Her Crown, Her Vengeance

Her Crown, Her Vengeance

Gavin

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My entire life revolved around Ashworth Creatives, the agency I poured my soul into building, and my fiancé, Ethan. Tonight was meant to be my crowning achievement, sealing a colossal client deal and my future within the powerful Ashworth family who' d adopted me. Then, I saw Ethan' s phone. A text from my manipulative adoptive sister, Chloe: "Heard you' re taking Ava to the gala tonight. Don' t forget our little after-party, just us. ;)" Beneath it, a damning video: Ethan and Chloe, laughing, intertwined in my private guesthouse. Chloe was draped in my deceased mother' s diamond necklace, a "gift" from Ethan, according to his text. My blood ran cold. They weren't just having an affair; they were plotting to use my marriage to secure my assets, then throw me aside, giving my agency to her. The Ashworths had groomed me, controlled me, and now, they planned to discard me like trash. I was a means to their end, and Ethan, their willing, despicable pawn. The gala-my moment of triumph-threatened to become my public humiliation. But a cold, unyielding rage ignited inside me, far stronger than any despair. I wouldn't be their victim; I would dismantle them all, piece by agonizing piece. My fingers flew across my own phone, dialing a number I' d heard whispered about, for "companions." "I need an escort," I stated, my voice flat, holding back a torrent of fury. "Tonight. For the industry gala. For a performance. You need to act like my devoted boyfriend." My revenge would be calculated, public, and absolute.

Introduction

My entire life revolved around Ashworth Creatives, the agency I poured my soul into building, and my fiancé, Ethan.

Tonight was meant to be my crowning achievement, sealing a colossal client deal and my future within the powerful Ashworth family who' d adopted me.

Then, I saw Ethan' s phone.

A text from my manipulative adoptive sister, Chloe: "Heard you' re taking Ava to the gala tonight. Don' t forget our little after-party, just us. ;)"

Beneath it, a damning video: Ethan and Chloe, laughing, intertwined in my private guesthouse.

Chloe was draped in my deceased mother' s diamond necklace, a "gift" from Ethan, according to his text.

My blood ran cold.

They weren't just having an affair; they were plotting to use my marriage to secure my assets, then throw me aside, giving my agency to her.

The Ashworths had groomed me, controlled me, and now, they planned to discard me like trash.

I was a means to their end, and Ethan, their willing, despicable pawn.

The gala-my moment of triumph-threatened to become my public humiliation.

But a cold, unyielding rage ignited inside me, far stronger than any despair.

I wouldn't be their victim; I would dismantle them all, piece by agonizing piece.

My fingers flew across my own phone, dialing a number I' d heard whispered about, for "companions."

"I need an escort," I stated, my voice flat, holding back a torrent of fury.

"Tonight. For the industry gala. For a performance. You need to act like my devoted boyfriend."

My revenge would be calculated, public, and absolute.

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I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

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