The Ivy League Curse

The Ivy League Curse

Gavin

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I was a scholarship kid, grinding daily for a shot at the Ivy Leagues, my entire future resting on those SAT scores. My best friend, Ethan, had just given me this vintage 'good luck' watch, and my other best friend, Chloe, was like family-always in my corner. Then the practice SAT results dropped. My scores, usually stellar, had crashed to zero, while Ethan, who barely passed, was suddenly top of the class. That's when I overheard Chloe, my 'sister from another mister,' confessing. She' d given me Ethan' s 'lucky' watch, not for my good fortune, but to transfer mine to him. Because I was 'in his way.' The betrayal was a gut punch. This wasn't luck-sharing; it was a score-sucking curse. First, my grades vanished, then my scholarship was revoked after Chloe framed me for plagiarism-a move that sent my already fragile mom to the hospital. To top it off, Chloe, the 'family' I trusted, dumped me in a dark alley to be beaten almost senseless by a jock and his crew, just to protect Ethan. Lying broken, abandoned, and stripped of everything, I couldn' t grasp the cruelty. My best friend, my 'sister'-how could they orchestrate such a calculated downfall? Was this just about Ivy League dreams, or something far more sinister? Was I merely a pawn to be discarded? And what kind of 'good luck charm' destroys lives? But beneath the pain, a cold resolve hardened. I found Marcus, the mysterious man who' d warned me about the watch. He promised a way to break the curse, to make them pay. My future, my mom, my very identity-it all hung in the balance. This wasn't just about getting my life back; it was about exposing the darkness, and making sure justice found its true mark.

Introduction

I was a scholarship kid, grinding daily for a shot at the Ivy Leagues, my entire future resting on those SAT scores.

My best friend, Ethan, had just given me this vintage 'good luck' watch, and my other best friend, Chloe, was like family-always in my corner.

Then the practice SAT results dropped.

My scores, usually stellar, had crashed to zero, while Ethan, who barely passed, was suddenly top of the class.

That's when I overheard Chloe, my 'sister from another mister,' confessing.

She' d given me Ethan' s 'lucky' watch, not for my good fortune, but to transfer mine to him. Because I was 'in his way.'

The betrayal was a gut punch.

This wasn't luck-sharing; it was a score-sucking curse.

First, my grades vanished, then my scholarship was revoked after Chloe framed me for plagiarism-a move that sent my already fragile mom to the hospital.

To top it off, Chloe, the 'family' I trusted, dumped me in a dark alley to be beaten almost senseless by a jock and his crew, just to protect Ethan.

Lying broken, abandoned, and stripped of everything, I couldn' t grasp the cruelty.

My best friend, my 'sister'-how could they orchestrate such a calculated downfall? Was this just about Ivy League dreams, or something far more sinister? Was I merely a pawn to be discarded? And what kind of 'good luck charm' destroys lives?

But beneath the pain, a cold resolve hardened.

I found Marcus, the mysterious man who' d warned me about the watch.

He promised a way to break the curse, to make them pay.

My future, my mom, my very identity-it all hung in the balance. This wasn't just about getting my life back; it was about exposing the darkness, and making sure justice found its true mark.

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On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news. He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city. The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.” For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets. My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me. So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts. He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked. He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree. He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.

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