My Heiress Life, My System

My Heiress Life, My System

Gavin

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Chapter 1 of my life was a fairy tale: Jocelyn Todd, orphan no more, adopted by the wealthy Scott family and about to marry a charming scion. My engagement party was a lavish spectacle, a testament to the love and affection I' d finally found. Standing beside my "protective" older brother, Andrew, watching my fiancé Ethan across the lawn, I finally felt loved, complete. But then, as I took my first step towards my future, my world fractured. Bright, glowing text flooded my vision, overlaying the perfect scene: "LOL, she' s actually crying. A few worthless stock certificates and she' s totally fooled. So naive." My family' s affectionate smiles transformed into chilling masks as I read on, discovering their monstrous plan. The year of love was a performance, and I was merely a prop to boost their "Likeability Score." Once official, they'd frame me for a corporate crime, strip me of everything, and dispose of me, all to benefit Gabby, their real "daughter." The warmth in my chest turned to ice. They weren't just betraying me; they were orchestrating my destruction. My "parents," "brother," and fiancé-all in on it. They saw me as a disposable pawn, intended for a tragic, convenient "accident." The thought of facing this chilling reality, alone and betrayed, was paralyzing. But then, a defiant spark ignited. My tears weren't of gratitude anymore, but of cold, hard resolve. I still clutched the portfolio of "worthless" stock, and a new comment flashed: "The certificates are fakes!..." It was all a lie. I took a deep breath, the trembling in my voice purely intentional. "Before we make it official," I smiled sweetly, holding up the portfolio, "could we have the family lawyer notarize this transfer right now?" The panic on their faces, the sudden plummet of their "score," confirmed everything. My supposed doom was their control. This wasn't merely survival; it was war.

Introduction

Chapter 1 of my life was a fairy tale: Jocelyn Todd, orphan no more, adopted by the wealthy Scott family and about to marry a charming scion. My engagement party was a lavish spectacle, a testament to the love and affection I' d finally found. Standing beside my "protective" older brother, Andrew, watching my fiancé Ethan across the lawn, I finally felt loved, complete. But then, as I took my first step towards my future, my world fractured.

Bright, glowing text flooded my vision, overlaying the perfect scene: "LOL, she' s actually crying. A few worthless stock certificates and she' s totally fooled. So naive." My family' s affectionate smiles transformed into chilling masks as I read on, discovering their monstrous plan. The year of love was a performance, and I was merely a prop to boost their "Likeability Score." Once official, they'd frame me for a corporate crime, strip me of everything, and dispose of me, all to benefit Gabby, their real "daughter."

The warmth in my chest turned to ice. They weren't just betraying me; they were orchestrating my destruction. My "parents," "brother," and fiancé-all in on it. They saw me as a disposable pawn, intended for a tragic, convenient "accident." The thought of facing this chilling reality, alone and betrayed, was paralyzing.

But then, a defiant spark ignited. My tears weren't of gratitude anymore, but of cold, hard resolve. I still clutched the portfolio of "worthless" stock, and a new comment flashed: "The certificates are fakes!..." It was all a lie. I took a deep breath, the trembling in my voice purely intentional. "Before we make it official," I smiled sweetly, holding up the portfolio, "could we have the family lawyer notarize this transfer right now?" The panic on their faces, the sudden plummet of their "score," confirmed everything. My supposed doom was their control. This wasn't merely survival; it was war.

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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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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Gavin
4.5

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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