I was Sarah Miller, Marcus Thorne' s wife, a public asset in his gleaming empire. Our life, from galas to high-stakes business, was a meticulously crafted facade. But Marcus' s true devotion was reserved for Vivian Hayes, his late partner' s widow and mother of his son, Leo. He canceled our feverish daughter Lily' s doctor' s appointment because Leo had a "sniffle." He fired a man for upsetting Vivian. I was always the shield, absorbing his neglect, but the line blurred when I confronted him about Vivian' s abuse of Lily. He didn' t just dismiss it; he raised his hand. Not at me, but at our own daughter. He slapped Lily, a sharp, sickening crack across her small cheek. Time stopped. Lily cried out, a small, choked sound. Marcus, his face a mask of cold indifference, simply muttered about "respecting Vivian." Later that night, reeking of Vivian' s cloying perfume, he attempted a reconciliation, only to abandon me again when she called with another supposed "panic attack." My little girl, her cheek still red, crept into my room, quietly, heartbreakingly. Her small hand found mine. "Mommy," she whispered, her voice clear despite the pain, "He' s left us for her a hundred times." Her words, old with a child' s painful wisdom, finally shattered the last, desperate shred of my endurance and hope. The final piece of my former self crumbled to dust. She looked at me, her eyes resolute. "Let' s go. We don' t need him." And in that moment, as she clung to me, I knew this wasn't just about escape. We wouldn't just leave quietly. No. We would make them pay. All of them.
I was Sarah Miller, Marcus Thorne' s wife, a public asset in his gleaming empire.
Our life, from galas to high-stakes business, was a meticulously crafted facade.
But Marcus' s true devotion was reserved for Vivian Hayes, his late partner' s widow and mother of his son, Leo.
He canceled our feverish daughter Lily' s doctor' s appointment because Leo had a "sniffle."
He fired a man for upsetting Vivian.
I was always the shield, absorbing his neglect, but the line blurred when I confronted him about Vivian' s abuse of Lily.
He didn' t just dismiss it; he raised his hand. Not at me, but at our own daughter.
He slapped Lily, a sharp, sickening crack across her small cheek.
Time stopped.
Lily cried out, a small, choked sound.
Marcus, his face a mask of cold indifference, simply muttered about "respecting Vivian."
Later that night, reeking of Vivian' s cloying perfume, he attempted a reconciliation, only to abandon me again when she called with another supposed "panic attack."
My little girl, her cheek still red, crept into my room, quietly, heartbreakingly.
Her small hand found mine.
"Mommy," she whispered, her voice clear despite the pain, "He' s left us for her a hundred times."
Her words, old with a child' s painful wisdom, finally shattered the last, desperate shred of my endurance and hope. The final piece of my former self crumbled to dust.
She looked at me, her eyes resolute.
"Let' s go. We don' t need him."
And in that moment, as she clung to me, I knew this wasn't just about escape.
We wouldn't just leave quietly. No. We would make them pay.
All of them.
Introduction
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Chapter 1
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Chapter 2
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Chapter 3
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Chapter 4
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Chapter 5
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Chapter 6
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Chapter 7
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Chapter 8
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Chapter 9
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Chapter 10
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