Too Late, Ethan: The Comeback Queen

Too Late, Ethan: The Comeback Queen

Gavin

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My office air, thick with stale coffee and cheap air freshener, always reminded me of the dreams I built with Ethan. We were supposed to marry in a month, invitations sent, a Vera Wang dress waiting, our Boston Harbor Hotel wedding booked. But then, Ethan, my fiancé of ten years, looked at me with what he thought were "soulful" eyes and dropped a bombshell. He was going to marry Sabrina, the scholarship intern my family' s foundation sponsored, to "save" her from a loan shark. He expected my "good heart" to understand this temporary arrangement, this noble sacrifice for a girl he plainly adored. I didn't cry or scream; the pain was a cold stone, but my face was calm. I saw him then, not as the boy I' d known since prep school, but as a weak, pathetic stranger using a flimsy excuse for a dirty affair. He had been counting on my blindness, my willingness to be a doormat. My hands didn' t tremble as I pulled an identical invitation from my Hermès bag. I slid it across his desk: an invitation to my wedding, to Matthew Lester, on the very same day. His disbelief turned to a slack-jawed horror as Sabrina, his tearful damsel, stumbled in. He instantly became her protector, glaring at me, accusing me of scaring her. I simply walked out, leaving the invitation like a time bomb, knowing my humiliation was far from over. The city' s elite whispered as he publicly chose her over me, his "powerful fiancée losing her grip." But they didn' t know the truth: this wasn' t the end of me; it was the start of something new. I tossed my family' s heirloom sapphire engagement ring into a recycling bin and typed my resignation to his company. I knew Ethan would try to cling to me, or worse, retaliate. What he didn' t know was that I was already steps ahead, ready to reclaim everything he thought he could steal.

Introduction

My office air, thick with stale coffee and cheap air freshener, always reminded me of the dreams I built with Ethan.

We were supposed to marry in a month, invitations sent, a Vera Wang dress waiting, our Boston Harbor Hotel wedding booked.

But then, Ethan, my fiancé of ten years, looked at me with what he thought were "soulful" eyes and dropped a bombshell.

He was going to marry Sabrina, the scholarship intern my family' s foundation sponsored, to "save" her from a loan shark.

He expected my "good heart" to understand this temporary arrangement, this noble sacrifice for a girl he plainly adored.

I didn't cry or scream; the pain was a cold stone, but my face was calm.

I saw him then, not as the boy I' d known since prep school, but as a weak, pathetic stranger using a flimsy excuse for a dirty affair.

He had been counting on my blindness, my willingness to be a doormat.

My hands didn' t tremble as I pulled an identical invitation from my Hermès bag.

I slid it across his desk: an invitation to my wedding, to Matthew Lester, on the very same day.

His disbelief turned to a slack-jawed horror as Sabrina, his tearful damsel, stumbled in.

He instantly became her protector, glaring at me, accusing me of scaring her.

I simply walked out, leaving the invitation like a time bomb, knowing my humiliation was far from over.

The city' s elite whispered as he publicly chose her over me, his "powerful fiancée losing her grip."

But they didn' t know the truth: this wasn' t the end of me; it was the start of something new.

I tossed my family' s heirloom sapphire engagement ring into a recycling bin and typed my resignation to his company.

I knew Ethan would try to cling to me, or worse, retaliate.

What he didn' t know was that I was already steps ahead, ready to reclaim everything he thought he could steal.

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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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When Love Turns to Ash

When Love Turns to Ash

Gavin
4.8

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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