Stale Beer, Sweet Vengeance

Stale Beer, Sweet Vengeance

Li Xiamo

5.0
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The Rusty Mug was a blur of noise and stale beer tonight. Game night, loud as ever. I wiped down the bar, going through the motions, surrounded by the same faces, the same routine. But the man behind the bar wasn't the same Jake anymore. A sudden shriek split the air near the back restrooms-a woman' s voice, sharp and furious. Whispers slithered through the crowd: "A teacher," "caught with another man." My co-bartender, Mark Olsen, a grin twisting his face, looked directly at me. With fake concern, he asked, "Hope it's not your Emily. She' s too sweet to be messing around, right?" He didn't know I knew exactly who it was. Nor did he know I' d already lived this agonizing chapter. Last time, Chloe, his fiancée, caught red-handed, had played the victim, begging sympathetic Emily for help. Kind, trusting Emily, rushed to her side. Only for Chloe to throw her under the bus, fabricating texts, spinning vicious rumors. The public shame, the loss of her job, broke Emily. She killed herself. Blinded by grief and rage, I confronted Mark, just before he shoved me down the back stairs. I remembered the sickening crack, and then... nothing. Until I woke up, months ago, back in this very life, this exact day now approaching. My Emily, gone forever. My own life, stolen. Why? Why had they gone unpunished, while we paid the ultimate price? This was my impossible second chance. To save Emily. To save myself. And this time, they were going to regret every single unforgivable thing they had ever done.

Introduction

The Rusty Mug was a blur of noise and stale beer tonight.

Game night, loud as ever.

I wiped down the bar, going through the motions, surrounded by the same faces, the same routine.

But the man behind the bar wasn't the same Jake anymore.

A sudden shriek split the air near the back restrooms-a woman' s voice, sharp and furious.

Whispers slithered through the crowd: "A teacher," "caught with another man."

My co-bartender, Mark Olsen, a grin twisting his face, looked directly at me.

With fake concern, he asked, "Hope it's not your Emily. She' s too sweet to be messing around, right?"

He didn't know I knew exactly who it was.

Nor did he know I' d already lived this agonizing chapter.

Last time, Chloe, his fiancée, caught red-handed, had played the victim, begging sympathetic Emily for help.

Kind, trusting Emily, rushed to her side.

Only for Chloe to throw her under the bus, fabricating texts, spinning vicious rumors.

The public shame, the loss of her job, broke Emily.

She killed herself.

Blinded by grief and rage, I confronted Mark, just before he shoved me down the back stairs.

I remembered the sickening crack, and then... nothing.

Until I woke up, months ago, back in this very life, this exact day now approaching.

My Emily, gone forever.

My own life, stolen.

Why? Why had they gone unpunished, while we paid the ultimate price?

This was my impossible second chance.

To save Emily.

To save myself.

And this time, they were going to regret every single unforgivable thing they had ever done.

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5.0

For five years, my wife Seraphina' s 'purity' defined my existence. My days were a relentless cycle of scrubbing, proving I was 'clean' enough for her. This pristine, empty marriage felt like a lifelong sentence. Then, a faint love bite on her collarbone sparked a flicker of doubt, quickly replaced by horror when I overheard her chilling phone call. My wife wasn' t just cruel; she was auctioning me off. The 'Ethan Experience' she chirped, chilling me to the bone. Those excruciating 'cleansings' weren't about her mysophobia; they were about erasing me for her lover, Julian. My raw, burning skin wasn't from clumsiness, but industrial-strength soaps meant to wipe away any trace of me. They filmed me, naked, for a pre-auction 'preview,' inviting a crowd of socialites to watch. My wife, the woman who claimed disgust at my touch, was selling me like property. The night arrived, and I found myself sedated, stripped, and pushed into a glass room, the auctioneer's voice already booming my 'unveiling.' How could the woman I vowed to protect turn me into a living spectacle, a commodity of contempt? The betrayal was a physical ache, the humiliation a crushing weight. Was this truly my fate, to be auctioned off, utterly broken and shamed? All for a man who claimed to be 'allergic' to me, a lie she orchestrated for five years. Just as the curtain began to rise, a familiar, commanding voice cut through the haze. My godmother, Eleanor Vance, a formidable force, burst in, holding the annulment papers I thought I'd never need. My escape began not with a fight, but with a signature, as my dignity was finally restored. That night, I didn't become a spectacle; I became free.

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