No More Tears for Him

No More Tears for Him

Gavin

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Five years ago, I gave everything – my dreams, my health, every last penny – to save the man I loved from a fatal heart condition. I scrubbed pots on double shifts, my hands raw, convinced I was putting my love on the path to recovery. But his fiancée, Jennifer, had other plans. She showed him doctored photos, whispered lies, and made it seem like I was selling my body, not my soul, for him. He believed her instantly, threw the money back in my face, and walked away, spitting that I deserved to rot. Now, five years later, those words are a cold prophecy: my kidneys are failing, I have six months to live. As I stumbled out of the free clinic, dizzy and broken, I saw him again-Ethan Scott, now a superstar music producer, stepping out of a luxury car with Jennifer, her hand protectively over a pregnant belly. They were heading into the exclusive private hospital next door, a world away from my despair. My body chose that moment to betray me; I collapsed, scattering my pills and medical records on the dirty sidewalk. He stared down at me, his eyes colder than any winter, then watched as Jennifer ground her heel into my hand and had my lifeline swept into a trash can. He even threw a crumpled twenty-dollar bill at my feet, declaring I was worth less than a donation to an animal shelter. How could he believe such monstrous lies? How could he, the man I sacrificed everything for, be so utterly blind to the truth of what I endured for him? What secret did Jennifer hold over him that made him choose her cruel deception over the life-saving act I committed?

Introduction

Five years ago, I gave everything – my dreams, my health, every last penny – to save the man I loved from a fatal heart condition.

I scrubbed pots on double shifts, my hands raw, convinced I was putting my love on the path to recovery.

But his fiancée, Jennifer, had other plans.

She showed him doctored photos, whispered lies, and made it seem like I was selling my body, not my soul, for him.

He believed her instantly, threw the money back in my face, and walked away, spitting that I deserved to rot.

Now, five years later, those words are a cold prophecy: my kidneys are failing, I have six months to live.

As I stumbled out of the free clinic, dizzy and broken, I saw him again-Ethan Scott, now a superstar music producer, stepping out of a luxury car with Jennifer, her hand protectively over a pregnant belly.

They were heading into the exclusive private hospital next door, a world away from my despair.

My body chose that moment to betray me; I collapsed, scattering my pills and medical records on the dirty sidewalk.

He stared down at me, his eyes colder than any winter, then watched as Jennifer ground her heel into my hand and had my lifeline swept into a trash can.

He even threw a crumpled twenty-dollar bill at my feet, declaring I was worth less than a donation to an animal shelter.

How could he believe such monstrous lies?

How could he, the man I sacrificed everything for, be so utterly blind to the truth of what I endured for him?

What secret did Jennifer hold over him that made him choose her cruel deception over the life-saving act I committed?

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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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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