The Five Hundred Thousand Dollar Lie

Name: The Five Hundred Thousand Dollar Lie
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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Three years of playing my guitar until my fingers bled, enduring stale smoke and leering eyes in a Vegas lounge. It was all for him, my fiancé Jax, to pay off a $500,000 debt that threatened his family's legacy. Finally, the "contract" was fulfilled, the debt paid, and I was on my way home, dreaming of our reunion. But when I reached our old apartment, it was empty, a foreclosure notice taped to the door. Panic clawed at my throat as his phone went straight to voicemail, over and over. Then, a notification from a music blog changed everything, showing Jax, my fiancé, beaming with Savannah Monroe at a high-profile Nashville party. The caption: "Nashville's new power couple, Jax Thorne and Savannah Monroe, celebrate their groundbreaking merger." My phone clattered to the dusty floor, my mind unable to grasp the words. I stumbled to the penthouse address listed, only to overhear their voices dripping with casual cruelty. "She'd do anything for me," Jax bragged, his voice cold, "Pure profit." Savannah's syrupy drawl followed, "The loan shark? Seriously? You hired an out-of-work actor from Memphis." My blood ran cold as the truth hit me: the debt, the loan shark, the three years of hell-all a lie, a twisted game orchestrated by the man I loved. "Revenge," Jax hissed, "Her father stole a hit song from my dad. Ruined him. Drove him to suicide. I wanted her to feel what it was like to have everything taken away." My entire life, my sacrifice, my love-it was all a setup, a cruel, elaborate joke. His father was a jealous drunk, a gambler, and the 'stolen song' was a generous gift, not a theft. I was a pawn in a revenge plot based on a lie, completely broken, with nothing left. But as I stood there in the Nashville sun, clutching a small, crumpled piece of paper-a mysterious number for "a true emergency"-a desperate, fluttering hope ignited. I had never used it. With trembling hands, I dialed. "Rothschild, private office." The name echoed in my mind, a legend. "I... I need to speak to Marcus Rothschild," I whispered, "It's an emergency."

Betrayal Revenge Drama Comeback Personal growth

Chapter 5

06-23 11:31

Introduction

Three years of playing my guitar until my fingers bled, enduring stale smoke and leering eyes in a Vegas lounge.

It was all for him, my fiancé Jax, to pay off a $500,000 debt that threatened his family's legacy.

Finally, the "contract" was fulfilled, the debt paid, and I was on my way home, dreaming of our reunion.

But when I reached our old apartment, it was empty, a foreclosure notice taped to the door.

Panic clawed at my throat as his phone went straight to voicemail, over and over.

Then, a notification from a music blog changed everything, showing Jax, my fiancé, beaming with Savannah Monroe at a high-profile Nashville party.

The caption: "Nashville's new power couple, Jax Thorne and Savannah Monroe, celebrate their groundbreaking merger."

My phone clattered to the dusty floor, my mind unable to grasp the words.

I stumbled to the penthouse address listed, only to overhear their voices dripping with casual cruelty.

"She'd do anything for me," Jax bragged, his voice cold, "Pure profit."

Savannah's syrupy drawl followed, "The loan shark? Seriously? You hired an out-of-work actor from Memphis."

My blood ran cold as the truth hit me: the debt, the loan shark, the three years of hell-all a lie, a twisted game orchestrated by the man I loved.

"Revenge," Jax hissed, "Her father stole a hit song from my dad. Ruined him. Drove him to suicide. I wanted her to feel what it was like to have everything taken away."

My entire life, my sacrifice, my love-it was all a setup, a cruel, elaborate joke.

His father was a jealous drunk, a gambler, and the 'stolen song' was a generous gift, not a theft.

I was a pawn in a revenge plot based on a lie, completely broken, with nothing left.

But as I stood there in the Nashville sun, clutching a small, crumpled piece of paper-a mysterious number for "a true emergency"-a desperate, fluttering hope ignited.

I had never used it.

With trembling hands, I dialed.

"Rothschild, private office."

The name echoed in my mind, a legend.

"I... I need to speak to Marcus Rothschild," I whispered, "It's an emergency."