Twelve Years, One Stranger

Twelve Years, One Stranger

Gavin

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On my 30th birthday, I stood in a grand gala, believing I was celebrating twelve years with Ethan, the man I loved, and his big project win. But my "celebration" was a pathetic banner and a wilting cupcake, while the main stage projected a smiling tribute to Ethan and his "brilliant protégé" – his intern, Madison. Ethan, oblivious, pointed to the cupcake, "Madison arranged that. Sweet, right?" His intern's "adorkable" hug felt like a trap, her eyes gleaming with malice. The betrayals escalated: abandoned on a dark train platform for Madison's "panic attack," our anniversary skipped for her "lost keys," and the ultimate insult – being asked to give her my concert ticket. The final blow came when Ethan, in a fit of rage, weaponized my deepest shame, snarling, "You' re just like your father, always putting your hands on things that don't belong to you." In that crushing moment, my twelve years of love for him disintegrated into ash, leaving behind only chilling emptiness and the realization he was a stranger. Ethan, full of arrogant certainty, winked, "Give her a week. She' ll come crawling back." He had no idea I'd just accepted a promotion to Program Director of my non-profit' s international branch – in London. I quietly packed two suitcases, deleting him from my life as I hailed a taxi to Logan International. When he frantically called, yelling, "What is wrong with you?", I simply said, "It's over," then blocked him and turned off my phone, finally free. But my past wasn't quite done with me, and soon, Ethan and Madison would confront a terrifying truth that would change all our lives forever.

Introduction

On my 30th birthday, I stood in a grand gala, believing I was celebrating twelve years with Ethan, the man I loved, and his big project win.

But my "celebration" was a pathetic banner and a wilting cupcake, while the main stage projected a smiling tribute to Ethan and his "brilliant protégé" – his intern, Madison.

Ethan, oblivious, pointed to the cupcake, "Madison arranged that. Sweet, right?" His intern's "adorkable" hug felt like a trap, her eyes gleaming with malice.

The betrayals escalated: abandoned on a dark train platform for Madison's "panic attack," our anniversary skipped for her "lost keys," and the ultimate insult – being asked to give her my concert ticket.

The final blow came when Ethan, in a fit of rage, weaponized my deepest shame, snarling, "You' re just like your father, always putting your hands on things that don't belong to you."

In that crushing moment, my twelve years of love for him disintegrated into ash, leaving behind only chilling emptiness and the realization he was a stranger.

Ethan, full of arrogant certainty, winked, "Give her a week. She' ll come crawling back."

He had no idea I'd just accepted a promotion to Program Director of my non-profit' s international branch – in London.

I quietly packed two suitcases, deleting him from my life as I hailed a taxi to Logan International.

When he frantically called, yelling, "What is wrong with you?", I simply said, "It's over," then blocked him and turned off my phone, finally free.

But my past wasn't quite done with me, and soon, Ethan and Madison would confront a terrifying truth that would change all our lives forever.

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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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