A Wife's Unseen Vengeance

A Wife's Unseen Vengeance

Gavin

5.0
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My name is Elena. Or it was. Now, I am just a cold memory clinging to our lake house in the Adirondacks. For three years, I' ve watched the garden turn wild, a monument to my forgotten life. Then, an expensive black SUV crunched up the gravel driveway, instantly recognizable as Liam' s. Liam, my husband, stepped out, a stranger in a tailored suit, here for one twisted reason. He was here to force me to give Chloe, his mistress, a kidney. He strutted around, assuming I had simply run away, hiding out of spite. He didn' t know Chloe had already put me in the ground, just feet from our home. He muttered insults about me, calling me lazy, unfocused, nothing like "Chloe." He stormed the house, yelling for me to end my "stupid game," oblivious to my spectral presence. Even when Marcus, our kind handyman, told him I was dead, Liam laughed it off. He dismissed it as another one of my "dramatic tricks," then kicked over the crude wooden cross marking my unmarked grave. His final threat, shouted at empty air, was against our son, Leo, if I didn't appear. I, a helpless ghost bound by love and rage, could only watch this desecration, unable to scream or stop him. It was then, as the cross splintered, that the blinding memory of my death returned, sharp and clear. Chloe, the woman Liam believed, the one he openly preferred, was the architect of my end. She pushed me from the balcony, watched me fall, then paid two local thugs to finish the job. They dragged my broken body into the woods and buried me alive, right here, next to the house. Now, Liam is here, digging with a shovel, convinced he's exposing a charade. But what he's about to unearth isn' t a trick; it' s the brutal, physical proof of a murder he was too blind to see. And the dark truth of his perfect Chloe.

Introduction

My name is Elena. Or it was.

Now, I am just a cold memory clinging to our lake house in the Adirondacks.

For three years, I' ve watched the garden turn wild, a monument to my forgotten life.

Then, an expensive black SUV crunched up the gravel driveway, instantly recognizable as Liam' s.

Liam, my husband, stepped out, a stranger in a tailored suit, here for one twisted reason.

He was here to force me to give Chloe, his mistress, a kidney.

He strutted around, assuming I had simply run away, hiding out of spite.

He didn' t know Chloe had already put me in the ground, just feet from our home.

He muttered insults about me, calling me lazy, unfocused, nothing like "Chloe."

He stormed the house, yelling for me to end my "stupid game," oblivious to my spectral presence.

Even when Marcus, our kind handyman, told him I was dead, Liam laughed it off.

He dismissed it as another one of my "dramatic tricks," then kicked over the crude wooden cross marking my unmarked grave.

His final threat, shouted at empty air, was against our son, Leo, if I didn't appear.

I, a helpless ghost bound by love and rage, could only watch this desecration, unable to scream or stop him.

It was then, as the cross splintered, that the blinding memory of my death returned, sharp and clear.

Chloe, the woman Liam believed, the one he openly preferred, was the architect of my end.

She pushed me from the balcony, watched me fall, then paid two local thugs to finish the job.

They dragged my broken body into the woods and buried me alive, right here, next to the house.

Now, Liam is here, digging with a shovel, convinced he's exposing a charade.

But what he's about to unearth isn' t a trick; it' s the brutal, physical proof of a murder he was too blind to see.

And the dark truth of his perfect Chloe.

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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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"Lucien, let's get a divorce," I said in a peremptory tone that was long overdue, the most decisive farewell to this absurd marriage. We had been married for exactly three years-three years that, for me, were filled with nothing but endless loneliness and torment. For three years, the husband who should have stood by my side through every storm, Lucien Sullivan, had completely disappeared from my life as if he had never existed. He vanished without a trace, leaving me alone to endure this empty, desolate marriage. Today, I finally received his message: "I'm back. Come pick me up at the airport." When I read his words, my heart leapt with joy, and I raced to the airport, thinking that he finally understood my love and was coming back to me. But his cruelty was far worse than I could have ever imagined-he was accompanied by a pregnant woman, and that woman was Carla, my closest and most trusted friend. In that moment, all of my previous excitement, all my hope, and all of our shared laughter and tears turned into the sharpest of daggers, stabbing into my heart and leaving me gasping for air. Now, all I want is to escape from this place that has left me so broken-to lick my wounds in solitude. Even if these wounds will remain with me for the rest of my life, I refuse to have anything to do with him ever again. He should know that it was his own hand that trampled our love underfoot, that his coldness and betrayal created this irreparable situation. But when he heard those words, he desperately clung to this broken, crumbling marriage, unwilling to let it end-almost as though doing so could rewind time and return everything to how it used to be. "Aurora, come back. I regret everything!" Regret? Those simple words stirred no emotion in me-only endless sadness and fury. My heart let out a frantic, desperate scream: It's too late for any of this!

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