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The Billionaire Heiress's Final Stand

The Billionaire Heiress's Final Stand

Gavin

5.0
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The rotors thrashed the air, a desperate sound in the collapsing city. "Evie, damn it, wake up!" Ethan' s voice, tight with fury, cut through the fog in my head, his hands rough on my shoulders, shaking me towards the last transport helicopter. He was urging me to wait for Krystal, his mistress, who was probably just fixing her makeup for her "survivor" selfie. Then, a cold wave washed over me. Not fog, but brutal clarity. I had lived this exact moment before. And died because of it. In that past life, Ethan had deliberately left me behind. He' d injected me, then convinced the extraction team I was delirious, a hysterical liability, a security risk. They believed him, my "loving, concerned husband." I was deserted in that war-torn hell, the infection taking hold in some bombed-out building, until there was nothing. Later, a strange, detached knowing confirmed the worst: Ethan had returned to the States a hero, spinning a tale of my "noble sacrifice" pushing Krystal onto the plane instead of myself. My already frail parents shattered, grief their final illness, gone within months. Ethan inherited everything-the Reed fortune, the foundation, the philanthropic empire-marrying Krystal a year later in a lavish affair splashed across society pages. The memory, sharp and brutal, burned away every last vestige of my past life's naivety. How could I have been so utterly duped? The raw injustice, the horrifying betrayal, the agonizing pain of my parents' fates-it all converged into a single, chilling resolve. I was back, inexplicably given a second chance. This time, there would be no sacrifice. Only justice. I pulled away from Ethan' s desperate grasp, my voice surprisingly steady and cold. "No, Ethan." I turned, walking straight towards the loading ramp. "I'm getting on that helicopter. Now."

Introduction

The rotors thrashed the air, a desperate sound in the collapsing city.

"Evie, damn it, wake up!" Ethan' s voice, tight with fury, cut through the fog in my head, his hands rough on my shoulders, shaking me towards the last transport helicopter.

He was urging me to wait for Krystal, his mistress, who was probably just fixing her makeup for her "survivor" selfie.

Then, a cold wave washed over me.

Not fog, but brutal clarity.

I had lived this exact moment before.

And died because of it.

In that past life, Ethan had deliberately left me behind.

He' d injected me, then convinced the extraction team I was delirious, a hysterical liability, a security risk.

They believed him, my "loving, concerned husband."

I was deserted in that war-torn hell, the infection taking hold in some bombed-out building, until there was nothing.

Later, a strange, detached knowing confirmed the worst: Ethan had returned to the States a hero, spinning a tale of my "noble sacrifice" pushing Krystal onto the plane instead of myself.

My already frail parents shattered, grief their final illness, gone within months.

Ethan inherited everything-the Reed fortune, the foundation, the philanthropic empire-marrying Krystal a year later in a lavish affair splashed across society pages.

The memory, sharp and brutal, burned away every last vestige of my past life's naivety.

How could I have been so utterly duped?

The raw injustice, the horrifying betrayal, the agonizing pain of my parents' fates-it all converged into a single, chilling resolve.

I was back, inexplicably given a second chance.

This time, there would be no sacrifice.

Only justice.

I pulled away from Ethan' s desperate grasp, my voice surprisingly steady and cold.

"No, Ethan."

I turned, walking straight towards the loading ramp.

"I'm getting on that helicopter. Now."

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The Unwilling Wife

The Unwilling Wife

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5.0

The organ music swelled, painting my white wedding dress in shades of blood red. I was marrying Julian Thorne, a man who despised me, believing the lies that had ruined my reputation. This wasn't a marriage; it was a sentence, orchestrated perfectly by my stepsister, Sophia, who had always wanted Julian for herself. Everyone saw Eleanor Vance, the brilliant architect, as the luckiest woman alive, but my heart was a cold stone. As the word "I do" escaped my lips-a whispered surrender-a blinding white light engulfed me. I woke up in my old bedroom, the floral wallpaper still on the walls. My phone read October 12, 2014-ten years ago, the day of my first wedding, the one that never happened. Relief surged through me; I wasn't Julian Thorne's wife. But then dread set in as Sophia's text buzzed on my smaller, older phone: "Julian's family is coming for dinner tonight, you have to make a good impression!" It was all starting tonight, the very dinner where Sophia would introduce me to the Thornes, setting off the chain of events that would lead to my forced marriage. The contempt in Julian's eyes was already there, seeing me as a social climber, exactly the image Sophia had carefully crafted. I was trapped again, a ghost in my own life, burdened by a future I knew was coming: the Thorne family's imminent financial ruin, and my own career sacrificed to support them. But this time, I wasn't the naive girl to be manipulated. I knew all their secrets, and I would not spend another ten years as Eleanor Thorne. I would fight.

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