The Doctor's Redemption

The Doctor's Redemption

Chang An

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The grand hall was silent, a suffocating blanket. I stared at the engagement photo, a smiling lie from a life that was now a ghost story. Just back from a humanitarian mission, I expected wedding bells, but David Hayes, the man I was supposed to marry, had moved another woman into our home, my clothes gone, my future surgically removed. He introduced her, Seraphina Thorne, a social media star, her smile as artificial as the diamonds on her wrist, while he couldn' t even meet my eyes. When I demanded to speak to him alone, he coolly replied, "Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of Seraphina." The public humiliation stung like a physical blow. His gaze was that of a stranger. My year away, he claimed, showed him what he truly wanted: a "partner" who strengthened his position, not a "distraction" like me, the doctor who saved lives. Then came the final cut: he wouldn't let me leave. I was to stay, wear his gifts, and smile at their engagement party, or he would destroy my brother Michael's journalistic career. Trapped, humiliated, and reduced to a pawn in his cruel game, I felt the walls of the gilded cage close in. Was this the price of love, or was I merely an asset to be discarded and then reclaimed? That night, as David, my former fiancé and now my captor, forced a sapphire necklace around my neck saying, "You' re still mine," I knew I had to find a way out. I needed to break free from the ashes of my past and reclaim the life I had lost.

Introduction

The grand hall was silent, a suffocating blanket. I stared at the engagement photo, a smiling lie from a life that was now a ghost story.

Just back from a humanitarian mission, I expected wedding bells, but David Hayes, the man I was supposed to marry, had moved another woman into our home, my clothes gone, my future surgically removed.

He introduced her, Seraphina Thorne, a social media star, her smile as artificial as the diamonds on her wrist, while he couldn' t even meet my eyes.

When I demanded to speak to him alone, he coolly replied, "Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of Seraphina." The public humiliation stung like a physical blow.

His gaze was that of a stranger. My year away, he claimed, showed him what he truly wanted: a "partner" who strengthened his position, not a "distraction" like me, the doctor who saved lives.

Then came the final cut: he wouldn't let me leave. I was to stay, wear his gifts, and smile at their engagement party, or he would destroy my brother Michael's journalistic career.

Trapped, humiliated, and reduced to a pawn in his cruel game, I felt the walls of the gilded cage close in. Was this the price of love, or was I merely an asset to be discarded and then reclaimed?

That night, as David, my former fiancé and now my captor, forced a sapphire necklace around my neck saying, "You' re still mine," I knew I had to find a way out. I needed to break free from the ashes of my past and reclaim the life I had lost.

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The Cage She Built For Us

The Cage She Built For Us

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I poured years of my life into "The Gilded Cage," a virtual world where I became Noah, determined to save Chloe, its tragic villainess. I guided her, taught her, helped her build a tech empire, thinking I' d rewritten her destiny. But when she finally stood on top of the world, she looked at me, her eyes cold. "You didn't save me, Noah. You just built me a different cage." Then, she brutally threw me from her penthouse balcony. Ejected from the simulation, I thought I was free. But a system malfunction tethered my consciousness to Chloe's. I was dragged through her past, a ghost watching her childhood trauma and Liam Hayes's betrayal unfold, forced to relive every painful step of her original story. Each memory, a cruel reminder of my failure, of the monster I inadvertently helped create. Why was I condemned to witness the very pain I' d tried so hard to prevent again? The system said it was a recursive feedback loop, a side effect of her emergent sentience. But it felt more like a calculated torment. When my consciousness was finally about to dematerialize, Chloe, tear-streaked and broken, reached for me, pleading, "Please. You have to save me." But the phantom pains of her betrayal surged, and I recoiled, spitting out the words that echoed her own cruelty: "My life doesn't need a monster in it." I thought it was over. Then, weeks later, the real Chloe, corporeal and lost, appeared on my doorstep. "I found a way out... You have to help me. You have to save me."

My Family, Their Sinister Game

My Family, Their Sinister Game

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5.0

For ten years, I built a wall of mediocrity around myself. After my sister Sarah vanished, an alleged suicide linked to the sinister "Blackwood Tech Curse," my parents pulled me from advanced STEM, scrubbed my online presence, and moved two states over. "Just be average, Ashley," my father pleaded, "Average is safe." I became an insurance analyst, safe and boring, believing I had outsmarted fate, that Sarah was a random tragedy. Until today, when an encrypted email landed in my inbox: "Congratulations, Ashley Miller. You've been accepted." The Blackwood curse, a digital ghost from a defunct institute, promised death wrapped in an acceptance letter, just like Sarah's. When I tried to expose it, the FBI agent who' d dismissed my fears showed me security footage-me, at the scene of a Blackwood victim's death, then a fabricated psych evaluation painting me as delusional. My own laptop was framed as the source of a federal hack, isolating me further. Even my parents, panicked by the lies, asked, "Ashley, honey… Did you… have you been seeing someone?" The one person I thought I could trust, Davies, believed the frame job. "The hack came from your laptop," he said, his voice flat. But then, my own hand clenched, tried to strike me, until Davies, who' d burst in, saw it wasn' t me. "You' re not suicidal," he whispered. "Something else was controlling you." He set up a livestream, making my forced stay at a "safe house" public, only for a chilling message to appear on my screen, "WE CAN GET TO YOU ANYWHERE." Then, a porcelain doll-Sarah' s childhood doll, supposedly lost for years-appeared at my window, its face frozen in a scream. The lights went out, and in the darkness, my mother, her eyes wide and blank, attacked me with a shard of glass, whispering, "The signal is the vessel." The next morning, the doctors diagnosed me with "severe schizoaffective disorder, with acute paranoid delusions." My parents finally broke, signing the commitment papers when a psychiatrist presented a photo altered to show me with a different sister, Eva, claiming Sarah was just my cousin, that their decade of lies was to "protect" me. I realized then, in the sterile silence of the psychiatric facility, that this wasn' t a ghost story, but a controlled experiment. And I heard a name whispered in the halls: Marcus Thorne, the vanished founder of Blackwood Tech, now a VIP patient on the top floor. They thought they had trapped me, broken me. But they had just given me a new purpose, a new identity, and a clear target.

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