My Heart, My Vengeance

My Heart, My Vengeance

Gavin

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I spent three years locked away by my husband, Ethan, in a soundproof panic room. My legs, shattered in the "accident" he orchestrated, were useless. He stole my songs, my career, my life, and gave them to Chloe, a talentless fraud he built into a star. Then, they wheeled me out-a prisoner displayed for the "happy family": Ethan, Chloe, and my son, Leo. Leo, who looked at me like a monster, holding Chloe's hand and calling her "mom." Ethan ordered me to confess to plagiarism, to blame my own "jealousy" for his intricate web of lies that destroyed me. But the ultimate cruelty came later. Chloe, supposedly dying from a heart condition, needed a transplant. "You're a match," Ethan stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "You will donate your heart to Chloe." It wasn't a request; it was my execution. My heart for hers, the last piece of me carved out and given to the woman who stole my life. As the scalpel touched my skin, Chloe whispered, "This is for stealing my life, you bitch." I closed my eyes, uttering one word to the mysterious "Pact" I made years ago. Then, I left my body to die. Yet, I woke up. Not gone, but back. And the Pact whispered a new bargain: return to stop Ethan, who, shattered by my death, was becoming a true monster. The deal was clear: save him and save my sister. I stepped back into hell, but this time, the chains were broken, and I was ready to fight.

Introduction

I spent three years locked away by my husband, Ethan, in a soundproof panic room.

My legs, shattered in the "accident" he orchestrated, were useless.

He stole my songs, my career, my life, and gave them to Chloe, a talentless fraud he built into a star.

Then, they wheeled me out-a prisoner displayed for the "happy family": Ethan, Chloe, and my son, Leo.

Leo, who looked at me like a monster, holding Chloe's hand and calling her "mom."

Ethan ordered me to confess to plagiarism, to blame my own "jealousy" for his intricate web of lies that destroyed me.

But the ultimate cruelty came later.

Chloe, supposedly dying from a heart condition, needed a transplant.

"You're a match," Ethan stated, his voice devoid of emotion.

"You will donate your heart to Chloe."

It wasn't a request; it was my execution.

My heart for hers, the last piece of me carved out and given to the woman who stole my life.

As the scalpel touched my skin, Chloe whispered, "This is for stealing my life, you bitch."

I closed my eyes, uttering one word to the mysterious "Pact" I made years ago.

Then, I left my body to die.

Yet, I woke up.

Not gone, but back.

And the Pact whispered a new bargain: return to stop Ethan, who, shattered by my death, was becoming a true monster.

The deal was clear: save him and save my sister.

I stepped back into hell, but this time, the chains were broken, and I was ready to fight.

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I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

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