Justice for the Vance Heiress

Justice for the Vance Heiress

Gavin

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I woke up on my wedding day, the morning sun streaming into my opulent Charleston bedroom. But the taste of asphalt and blood was still in my mouth, memories of screeching tires and a crushing impact vivid in my mind. My stepfather' s perfect plan: a staged hit-and-run, his neat solution to inherit my mother' s fortune. Because I had died. Now I was back, alive, staring at the date-my wedding day, the day he had me killed. A wave of phantom pain, of broken bones and crushed hope, washed over me. Then I saw her: my stepsister, Brielle, in my custom wedding dress, admiring herself in the mirror. The sight was a physical blow, a reminder of the humiliation and betrayal I endured in my first life as they drugged me and locked me away. He walked in, Senator Richard Thorne, playing the concerned father, but his eyes were cold and full of the disappointment I' d known my whole life. He gaslighted me, painting me as hysterical, just as he did before, controlling everything. "Your mother is gone," he hissed, "And I control you. Don\'t you ever forget that." I was trapped, again, the crushing weight of powerlessness threatening to suffocate me. Rage, so profound it burned, replaced the despair. Why did I have to relive this nightmare, this perfect setup for my destruction? But something was different this time. The naive girl died on that dark road; I was what was left. If he wanted to control the Vance family, there would be no Vance family left to control, not the way he expected. I found my mother' s hidden failsafe: an encrypted flash drive, her "in case of Richard" file. It held years of meticulous corruption, a dossier so damning it would send him to federal prison for life. With a grim smile and a single click of the send button, I launched the nuclear option, sending it to the FBI, SEC, and every major news outlet. The game had changed, and they didn' t even know they were playing.

Introduction

I woke up on my wedding day, the morning sun streaming into my opulent Charleston bedroom.

But the taste of asphalt and blood was still in my mouth, memories of screeching tires and a crushing impact vivid in my mind.

My stepfather' s perfect plan: a staged hit-and-run, his neat solution to inherit my mother' s fortune.

Because I had died.

Now I was back, alive, staring at the date-my wedding day, the day he had me killed.

A wave of phantom pain, of broken bones and crushed hope, washed over me.

Then I saw her: my stepsister, Brielle, in my custom wedding dress, admiring herself in the mirror.

The sight was a physical blow, a reminder of the humiliation and betrayal I endured in my first life as they drugged me and locked me away.

He walked in, Senator Richard Thorne, playing the concerned father, but his eyes were cold and full of the disappointment I' d known my whole life.

He gaslighted me, painting me as hysterical, just as he did before, controlling everything.

"Your mother is gone," he hissed, "And I control you. Don\'t you ever forget that."

I was trapped, again, the crushing weight of powerlessness threatening to suffocate me.

Rage, so profound it burned, replaced the despair.

Why did I have to relive this nightmare, this perfect setup for my destruction?

But something was different this time.

The naive girl died on that dark road; I was what was left.

If he wanted to control the Vance family, there would be no Vance family left to control, not the way he expected.

I found my mother' s hidden failsafe: an encrypted flash drive, her "in case of Richard" file.

It held years of meticulous corruption, a dossier so damning it would send him to federal prison for life.

With a grim smile and a single click of the send button, I launched the nuclear option, sending it to the FBI, SEC, and every major news outlet.

The game had changed, and they didn' t even know they were playing.

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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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