Lost Memories, Found Truths

Lost Memories, Found Truths

Gavin

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The rain lashed against the window, mirroring the fresh bruises blooming on my skin. I lay on the cold bathroom tile, my breath a shallow, ragged gasp; another "accident" Mark would explain away. He stood over me, bored and callous, reminding me our son would be late for dinner-as if I chose to be broken on the floor. My sister, Chloe, bright and oblivious, called from the front door, offering ice cream, a lifeline I couldn't grasp. "Ava's not feeling well," Mark lied, his voice dripping with fake concern for her ears, sealing me away. My last chance gone, a profound cold enveloped me, deeper than the tile, as my life ebbed away, thinking of Leo who' d never see his mother again. Then, the pain vanished, replaced by an eerie lightness; I was standing, looking down at my own lifeless body. I watched, a silent phantom, as Mark called someone, casually planning to claim double indemnity on my life insurance, describing my death as a convenient "fall." He felt no grief, only calculation. The next morning, he made Leo dinosaur pancakes, telling him Mommy was "very tired," twisting my absence into abandonment. Later, I saw him systematically erase me-tossing my treasured memories, even ripping apart the novel my grandmother gave me, a symbolic execution of my very existence. He wasn't just disposing of my things; he was annihilating any proof of who I was. I floated there, a ghost of a life brutally taken, haunted by the chilling clarity of his calculated cruelty. I had to find a way to make him pay.

Introduction

The rain lashed against the window, mirroring the fresh bruises blooming on my skin.

I lay on the cold bathroom tile, my breath a shallow, ragged gasp; another "accident" Mark would explain away.

He stood over me, bored and callous, reminding me our son would be late for dinner-as if I chose to be broken on the floor.

My sister, Chloe, bright and oblivious, called from the front door, offering ice cream, a lifeline I couldn't grasp.

"Ava's not feeling well," Mark lied, his voice dripping with fake concern for her ears, sealing me away.

My last chance gone, a profound cold enveloped me, deeper than the tile, as my life ebbed away, thinking of Leo who' d never see his mother again.

Then, the pain vanished, replaced by an eerie lightness; I was standing, looking down at my own lifeless body.

I watched, a silent phantom, as Mark called someone, casually planning to claim double indemnity on my life insurance, describing my death as a convenient "fall."

He felt no grief, only calculation.

The next morning, he made Leo dinosaur pancakes, telling him Mommy was "very tired," twisting my absence into abandonment.

Later, I saw him systematically erase me-tossing my treasured memories, even ripping apart the novel my grandmother gave me, a symbolic execution of my very existence.

He wasn't just disposing of my things; he was annihilating any proof of who I was.

I floated there, a ghost of a life brutally taken, haunted by the chilling clarity of his calculated cruelty.

I had to find a way to make him pay.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Mafia

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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