Reborn to Protect My Twins

Reborn to Protect My Twins

Gavin

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The first cries of my son, then my daughter, filled the delivery room. Twins. Mark would have been so proud. A nurse laid them on my chest, tiny and perfect. Then the world tilted. A memory, sharp and brutal, slammed into me. Another life. This exact moment. Giving birth. Aethel Corp. The Thorne family. Damian Thorne. His cold eyes. Cassandra Vance, his mistress, her fake tears. My baby chosen. Then fire, screaming. My child, gone. And Damian' s hands on me, ending it all. "No," I whispered, clutching my newborns. It wasn't a dream. It was real. It happened. And it was happening again. My heart hammered as Damian Thorne walked in, Cassandra Vance on his arm. They were here. Just like before. I fell to my knees, renouncing any claim, begging him to let us leave, to sever all ties to the Thorne family. He forced me to the Serenity Pines retreat, a gilded cage. Cassandra' s 'therapy dog' lunged straight for my twins, its teeth snapping, and Damian blamed me. Later, Cassandra framed me, claiming I cursed her child, convincing Damian I was a source of dark energy. "Take her children!" he ordered, intent on a "cleansing ritual" for my newborns. I fought and clawed, begging him to take me instead, to leave my babies alone. He wouldn't listen. They dragged me out, tying me to a lone tree in a brewing storm. He left me exposed, alone, to die, just like before. I stared at the hidden burner phone, a fragile lifeline. Genevieve Thorne. The Empress Dowager. My only hope. Could she act fast enough?

Introduction

The first cries of my son, then my daughter, filled the delivery room.

Twins. Mark would have been so proud.

A nurse laid them on my chest, tiny and perfect.

Then the world tilted.

A memory, sharp and brutal, slammed into me.

Another life. This exact moment. Giving birth.

Aethel Corp. The Thorne family. Damian Thorne. His cold eyes. Cassandra Vance, his mistress, her fake tears.

My baby chosen. Then fire, screaming. My child, gone. And Damian' s hands on me, ending it all.

"No," I whispered, clutching my newborns.

It wasn't a dream. It was real. It happened.

And it was happening again.

My heart hammered as Damian Thorne walked in, Cassandra Vance on his arm.

They were here. Just like before.

I fell to my knees, renouncing any claim, begging him to let us leave, to sever all ties to the Thorne family.

He forced me to the Serenity Pines retreat, a gilded cage.

Cassandra' s 'therapy dog' lunged straight for my twins, its teeth snapping, and Damian blamed me.

Later, Cassandra framed me, claiming I cursed her child, convincing Damian I was a source of dark energy.

"Take her children!" he ordered, intent on a "cleansing ritual" for my newborns.

I fought and clawed, begging him to take me instead, to leave my babies alone.

He wouldn't listen.

They dragged me out, tying me to a lone tree in a brewing storm.

He left me exposed, alone, to die, just like before.

I stared at the hidden burner phone, a fragile lifeline.

Genevieve Thorne. The Empress Dowager. My only hope.

Could she act fast enough?

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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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