The Cost of Nine Stars

The Cost of Nine Stars

Gavin

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My entire life revolved around a sacred power that cost me a piece of my soul every time I used it. Nine star-like birthmarks on my forearm, each fading after I resurrected Ethan, the adoptive brother I believed had saved me. I had brought him back from the dead nine times, from drug overdoses to twisted car wrecks, each revival leaving me more hollowed out. But today, standing in a reeking stable, the ultimate degradation struck as Ethan, now a desperate heir, demanded I perform my vanished miracle on a dead racehorse for his crooked deal. My power was long gone, all nine stars extinguished, yet he sneered, refusing to believe me, calling me selfish and an "ungrateful bitch." He had Tiff, his social-media-obsessed girlfriend, publicly "cleanse" me as a cruel mockery of my ancient ritual. Then he tried to drag me towards the dead stallion, ready to force a miracle I couldn't perform, seeing me as nothing but a worthless tool. The endless humiliation, the years of abuse, and the terrifying emptiness inside me became an unbearable weight. How could he be so blind to the fact that I had absolutely nothing left to give? I was a commodity, passed from one gilded cage to another, facing an eternity of exploitation. In a final, desperate act of defiance, to reclaim myself even if it meant death, I bolted from the stable and sprinted headlong into the path of an oncoming car. But instead of oblivion, strong hands pulled me back from the brink, and for the first time in forever, I saw the face that would rewrite my entire past: Julian Thorne.

Introduction

My entire life revolved around a sacred power that cost me a piece of my soul every time I used it.

Nine star-like birthmarks on my forearm, each fading after I resurrected Ethan, the adoptive brother I believed had saved me.

I had brought him back from the dead nine times, from drug overdoses to twisted car wrecks, each revival leaving me more hollowed out.

But today, standing in a reeking stable, the ultimate degradation struck as Ethan, now a desperate heir, demanded I perform my vanished miracle on a dead racehorse for his crooked deal.

My power was long gone, all nine stars extinguished, yet he sneered, refusing to believe me, calling me selfish and an "ungrateful bitch."

He had Tiff, his social-media-obsessed girlfriend, publicly "cleanse" me as a cruel mockery of my ancient ritual.

Then he tried to drag me towards the dead stallion, ready to force a miracle I couldn't perform, seeing me as nothing but a worthless tool.

The endless humiliation, the years of abuse, and the terrifying emptiness inside me became an unbearable weight.

How could he be so blind to the fact that I had absolutely nothing left to give?

I was a commodity, passed from one gilded cage to another, facing an eternity of exploitation.

In a final, desperate act of defiance, to reclaim myself even if it meant death, I bolted from the stable and sprinted headlong into the path of an oncoming car.

But instead of oblivion, strong hands pulled me back from the brink, and for the first time in forever, I saw the face that would rewrite my entire past: Julian Thorne.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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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