Too Late for Apologies

Too Late for Apologies

Gavin

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For nearly a decade, I walked through life as Mrs. Hamilton, wife to the charming and successful Ethan. Our perfect marriage was more than a facade; it was my very existence, bound by a secret Soul Pact that determined whether I lived or died. Then, seven days before my designated survival deadline, Ethan casually dropped a bombshell: he needed a temporary divorce for his latest fling, a demanding young intern named Chloe. He offered me designer bags and an unlimited credit card, oblivious that he was asking me to sign my own death warrant, effectively sealing my fate. Chloe, triumphant and venomous, reveled in my humiliation from my very own penthouse, mocking me as "old news" while lounging in my favorite spots. Ethan, valuing his mistress's fleeting whims over my life, eagerly discarded our shared history and sent me away. The chilling countdown from the Soul Pact System inside me confirmed my imminent end-a meticulously "staged accident" awaited. How could someone mistake my life for a casual game, oblivious that his "temporary break" was my permanent end? My heart ached with the profound loneliness of carrying this fatal secret alone, a cruel irony after years of quiet endurance. I died in a fiery crash, right on schedule. But then, a cold, digital voice whispered, "System error. Collect 100 Regret Points from Ethan to be reborn." Now, an unseen spectator, my very existence hinges on the depth of his sorrow.

Introduction

For nearly a decade, I walked through life as Mrs. Hamilton, wife to the charming and successful Ethan.

Our perfect marriage was more than a facade; it was my very existence, bound by a secret Soul Pact that determined whether I lived or died.

Then, seven days before my designated survival deadline, Ethan casually dropped a bombshell: he needed a temporary divorce for his latest fling, a demanding young intern named Chloe.

He offered me designer bags and an unlimited credit card, oblivious that he was asking me to sign my own death warrant, effectively sealing my fate.

Chloe, triumphant and venomous, reveled in my humiliation from my very own penthouse, mocking me as "old news" while lounging in my favorite spots.

Ethan, valuing his mistress's fleeting whims over my life, eagerly discarded our shared history and sent me away.

The chilling countdown from the Soul Pact System inside me confirmed my imminent end-a meticulously "staged accident" awaited.

How could someone mistake my life for a casual game, oblivious that his "temporary break" was my permanent end?

My heart ached with the profound loneliness of carrying this fatal secret alone, a cruel irony after years of quiet endurance.

I died in a fiery crash, right on schedule.

But then, a cold, digital voice whispered, "System error. Collect 100 Regret Points from Ethan to be reborn."

Now, an unseen spectator, my very existence hinges on the depth of his sorrow.

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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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