I so desperately yearned for.

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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