My Best Friend, My Wife, My Betrayal

My Best Friend, My Wife, My Betrayal

Estelle Cramail

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As an Austin IT guy, I bore the crushing guilt of my supposed infertility, convinced I was failing my influencer wife, Jess, and her dream of a family. Our marriage had grown cold, dominated by her career, and the weight of my perceived inadequacy was immense. But then, I stumbled upon a secret: birth control pills hidden in Jess's bag. My world tilted, the carefully constructed narrative of our life starting to crack. Jess tearfully confessed to using them for career reasons, skillfully manipulating my guilt over my "condition" documented by an acquaintance nurse, Sarah. I reluctantly accepted, but a chilling suspicion had taken root. Soon after, I found items belonging to my best friend, David, tucked away in Jess' s room - strange for a place she claimed was exclusively hers. The truth burst open when my hidden camera caught them: Jess and David, intimately involved, proving my betrayal was deeper than I imagined. Then, Sarah, consumed by guilt, confessed it all: Jess' s infertility report was fake, there was no miscarriage, and she' d had an abortion long before, fearing it would derail her career. My entire life had been built on their elaborate lies. The betrayal escalated from emotional manipulation to outright attempted murder. Jess drugged me and tried to drown me in a staged car accident, only for Sarah to miraculously save me. Witnessing Jess and David celebrating my "death" on my phone ignited a pure, incandescent rage. Every ounce of my fabricated guilt vanished, replaced by an urgent need for justice. My innocent confusion was gone. I knew now: I wouldn't be their victim any longer. This IT guy was about to turn the tables and expose every single one of their heinous secrets.

Introduction

As an Austin IT guy, I bore the crushing guilt of my supposed infertility, convinced I was failing my influencer wife, Jess, and her dream of a family. Our marriage had grown cold, dominated by her career, and the weight of my perceived inadequacy was immense. But then, I stumbled upon a secret: birth control pills hidden in Jess's bag. My world tilted, the carefully constructed narrative of our life starting to crack.

Jess tearfully confessed to using them for career reasons, skillfully manipulating my guilt over my "condition" documented by an acquaintance nurse, Sarah. I reluctantly accepted, but a chilling suspicion had taken root. Soon after, I found items belonging to my best friend, David, tucked away in Jess' s room - strange for a place she claimed was exclusively hers.

The truth burst open when my hidden camera caught them: Jess and David, intimately involved, proving my betrayal was deeper than I imagined. Then, Sarah, consumed by guilt, confessed it all: Jess' s infertility report was fake, there was no miscarriage, and she' d had an abortion long before, fearing it would derail her career. My entire life had been built on their elaborate lies.

The betrayal escalated from emotional manipulation to outright attempted murder. Jess drugged me and tried to drown me in a staged car accident, only for Sarah to miraculously save me. Witnessing Jess and David celebrating my "death" on my phone ignited a pure, incandescent rage. Every ounce of my fabricated guilt vanished, replaced by an urgent need for justice.

My innocent confusion was gone. I knew now: I wouldn't be their victim any longer. This IT guy was about to turn the tables and expose every single one of their heinous secrets.

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When Envy Destroys Her Empire

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My scholarship, my future, everything I' d worked for, was hanging by a thread. It all started innocently enough, just another day buried in academic articles at the university cafeteria. That is, until Brittany, a campus influencer I barely knew, slammed a tray on my table and demanded I pay for her twenty-dollar lunch because her card was declined. When I politely refused, her perfectly made-up face twisted, and she snarled, "You' ll regret this." I dismissed it as an empty threat, a petty outburst from someone used to always getting her way. But I was catastrophically wrong. The next morning, her revenge hit like a wrecking ball. She' d posted a picture of me online, concocting a wildly elaborate story claiming I was a "creepy stalker" fixated on her, who then became "aggressive and hostile" when confronted. The comments section exploded, full of strangers condemning me, my university peers quickly judging me guilty without question. The "serious matter" my advisor wanted to discuss was suddenly terrifyingly clear. My scholarship, my reputation, my entire future was being threatened by a baseless lie, fueled by an angry online mob. How could a simple refusal to buy someone lunch spiral into a campus-wide witch hunt? And how could I possibly fight back against an accusation that was not only false, but had already gone viral? Standing in front of Professor Davies and the Dean, my life on the line, I had to come up with something, anything, to prove the truth. And then, it hit me-a flicker of hope, a long shot… the cafeteria' s security camera.

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SHANA GRAY
4.3

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

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