The Charity Case Dare: Her Sweet Revenge

The Charity Case Dare: Her Sweet Revenge

Gavin

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Sarah Miller had one shot: Northwood Academy, a world away from her cramped apartment and her dad' s pain-ridden reality. As a scholarship kid, navigating the gilded halls felt like walking a tightrope, especially with queen bee Tiffany Vanderbilt and her "Legacy Crew" constantly reminding her she didn' t belong. One evening, sweeping the school theater, I froze, hearing voices from the green room. Tiffany' s voice cut through the silence: "Chad and Brittany are useless... Ethan, it has to be you." My blood ran cold as I listened to them plot the "Charity Case Dare" -a twisted game where golden boy Ethan Hayes would wine and dine me, make me fall for him, then publicly break my heart right before graduation. It wasn't just bullying; it was a calculated psychological operation, a sport for their amusement. They wanted to see me weep, utterly destroyed. Their words, "charity case," echoed like a brand. Every petty cruelty, every snicker, now made sickening sense. How could people born with every privilege, every advantage, be so casually, viciously cruel? Didn' t they have souls? Was I just a disposable pawn in their endless pursuit of twisted entertainment? The injustice burned, a bitter bile rising in my throat. They thought they had me trapped, a helpless animal in their cruel game. But they were wrong. I wasn' t going to be their victim. I would play along, I would weaponize their arrogance, their resources, and their monstrous scheme. And when the final curtain fell, they wouldn' t know what hit them.

Introduction

Sarah Miller had one shot: Northwood Academy, a world away from her cramped apartment and her dad' s pain-ridden reality.

As a scholarship kid, navigating the gilded halls felt like walking a tightrope, especially with queen bee Tiffany Vanderbilt and her "Legacy Crew" constantly reminding her she didn' t belong.

One evening, sweeping the school theater, I froze, hearing voices from the green room.

Tiffany' s voice cut through the silence: "Chad and Brittany are useless... Ethan, it has to be you."

My blood ran cold as I listened to them plot the "Charity Case Dare" -a twisted game where golden boy Ethan Hayes would wine and dine me, make me fall for him, then publicly break my heart right before graduation.

It wasn't just bullying; it was a calculated psychological operation, a sport for their amusement.

They wanted to see me weep, utterly destroyed.

Their words, "charity case," echoed like a brand.

Every petty cruelty, every snicker, now made sickening sense.

How could people born with every privilege, every advantage, be so casually, viciously cruel?

Didn' t they have souls?

Was I just a disposable pawn in their endless pursuit of twisted entertainment?

The injustice burned, a bitter bile rising in my throat.

They thought they had me trapped, a helpless animal in their cruel game.

But they were wrong.

I wasn' t going to be their victim.

I would play along, I would weaponize their arrogance, their resources, and their monstrous scheme.

And when the final curtain fell, they wouldn' t know what hit them.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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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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