Tainted Vows, Deadly Truths

Tainted Vows, Deadly Truths

Gavin

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A crisp white envelope, starkly blank save for my name, Ashley Carter, typed neatly, lay on my kitchen counter. Inside, a single sheet: a confidential lab report. Tiffany Bellweather. HIV Positive. My heart hammered with a sickening dread as I drove to the new house, the future home Mark and I had planned to fill with our life. I bypassed the door, stepping in to find him, my fiancé Mark, and his high school flame, Tiff, brazenly entangled on the floor of what was supposed to be our master bedroom. The air left my lungs, a horrifyingly familiar scene echoing from a nightmare I had already lived through. Last time, I' d stumbled upon Tiff' s secrets, tried desperately to warn Mark, only for Tiff to "accidentally" fall, and him to blame me. The true horror followed: standing at Tiff' s grave, Mark, a mask of cold fury, watching as his hired thugs tortured, violated, and ultimately ended me, all live-streamed to the world. My mother, heartbroken, suffered a fatal stroke, and my strong father, David, was financially ruined and then silenced forever by those same brutes. All of it, because I tried to warn him about Tiff. Now, the lab report, undeniable proof, was in my purse. But when Mark called later, his voice accusing, "Are you trying to slander Tiff with fake medical reports again?", my blood ran cold. Again? That single word shattered my world. He remembered. He was reborn too. The game had just changed, becoming unimaginably more dangerous. This time, I wouldn't warn him. This time, I wouldn' t say a single word. My revenge would be silent, precise, and absolute.

Introduction

A crisp white envelope, starkly blank save for my name, Ashley Carter, typed neatly, lay on my kitchen counter.

Inside, a single sheet: a confidential lab report. Tiffany Bellweather. HIV Positive.

My heart hammered with a sickening dread as I drove to the new house, the future home Mark and I had planned to fill with our life.

I bypassed the door, stepping in to find him, my fiancé Mark, and his high school flame, Tiff, brazenly entangled on the floor of what was supposed to be our master bedroom.

The air left my lungs, a horrifyingly familiar scene echoing from a nightmare I had already lived through.

Last time, I' d stumbled upon Tiff' s secrets, tried desperately to warn Mark, only for Tiff to "accidentally" fall, and him to blame me.

The true horror followed: standing at Tiff' s grave, Mark, a mask of cold fury, watching as his hired thugs tortured, violated, and ultimately ended me, all live-streamed to the world.

My mother, heartbroken, suffered a fatal stroke, and my strong father, David, was financially ruined and then silenced forever by those same brutes.

All of it, because I tried to warn him about Tiff.

Now, the lab report, undeniable proof, was in my purse.

But when Mark called later, his voice accusing, "Are you trying to slander Tiff with fake medical reports again?", my blood ran cold.

Again? That single word shattered my world.

He remembered. He was reborn too.

The game had just changed, becoming unimaginably more dangerous.

This time, I wouldn't warn him.

This time, I wouldn' t say a single word. My revenge would be silent, precise, and absolute.

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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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