Loved Him Once, Cursed Him Forever

Loved Him Once, Cursed Him Forever

Mattie Valelly

5.0
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Years ago, I, Elara, the last Silverwood Spirit Keeper, poured my very life force into the man I loved, Jackson Thorne, using forbidden magic to save him from a deadly illness, forever binding a part of my spirit to his. But his gratitude withered into monstrous ambition, and the man I healed partnered with a vindictive lawyer, Tiffany, to unleash a fiery devastation upon my sacred Silverwood, burning our ancestral grove and slaughtering my peaceful tribe. Now, a captive in their opulent lodge, built upon my people's ashes, I'm forced to endure a grotesque "celebration" where Jax and Tiffany auction off my tribe's most sacred relics, mocking my heritage and even branding me like cattle for my defiance. As I watch my history turn to smoke and feel his corporate mark burning my skin, a searing injustice consumes me-how could the man I loved become such a monster, reveling in the utter desecration of everything I hold dear? But with a final, desperate breath and the last sacred seed in my palm, I begin an ancient chant, unleashing the forbidden Soul-Echo ceremony, a terrifying spiritual reckoning that will force him to experience every agonizing memory, every ounce of my love, my sacrifice, and the unbearable pain of his betrayal, even if it's the last act of my shattered life.

Introduction

Years ago, I, Elara, the last Silverwood Spirit Keeper, poured my very life force into the man I loved, Jackson Thorne, using forbidden magic to save him from a deadly illness, forever binding a part of my spirit to his.

But his gratitude withered into monstrous ambition, and the man I healed partnered with a vindictive lawyer, Tiffany, to unleash a fiery devastation upon my sacred Silverwood, burning our ancestral grove and slaughtering my peaceful tribe.

Now, a captive in their opulent lodge, built upon my people's ashes, I'm forced to endure a grotesque "celebration" where Jax and Tiffany auction off my tribe's most sacred relics, mocking my heritage and even branding me like cattle for my defiance.

As I watch my history turn to smoke and feel his corporate mark burning my skin, a searing injustice consumes me-how could the man I loved become such a monster, reveling in the utter desecration of everything I hold dear?

But with a final, desperate breath and the last sacred seed in my palm, I begin an ancient chant, unleashing the forbidden Soul-Echo ceremony, a terrifying spiritual reckoning that will force him to experience every agonizing memory, every ounce of my love, my sacrifice, and the unbearable pain of his betrayal, even if it's the last act of my shattered life.

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His Second Life Begins

His Second Life Begins

Xuanhuan

5.0

My soul floated above the cold asphalt, watching my own naked body lying lifelessly on the street. I was 30, a successful architect, but all I heard were whispers of judgment-that I' d thrown my life away for Olivia. Everyone knew she never loved me, that she was always with Daniel. To die like this, discarded and forgotten, was nothing short of a pathetic waste. Then, a strange, swirling pain, and I woke up not dead, but screaming, my left hand wrapped in a bloody rag. A finger was freshly severed. Before me, tied to a chair, was Daniel. And holding a bloody knife, cold and impatient, stood Olivia. My mind reeled: this was ten years ago, the very day my life began its downward spiral. The kidnapping, the torture, the moment Olivia chose Daniel over me, leaving me for dead. The memory of my actual death, the whispers of strangers judging my wasted life, burned clearer than any past pain. I watched her look at Daniel, her choice already made in her eyes, just like before. I was nothing to her. I had always been nothing. The desperate love, the years of pining-it all turned to ashes. Why was I back? Why was I forced to relive this cruel charade, knowing the tragic end it led to? The injustice, the utter pointlessness of my devotion, fueled a cold, hard fury I' d never known. This time, something inside me snapped. This time, I wouldn' t beg. This time, I' d escape. I' d use every shred of memory I had from the future I' d just left, every bitter lesson learned, to break free and forge a life entirely my own, a life where Olivia had no place.

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Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

SHANA GRAY
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I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

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