Second Chance, First Strike

Second Chance, First Strike

Gavin

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The scratchy lace of the pillowcase was the first sensation as I woke up, followed by the blinding Texas sun through thin curtains. My heart hammered. This room. I knew this room. It was the historic Texas ranch B&B, the very place everything in my previous life went horribly wrong. I was breathing. Alive. Yet, I vividly remembered my death: exploited and fatally harmed at an awful "wellness retreat." A jolt went through me. My phone confirmed the terrifying truth: I was back. Back at the very start of the family reunion, on the infamous day of the stolen locket. My own mother, Brenda, with her constant excuse of "I was only trying to help!" had systematically dismantled my life. She' d framed me for theft, costing me a major promotion and my reputation. She' d replaced my blood sample, leading to a false illness diagnosis that torpedoed my executive career. Her relentless "help" had driven me to financial ruin and ultimately, to that fatal retreat. Years of her suffocating "good intentions" had paved my road to hell, culminating in a betrayal that cost me my life. The sheer injustice of it, the constant erosion of my autonomy and future, was a torment that lasted until my last breath. But now, I was back. And this time, things would be profoundly different. A cold, clear idea sparked, promising a future where her "help" would finally be her undoing.

Introduction

The scratchy lace of the pillowcase was the first sensation as I woke up, followed by the blinding Texas sun through thin curtains.

My heart hammered. This room. I knew this room.

It was the historic Texas ranch B&B, the very place everything in my previous life went horribly wrong.

I was breathing. Alive. Yet, I vividly remembered my death: exploited and fatally harmed at an awful "wellness retreat."

A jolt went through me. My phone confirmed the terrifying truth: I was back.

Back at the very start of the family reunion, on the infamous day of the stolen locket.

My own mother, Brenda, with her constant excuse of "I was only trying to help!" had systematically dismantled my life.

She' d framed me for theft, costing me a major promotion and my reputation.

She' d replaced my blood sample, leading to a false illness diagnosis that torpedoed my executive career.

Her relentless "help" had driven me to financial ruin and ultimately, to that fatal retreat.

Years of her suffocating "good intentions" had paved my road to hell, culminating in a betrayal that cost me my life.

The sheer injustice of it, the constant erosion of my autonomy and future, was a torment that lasted until my last breath.

But now, I was back. And this time, things would be profoundly different.

A cold, clear idea sparked, promising a future where her "help" would finally be her undoing.

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I'm Divorcing with You, Mr Billionaire!

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I received a pornographic video. "Do you like this?" The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven't seen for several months. He is naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I can't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts. "Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screams ecstatically in response. "You naughty girl!" Mark stands up and flips her over, slapping her buttocks as he speaks. "Stick your ass up!" The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed. I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It's bad enough that my husband is having an affair, but what's worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Bella. ************************************************************************************************************************ "I want to get a divorce, Mark," I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time-even though I knew he'd heard me clearly. He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!" The last thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him. "I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster. He didn't even say another word after that and just went through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. I grabbed my suitcase, which I'd already had my things packed in and headed out of the house.

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