Your Stolen Dreams, My Rebuilt Empire

Your Stolen Dreams, My Rebuilt Empire

Gavin

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I never thought I'd see David Miller again. For seven years, I' d been the ghost of Ash Carter, the once-promising architecture student whose dreams he' d stolen, whose career he' d sabotaged. Now, a single mom doing freelance drafting to pay the bills, I found myself in a children's museum, comforting my son Leo after a scraped knee. Then, his voice. Theatrically loud, cutting through the din. David, impeccably suited, with a preppy assistant clinging to his arm. He spotted me, his eyes lighting up with a sickening, triumphant gleam. Before a crowd of strangers and his colleagues, he pulled out our old university portfolio, the very project he' d claimed as his own. He draped himself in false sorrow, claiming he' d "never stopped thinking about what we had," implying Leo was his son. He gestured at my comfortable but simple jeans, offering to "help me get back on my feet." His colleagues watched, pitying him, scorning me as the woman who' d let a genius slip away. My past, his crime, was put on public display, twisted into a narrative of my failure and his magnanimity. A cold calm settled over me. How could he be this brazen? This utterly devoid of shame? He truly believed I was still pining for him, still broken by his betrayal. My heart ached for the injustice, for the years he' d condemned me to anonymity. But then, I lifted my hand. The art-deco sapphire ring glinted under the museum lights. "And I'm married," I stated, my voice clear and firm. His confidence wavered, but only for a second. "Ridiculous! Who would marry you?" he sneered. Just as his pitying gaze returned, a quiet voice cut through: "Is there a problem here, Ash?" My husband, Michael Vance, stepped forward, and David' s world began to unravel.

Introduction

I never thought I'd see David Miller again.

For seven years, I' d been the ghost of Ash Carter, the once-promising architecture student whose dreams he' d stolen, whose career he' d sabotaged.

Now, a single mom doing freelance drafting to pay the bills, I found myself in a children's museum, comforting my son Leo after a scraped knee.

Then, his voice.

Theatrically loud, cutting through the din.

David, impeccably suited, with a preppy assistant clinging to his arm.

He spotted me, his eyes lighting up with a sickening, triumphant gleam.

Before a crowd of strangers and his colleagues, he pulled out our old university portfolio, the very project he' d claimed as his own.

He draped himself in false sorrow, claiming he' d "never stopped thinking about what we had," implying Leo was his son.

He gestured at my comfortable but simple jeans, offering to "help me get back on my feet."

His colleagues watched, pitying him, scorning me as the woman who' d let a genius slip away.

My past, his crime, was put on public display, twisted into a narrative of my failure and his magnanimity.

A cold calm settled over me.

How could he be this brazen?

This utterly devoid of shame?

He truly believed I was still pining for him, still broken by his betrayal.

My heart ached for the injustice, for the years he' d condemned me to anonymity.

But then, I lifted my hand.

The art-deco sapphire ring glinted under the museum lights.

"And I'm married," I stated, my voice clear and firm.

His confidence wavered, but only for a second.

"Ridiculous! Who would marry you?" he sneered.

Just as his pitying gaze returned, a quiet voice cut through: "Is there a problem here, Ash?"

My husband, Michael Vance, stepped forward, and David' s world began to unravel.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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