Securing The Heir: A Wife's Triumph

Securing The Heir: A Wife's Triumph

Gavin

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The stick showed two pink lines. I was pregnant. My husband Julian, future titan of the Hawthorne empire, would be ecstatic for his heir. But holding that test, my heart froze, a chill seeping bone-deep, because I knew this was the start of the end for me in my last life. The memories burned with terrifying clarity: Julian' s affections turning, my cousin Seraphina' s poisonous whispers, her "wellness guru" act used to weaken me. They convinced Julian I was unstable, unfit, then orchestrated my "accident"-a brutal fall down the grand staircase that cost me everything. My child, born too soon, struggled pointlessly for life. As I bled out, left for dead, I heard Seraphina' s soft, triumphant laugh and Julian' s cold, unfeeling dismissal. My own powerful family, the Hawthornes, simply watched, deeming my branch easily discarded. The complete betrayal, the raw injustice of losing both my life and my baby' s, was a torment that eclipsed death itself. But then, I gasped. Clutching the cold porcelain counter, I realized I was back. Reborn. On this exact day, in this sterile bathroom. It wasn't a dream; it was a horrifying second chance. This time, my child would live, and every single soul who wronged us would pay. My naive love was gone, replaced by a mind honed sharp by death. I knew their weaknesses, their desires. I would play the doting, clueless wife they expected, but beneath the surface, I would be the puppeteer, painstakingly orchestrating their downfall. The game was on.

Introduction

The stick showed two pink lines. I was pregnant. My husband Julian, future titan of the Hawthorne empire, would be ecstatic for his heir.

But holding that test, my heart froze, a chill seeping bone-deep, because I knew this was the start of the end for me in my last life.

The memories burned with terrifying clarity: Julian' s affections turning, my cousin Seraphina' s poisonous whispers, her "wellness guru" act used to weaken me. They convinced Julian I was unstable, unfit, then orchestrated my "accident"-a brutal fall down the grand staircase that cost me everything.

My child, born too soon, struggled pointlessly for life. As I bled out, left for dead, I heard Seraphina' s soft, triumphant laugh and Julian' s cold, unfeeling dismissal. My own powerful family, the Hawthornes, simply watched, deeming my branch easily discarded. The complete betrayal, the raw injustice of losing both my life and my baby' s, was a torment that eclipsed death itself.

But then, I gasped. Clutching the cold porcelain counter, I realized I was back. Reborn. On this exact day, in this sterile bathroom. It wasn't a dream; it was a horrifying second chance. This time, my child would live, and every single soul who wronged us would pay. My naive love was gone, replaced by a mind honed sharp by death. I knew their weaknesses, their desires. I would play the doting, clueless wife they expected, but beneath the surface, I would be the puppeteer, painstakingly orchestrating their downfall. The game was on.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Mafia

4.3

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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