Married to My Protector: The Patriarch's Love

Married to My Protector: The Patriarch's Love

Gavin

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My office monitor, usually a serene portal to the grand Vance estate gates, offered a peaceful view of my perfectly ordered life. As Mrs. Vance, managing this dynasty was my daily routine, a far cry from my past as a script supervisor. Today, the screen showed him: Ethan Vance Jr., the man who shattered my world three years ago. Three years since he' d abandoned me at our Malibu wedding, turning my fairytale into tabloid fodder. He looked almost the same, carelessly handsome, but beside him stood Chloe Monroe, her hand possessively resting on a visibly pregnant stomach. My intercom buzzed with the news: "Mrs. Vance, Mr. Ethan Vance Jr. is at the gate, demanding entry." He strode in, still full of that entitled swagger, proclaiming his pregnant girlfriend would bear the true Vance heir. Then, with breathtaking audacity, he smirked and demanded I "make him some coffee," as if I were a mere servant to be dismissed and ordered. He truly believed he could waltz back in and claim what he considered "his," including a subservient me, as if no time had passed. The sheer insolence of his return, his assumption that I was still the heartbroken girl he' d scorned, was almost comedic. My heart, however, thudded with a cold, hard resolve, not the pain of old wounds. He stood there, completely oblivious, ready to strip me of everything he thought I had. But he had absolutely no idea about the incredible, unexpected life I had built since he walked away. Just as his arrogant pronouncements threatened to consume the opulent living room, the immediate future of the Vance legacy ran towards me. Small feet pitter-pattered from the hallway, followed by a cheerful shout: "Mommy! Mommy, can we go to the park?" A two-year-old boy, with a shock of dark hair and the unmistakable Vance family blue eyes, ran straight into my waiting arms. "This," I calmly stated, looking directly into Ethan Jr.'s now horrified face, "is your half-brother, Leo Vance."

Introduction

My office monitor, usually a serene portal to the grand Vance estate gates, offered a peaceful view of my perfectly ordered life.

As Mrs. Vance, managing this dynasty was my daily routine, a far cry from my past as a script supervisor.

Today, the screen showed him: Ethan Vance Jr., the man who shattered my world three years ago.

Three years since he' d abandoned me at our Malibu wedding, turning my fairytale into tabloid fodder.

He looked almost the same, carelessly handsome, but beside him stood Chloe Monroe, her hand possessively resting on a visibly pregnant stomach.

My intercom buzzed with the news: "Mrs. Vance, Mr. Ethan Vance Jr. is at the gate, demanding entry."

He strode in, still full of that entitled swagger, proclaiming his pregnant girlfriend would bear the true Vance heir.

Then, with breathtaking audacity, he smirked and demanded I "make him some coffee," as if I were a mere servant to be dismissed and ordered.

He truly believed he could waltz back in and claim what he considered "his," including a subservient me, as if no time had passed.

The sheer insolence of his return, his assumption that I was still the heartbroken girl he' d scorned, was almost comedic.

My heart, however, thudded with a cold, hard resolve, not the pain of old wounds.

He stood there, completely oblivious, ready to strip me of everything he thought I had.

But he had absolutely no idea about the incredible, unexpected life I had built since he walked away.

Just as his arrogant pronouncements threatened to consume the opulent living room, the immediate future of the Vance legacy ran towards me.

Small feet pitter-pattered from the hallway, followed by a cheerful shout: "Mommy! Mommy, can we go to the park?"

A two-year-old boy, with a shock of dark hair and the unmistakable Vance family blue eyes, ran straight into my waiting arms.

"This," I calmly stated, looking directly into Ethan Jr.'s now horrified face, "is your half-brother, Leo Vance."

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When Love Turns to Ash

When Love Turns to Ash

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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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