From Naive to Ruthless

From Naive to Ruthless

Gavin

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The bell above my clinic door jingled. I was Dr. Hayes, a woman who' d finally built a life, a stable family. Pregnant with our planned baby, I believed my husband, Mark, was as excited as I was. Then Chloe, a seemingly confident student, walked in with a smile that felt sharp, unpleasant. "I'm Chloe. Mark's student," she stated, then pushed up her sleeve. There, a fresh tattoo: an infinity symbol intertwined with our anniversary date. "Mark got one too," she purred, "Matching. Cute, right? He said it symbolized forever. Our forever." My stomach clenched, the air left my lungs. That night, Mark played the doting husband, his hand resting on my pregnant belly. But I smelled her perfume, faintly. Days later, I watched on our car's security camera as Mark drove to Chloe's apartment, not a "faculty meeting." I heard him tell her, "Poor Evie. So trusting... Evie' s predictable, a bit naive." He laughed with her, calling my past, my pain, "clingy." Then came Chloe' s texts: a photo of Mark in her bed, followed by a box of my childhood cookies. "He got them for me," she wrote, "Said they reminded him of sweet, innocent things. Guess I' m his new sweet thing." He saw me as the damaged girl from the group home, easily fooled, not the woman I'd become. The man I believed saved me from my past used it to mock me with his mistress. How could I bring our baby into a home built on such casual, callous lies? The trusting, hopeful Evie was gone. I called a clinic, then a ruthless lawyer. This time, I was playing for keeps.

Introduction

The bell above my clinic door jingled.

I was Dr. Hayes, a woman who' d finally built a life, a stable family.

Pregnant with our planned baby, I believed my husband, Mark, was as excited as I was.

Then Chloe, a seemingly confident student, walked in with a smile that felt sharp, unpleasant.

"I'm Chloe. Mark's student," she stated, then pushed up her sleeve.

There, a fresh tattoo: an infinity symbol intertwined with our anniversary date.

"Mark got one too," she purred, "Matching. Cute, right? He said it symbolized forever. Our forever."

My stomach clenched, the air left my lungs.

That night, Mark played the doting husband, his hand resting on my pregnant belly.

But I smelled her perfume, faintly.

Days later, I watched on our car's security camera as Mark drove to Chloe's apartment, not a "faculty meeting."

I heard him tell her, "Poor Evie. So trusting... Evie' s predictable, a bit naive."

He laughed with her, calling my past, my pain, "clingy."

Then came Chloe' s texts: a photo of Mark in her bed, followed by a box of my childhood cookies.

"He got them for me," she wrote, "Said they reminded him of sweet, innocent things. Guess I' m his new sweet thing."

He saw me as the damaged girl from the group home, easily fooled, not the woman I'd become.

The man I believed saved me from my past used it to mock me with his mistress.

How could I bring our baby into a home built on such casual, callous lies?

The trusting, hopeful Evie was gone.

I called a clinic, then a ruthless lawyer.

This time, I was playing for keeps.

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When Love Turns to Ash

When Love Turns to Ash

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4.0

My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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