Unmade Choices: A Love Rebuilt

Unmade Choices: A Love Rebuilt

Mo Moqi

5.0
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The screech of tires, the crunch of metal, the blinding pain – then, Isabella' s dying whisper: she' d run off with Julian, the starving artist, for a "real" life. My world was ending on the Brooklyn Bridge, yet her last words were a bullet to the heart, proving every sacrifice I made for her had been for nothing. The flash of emergency lights, the fading cold... and then I blinked. I was back, tuxedo-clad, at our engagement party in the Hamptons. A year ago. Julian, the artist, strode in, chaotic and loud, pointing dramatically at me, declaring my life a "golden cage." Last time, Isabella had clung to me, mortified. This time, she looked at him, then at me, tears in her eyes, a strange resolve on her face. She took off the diamond ring, letting it clink on a table, and walked straight to him, choosing him. My parents were aghast, the guests gasped, but I felt no pain, no shock. Just a clear, potent understanding. Life had given me a reset button, and I was done playing her game. This time, I' d make my own rules.

Introduction

The screech of tires, the crunch of metal, the blinding pain – then, Isabella' s dying whisper: she' d run off with Julian, the starving artist, for a "real" life.

My world was ending on the Brooklyn Bridge, yet her last words were a bullet to the heart, proving every sacrifice I made for her had been for nothing.

The flash of emergency lights, the fading cold... and then I blinked.

I was back, tuxedo-clad, at our engagement party in the Hamptons. A year ago.

Julian, the artist, strode in, chaotic and loud, pointing dramatically at me, declaring my life a "golden cage."

Last time, Isabella had clung to me, mortified. This time, she looked at him, then at me, tears in her eyes, a strange resolve on her face.

She took off the diamond ring, letting it clink on a table, and walked straight to him, choosing him.

My parents were aghast, the guests gasped, but I felt no pain, no shock. Just a clear, potent understanding.

Life had given me a reset button, and I was done playing her game. This time, I' d make my own rules.

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When Love Dies, Truth Emerges

When Love Dies, Truth Emerges

Fantasy

5.0

My body was cold. I knew I was dead, a helpless spirit hovering above my own corpse in a cheap apartment. It was Christmas Eve, a day meant for warmth and family, but I died alone. Three days later, my six-year-old son, Leo, finally stopped thinking I was just sleeping. He called his billionaire father, Ethan Miller, begging for help. Instead of concern, Ethan' s voice was sharp and impatient, cutting through the silence. "What? Why are you calling me? Where's your mother?" He laughed harshly when Leo said I wouldn't wake up. "She's always sleeping. Or complaining. Tell her to stop being so dramatic." Leo pleaded, "No, Daddy, it's different. She's cold." But Ethan, fueled by his mistress Sarah's whispers, twisted his words into an accusation about money and a heating bill. He hung up, demanding I apologize to him myself. My son, heartbroken but determined, remembered Ethan's "magic feather pen" he believed could wake me. He braved the freezing city, walking for hours to his father's mansion, only to see Ethan with Sarah and her daughter, Chloe-a new, perfect family. Sarah, seeing Leo, poured scorn on him, calling me a "pathetic woman" and a "leech." When Leo defended me, calling her a "monster," she shoved him, causing him to hit his head and bleed. Then, she forced him to crawl through a doggy door, humiliating him, recording it on her phone. Ethan, manipulated by Sarah, saw not a hurt child, but a pawn I supposedly sent to make him feel guilty. When Leo stammered, "The pen... the one you use to wake Mommy up," Ethan was confused, but Sarah quickly steered him away, making him believe Leo was trying to steal her phone. Blind with rage, Ethan ripped off Leo's sweater, found nothing, and dragged him outside. "You will kneel there," he snarled, throwing my son into a snowdrift. "You will not get up until you tell me where the phone is and apologize for your lies." The feather pen, Leo' s only hope, was held hostage. My brave boy, shivering and bleeding, silently knelt in the snow as Ethan closed the curtains, returning to his party with Sarah.

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Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

SHANA GRAY
4.3

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

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