The Dog Stays: And So Does My Revenge

The Dog Stays: And So Does My Revenge

Gavin

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For seven years, I was the perfect political wife, seamlessly orchestrating every gala, every public appearance. I stood behind my Congressman husband, Ethan Scott, a silent, smiling prop in our opulent D.C. townhouse. Then, at our annual fundraising event, he tapped a glass for silence, his arm draped possessively around his pregnant mistress, Sabrina. "Jocelyn and I have agreed to a divorce," he announced, his eyes cold, dismissive, while the room gasped. He expected me to nod, to accept the humiliating settlement, to stay on as a "household consultant" for her. But I refused, declaring I was leaving that night. He laughed, assuming I was dependent on him, that I' d be crawling back. Then Sabrina' s cruel sneer cut through the air: "The dog stays." Buddy, my golden retriever, my last connection to the child I lost, was yanked from my side. Sabrina feigned a bite, screamed, and Ethan, without hesitation, ordered Buddy to be put down. My world shattered. This wasn' t just about Buddy; it ripped open an old wound. Sabrina had given my premature son, Leo, a deadly teddy bear in his NICU crib. Ethan had blamed me for his death, choosing her over our grief. Now, he was literally sentencing my last piece of family to death for her. My tears were gone, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. I was trapped, sick, and nearly burned alive in my room, thanks to Sabrina' s arson, but a hidden message from Andrew, my childhood sweetheart, illuminated a path forward. It was time to fight.

Introduction

For seven years, I was the perfect political wife, seamlessly orchestrating every gala, every public appearance.

I stood behind my Congressman husband, Ethan Scott, a silent, smiling prop in our opulent D.C. townhouse.

Then, at our annual fundraising event, he tapped a glass for silence, his arm draped possessively around his pregnant mistress, Sabrina.

"Jocelyn and I have agreed to a divorce," he announced, his eyes cold, dismissive, while the room gasped.

He expected me to nod, to accept the humiliating settlement, to stay on as a "household consultant" for her.

But I refused, declaring I was leaving that night.

He laughed, assuming I was dependent on him, that I' d be crawling back.

Then Sabrina' s cruel sneer cut through the air: "The dog stays."

Buddy, my golden retriever, my last connection to the child I lost, was yanked from my side.

Sabrina feigned a bite, screamed, and Ethan, without hesitation, ordered Buddy to be put down.

My world shattered. This wasn' t just about Buddy; it ripped open an old wound.

Sabrina had given my premature son, Leo, a deadly teddy bear in his NICU crib. Ethan had blamed me for his death, choosing her over our grief.

Now, he was literally sentencing my last piece of family to death for her.

My tears were gone, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. I was trapped, sick, and nearly burned alive in my room, thanks to Sabrina' s arson, but a hidden message from Andrew, my childhood sweetheart, illuminated a path forward.

It was time to fight.

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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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