The Ghost Of Her Past

The Ghost Of Her Past

Gavin

5.0
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The last thing I remembered was a crushing weight in my chest, and the impossibly cruel words about my son not being mine. Then, everything went black. I thought I was dead, a broken man on my own lawn, betrayed by the wife I' d mourned for a decade. But I opened my eyes to the scent of lilies and the familiar wooden pews of St. Michael's church. It was Nicole' s funeral, ten years ago, the very day she supposedly died. My mother-in-law, Maria, was there, whispering an insane proposition: marry her younger daughter, Gabby, just on paper, for my baby son, A.J. In my first life, I' d been horrified by the thought, clinging to Nicole' s memory. But that Andrew was dead. This Andrew was back, alive and seething with a cold, hard resolve. I knew what was coming in ten years. I knew she' d return to destroy me. Not this time. I stared at Gabby, then turned to Maria, my voice steady, my decision made. "Okay," I said. "I' ll do it." The game had changed. I was given a second chance, and this time, I would build a fortress.

Introduction

The last thing I remembered was a crushing weight in my chest, and the impossibly cruel words about my son not being mine.

Then, everything went black.

I thought I was dead, a broken man on my own lawn, betrayed by the wife I' d mourned for a decade.

But I opened my eyes to the scent of lilies and the familiar wooden pews of St. Michael's church. It was Nicole' s funeral, ten years ago, the very day she supposedly died.

My mother-in-law, Maria, was there, whispering an insane proposition: marry her younger daughter, Gabby, just on paper, for my baby son, A.J.

In my first life, I' d been horrified by the thought, clinging to Nicole' s memory.

But that Andrew was dead. This Andrew was back, alive and seething with a cold, hard resolve. I knew what was coming in ten years. I knew she' d return to destroy me.

Not this time.

I stared at Gabby, then turned to Maria, my voice steady, my decision made. "Okay," I said. "I' ll do it."

The game had changed. I was given a second chance, and this time, I would build a fortress.

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The Truth About His Mistress

The Truth About His Mistress

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I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

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Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

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