Desert Bloom: A Song of Vengeance

Desert Bloom: A Song of Vengeance

Gavin

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I opened my eyes to the familiar crack in my Austin apartment ceiling. My phone buzzed: "Desert Bloom" Release Day. This was it: the day my life ended in a nightmare I'd already lived. Caleb, the Nashville star, would steal my song, ruin my reputation, and trigger a cascading tragedy that led to my parents' death and my own fall from Pennybacker Bridge. But I was here, alive, on that same morning. Panicked, I called my manager, Marcus, and demanded he pull my song immediately. It was too late. Two hours later, a news alert confirmed my horror: Caleb had released "Desert Bloom." It was my song, note for note. Desperate, I wrote an entirely new song offline, recording it on an old 4-track, a raw anthem of rage. Five days later, the headlines screamed: Caleb had released that song too. He wasn't just stealing my music; he was stealing my thoughts, pulling them directly from my mind. The despair was crushing, the violation absolute. How was this possible? My ex-girlfriend, Chloe, then called, inviting me to Caleb's victory party, feigning concern. This wasn't about saving face; it was a trap. But I agreed, for this time, I wasn't just surviving; I was going to Nashville not to beg, but to fight, to find out how deep this impossible betrayal ran, and unleash a force that could make them pay.

Introduction

I opened my eyes to the familiar crack in my Austin apartment ceiling.

My phone buzzed: "Desert Bloom" Release Day.

This was it: the day my life ended in a nightmare I'd already lived.

Caleb, the Nashville star, would steal my song, ruin my reputation, and trigger a cascading tragedy that led to my parents' death and my own fall from Pennybacker Bridge.

But I was here, alive, on that same morning.

Panicked, I called my manager, Marcus, and demanded he pull my song immediately.

It was too late.

Two hours later, a news alert confirmed my horror: Caleb had released "Desert Bloom."

It was my song, note for note.

Desperate, I wrote an entirely new song offline, recording it on an old 4-track, a raw anthem of rage.

Five days later, the headlines screamed: Caleb had released that song too.

He wasn't just stealing my music; he was stealing my thoughts, pulling them directly from my mind.

The despair was crushing, the violation absolute.

How was this possible?

My ex-girlfriend, Chloe, then called, inviting me to Caleb's victory party, feigning concern.

This wasn't about saving face; it was a trap.

But I agreed, for this time, I wasn't just surviving; I was going to Nashville not to beg, but to fight, to find out how deep this impossible betrayal ran, and unleash a force that could make them pay.

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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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