Back From The Dead For A Blank Check

Back From The Dead For A Blank Check

Gavin

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I poured everything into him. As a struggling artist, I lived for Julian, my charming musician. I paid his bills, cooked his food, convinced myself our love was worth more than money. Then the black Escalades came. My Julian, the man I loved, was Julian Vance, a billionaire heir. He didn' t even look at me as his fixer handed me a check for $500,000, calling it a "thank you for your time." My world shattered. I tore the check, screamed my love wasn't for sale. I was a romantic idiot. To keep him, I leaked our story to the tabloids, forcing his family to make him marry me for appearances. The marriage was hell. Julian treated me with open disgust. His monstrous grandfather systematically dismantled my life, isolating me, sabotaging my art, whispering poisons until I questioned my sanity. The final blow: Julian on Page Six, laughing on a yacht with "his longtime companion," Serena. My "love story" was a brutal nightmare, my grand romance a calculated humiliation. The pain of betrayal, the sheer injustice, choked me. How could something so pure turn so monstrously toxic? I was a pawn. That night, in our cold, empty penthouse, I ended my life. But then, I woke up. Back in my tiny Brooklyn apartment. The day before I met Julian for the "first" time. This time, I knew the script. And this time, I wasn't here for love. I was here to collect.

Introduction

I poured everything into him.

As a struggling artist, I lived for Julian, my charming musician.

I paid his bills, cooked his food, convinced myself our love was worth more than money.

Then the black Escalades came.

My Julian, the man I loved, was Julian Vance, a billionaire heir.

He didn' t even look at me as his fixer handed me a check for $500,000, calling it a "thank you for your time."

My world shattered.

I tore the check, screamed my love wasn't for sale.

I was a romantic idiot.

To keep him, I leaked our story to the tabloids, forcing his family to make him marry me for appearances.

The marriage was hell.

Julian treated me with open disgust.

His monstrous grandfather systematically dismantled my life, isolating me, sabotaging my art, whispering poisons until I questioned my sanity.

The final blow: Julian on Page Six, laughing on a yacht with "his longtime companion," Serena.

My "love story" was a brutal nightmare, my grand romance a calculated humiliation.

The pain of betrayal, the sheer injustice, choked me.

How could something so pure turn so monstrously toxic?

I was a pawn.

That night, in our cold, empty penthouse, I ended my life.

But then, I woke up.

Back in my tiny Brooklyn apartment.

The day before I met Julian for the "first" time.

This time, I knew the script.

And this time, I wasn't here for love.

I was here to collect.

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When Love Turns to Ash

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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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