The Billionaire Heiress's Final Stand

The Billionaire Heiress's Final Stand

Gavin

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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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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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