The Unwanted Fiancée's Sweet Escape

The Unwanted Fiancée's Sweet Escape

Kattie Eaton

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My eyes snapped open in the blinding hospital light. A nurse murmured the date: July 15th, 2013. The number slammed into me. It couldn't be. That was ten years ago. Ten years before the crash that supposedly just happened. Ten years before I, Sarah Miller, endured a decade of quiet suffocation married to Ethan Hayes. In my real recent past, just before the crash, I'd discovered gut-wrenching betrayal: Ethan and Olivia Cartwright, his high-school flame, renewed vows in secret. While I was still his wife. The misery, the constant, gnawing neglect, Ethan's emotional energy poured into Olivia like water into sand-it all came rushing back. He had lived a double life, building a separate future with another woman while married to me. My spirit, a withered thing, had accepted it. Now, I was back. Before the suffering, before the constant, soul-crushing betrayal. A cruel irony: my alleged accident had sent me backward in time, to before the misery even began. The quiet misery was a screaming void. I just relived it, and realized I was about to restart it. But not this time. This was it. My second chance. Ethan could have Olivia. He could have her from the start. Sarah Miller was not walking that path again. I was going to orchestrate their "happiness" and secure my own escape into a real life.

Introduction

My eyes snapped open in the blinding hospital light.

A nurse murmured the date: July 15th, 2013.

The number slammed into me.

It couldn't be.

That was ten years ago.

Ten years before the crash that supposedly just happened.

Ten years before I, Sarah Miller, endured a decade of quiet suffocation married to Ethan Hayes.

In my real recent past, just before the crash, I'd discovered gut-wrenching betrayal: Ethan and Olivia Cartwright, his high-school flame, renewed vows in secret.

While I was still his wife.

The misery, the constant, gnawing neglect, Ethan's emotional energy poured into Olivia like water into sand-it all came rushing back.

He had lived a double life, building a separate future with another woman while married to me.

My spirit, a withered thing, had accepted it.

Now, I was back.

Before the suffering, before the constant, soul-crushing betrayal.

A cruel irony: my alleged accident had sent me backward in time, to before the misery even began.

The quiet misery was a screaming void.

I just relived it, and realized I was about to restart it.

But not this time.

This was it.

My second chance.

Ethan could have Olivia.

He could have her from the start.

Sarah Miller was not walking that path again.

I was going to orchestrate their "happiness" and secure my own escape into a real life.

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My best friend, Emily, and I married into the powerful Thorne family on the same day. We thought we had it all, living a dream life as two of the luckiest women in the world. That illusion shattered on a Tuesday afternoon when Emily burst into my sunroom, her face pale, shoving her phone at me. The screen showed paparazzi photos of her husband, Liam, with another woman – his "childhood sweetheart," Olivia Hayes. Before I could process Emily's fury, my own tablet lit up. A press release from my husband Ethan' s company announced Olivia as the new face of his lifestyle brand, complete with a smiling photo of her next to him. Not only was Olivia the source of my best friend's pain, but my own husband, who had been distant and forgotten our anniversary, had made her our company's public face without a word to me. All my grievances, the neglect, the loneliness-they all flooded back. He didn't even think to mention it, treating me like just another asset to manage, not a wife to love. A cold resolve settled over me. Emily, still raging about her post-divorce plans, saw the press release on my tablet. A dangerous smile spread across her face. "Well," she said, "Looks like we' re both in the market for an upgrade." "Okay," I declared, a hysterical laugh bubbling up. "I' m in. We' re getting divorced. And I' ll find male models who are better than Ethan." Our laughter, wild and unhinged, was cut short by a low, cold voice from the doorway: "Better than me?" My husband, Ethan, stood there. He must have heard everything.

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