A Family's Fierce Protection

A Family's Fierce Protection

Gavin

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I' m Sarah Miller, a Grammy-winning music producer who prefers the quiet of a studio. But tonight, I was enduring a club after-party for my stepson Alex, a talented musician I cherished like my own. I also harbored a secret: I was twelve weeks pregnant with our miracle IVF baby, cherished by my husband, the tech billionaire Michael Thorne. Suddenly, Alex' s pop-star girlfriend, Jessi Vance, descended, eyes blazing for the cameras. "She's trying to get close to Alex!" she shrieked, pulling him in a staged outburst. "An older woman, trying to steal my boyfriend!" she screamed, shoving me hard. The online world exploded, branding me a cougar, a predator. Days later, Jessi tracked me to my studio sanctuary, her fake tears gone, replaced by pure rage. "You think you can ruin my life and get away with it?" she screamed, lunging. She pushed me violently, sending me stumbling backward into a console. A searing pain shot through my abdomen. I crumpled, gasping, clutching myself. Not now. Please, not now. "I' m pregnant," I whispered, barely audible, as the precious life Michael and I had fought for, year after agonizing year, was slipping away. How could this manipulative child' s public stunt and physical assault cost me everything? Just when despair threatened to overwhelm me, the studio doors burst open. Michael Thorne, my husband, strode in, his gaze ice-cold. "This woman," he declared, his voice cutting through the silence, "is my wife." The narrative didn't just flip; it shattered.

Introduction

I' m Sarah Miller, a Grammy-winning music producer who prefers the quiet of a studio.

But tonight, I was enduring a club after-party for my stepson Alex, a talented musician I cherished like my own.

I also harbored a secret: I was twelve weeks pregnant with our miracle IVF baby, cherished by my husband, the tech billionaire Michael Thorne.

Suddenly, Alex' s pop-star girlfriend, Jessi Vance, descended, eyes blazing for the cameras.

"She's trying to get close to Alex!" she shrieked, pulling him in a staged outburst.

"An older woman, trying to steal my boyfriend!" she screamed, shoving me hard.

The online world exploded, branding me a cougar, a predator.

Days later, Jessi tracked me to my studio sanctuary, her fake tears gone, replaced by pure rage.

"You think you can ruin my life and get away with it?" she screamed, lunging.

She pushed me violently, sending me stumbling backward into a console.

A searing pain shot through my abdomen.

I crumpled, gasping, clutching myself. Not now. Please, not now.

"I' m pregnant," I whispered, barely audible, as the precious life Michael and I had fought for, year after agonizing year, was slipping away.

How could this manipulative child' s public stunt and physical assault cost me everything?

Just when despair threatened to overwhelm me, the studio doors burst open.

Michael Thorne, my husband, strode in, his gaze ice-cold.

"This woman," he declared, his voice cutting through the silence, "is my wife."

The narrative didn't just flip; it shattered.

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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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