The Kidnapped Heiress: Unmasking the Millers

The Kidnapped Heiress: Unmasking the Millers

Gavin

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I was Sarah Miller, a junior architect, on the cusp of a life-changing promotion, meticulously crafting a future I believed was mine. But then, like a phantom limb ache, the terrifying memory hit: my "father," David, barging into my review, screaming baseless accusations of kickbacks. In my first life, this was only the beginning, the calculated unraveling of everything I held dear. My entire "family"-David, my "mother" Susan, "Grandma" Carol-systematically dismantled my reputation, framing me for identity theft, driving me into mountains of phantom debt. Their biological daughter, Jess, the "roommate" I thought was a friend, gleefully joined their schemes, twisting the knife. I was relentlessly doxxed, blacklisted from my profession, and ultimately met a brutal, senseless end in a hit-and-run. I died, my last conscious thought a haunting question: Why? Why did the people who raised me orchestrate such a relentless, professional campaign to destroy my life? The sheer depth of their calculated malice went beyond mere familial dysfunction; it foreshadowed a sinister, hidden truth far more profound than I could have imagined. But now, I'm back. It's the very same morning, the same inescapable dread, but this time, the grim knowledge has become my power. I remember every trap, every lie, every betrayal they planned. They believed they had broken me irrevocably once. They're about to discover that their carefully constructed world of deceit, built upon my stolen identity, is on the verge of spectacular collapse. Because this time, I'm not just surviving; I'm fighting back to expose every single one of their fraudulent secrets, and to reclaim the life that was always rightfully mine.

Introduction

I was Sarah Miller, a junior architect, on the cusp of a life-changing promotion, meticulously crafting a future I believed was mine.

But then, like a phantom limb ache, the terrifying memory hit: my "father," David, barging into my review, screaming baseless accusations of kickbacks.

In my first life, this was only the beginning, the calculated unraveling of everything I held dear.

My entire "family"-David, my "mother" Susan, "Grandma" Carol-systematically dismantled my reputation, framing me for identity theft, driving me into mountains of phantom debt.

Their biological daughter, Jess, the "roommate" I thought was a friend, gleefully joined their schemes, twisting the knife.

I was relentlessly doxxed, blacklisted from my profession, and ultimately met a brutal, senseless end in a hit-and-run.

I died, my last conscious thought a haunting question: Why? Why did the people who raised me orchestrate such a relentless, professional campaign to destroy my life?

The sheer depth of their calculated malice went beyond mere familial dysfunction; it foreshadowed a sinister, hidden truth far more profound than I could have imagined.

But now, I'm back.

It's the very same morning, the same inescapable dread, but this time, the grim knowledge has become my power.

I remember every trap, every lie, every betrayal they planned.

They believed they had broken me irrevocably once.

They're about to discover that their carefully constructed world of deceit, built upon my stolen identity, is on the verge of spectacular collapse.

Because this time, I'm not just surviving; I'm fighting back to expose every single one of their fraudulent secrets, and to reclaim the life that was always rightfully mine.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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