The Scars We Carry

The Scars We Carry

Gavin

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The heavy iron gate of the juvenile detention center groaned open, a sound I had dreamed of for five long years. I stepped out, a small, warm hand in mine-Leo' s. He was my only good thing from that hellhole, a promise to his dying mother. But freedom felt just as suffocating as my cell, because the world outside held nothing but the bitter truth. The Blackwood family, powerful and relentless, had already claimed everything I loved. They had driven my parents to suicide with their lies and pressure, all while I was locked away, helpless, branded "Chloe the Monster." The media fed their narrative, and even my own brother, Daniel, pointed an accusatory finger in court, sealing my fate. Then, a familiar fleet of black luxury cars screeched to a halt, boxing us in. Ethan Blackwood, my former fiancé, stepped out, his handsome face contorted with hatred. He wanted me to suffer, to pay for Sophia, his mother, who now sat in a wheelchair. They forced me to crawl across burning coals, my hands and knees searing, just to protect Leo. But it wasn't enough. They dragged me to my parents' fresh graves, informing me they had "couldn't handle the shame." Then, they tied me to a frame, and Daniel, my own brother, systematically ran me over with a car. My world went black. I woke in a hospital, broken, only to be reunited with Leo, who was terrified, apologizing for something he didn' t understand. The day they took him to a foster home was the hardest of my life, leaving me with a shattered body and no hope. I earned pennies cleaning toilets, clinging to the jar that symbolized my only goal: getting Leo back. Then came the ultimate cruelty: a message from Ethan with a picture of Leo playing by a pool, followed by: "He looked so happy. It's a shame he was so clumsy. This is what happens when you defy me, Chloe. Everything you love will turn to ash." My innocent boy was dead. The grief wasn't despair; it was a blinding, white-hot rage that consumed everything. I found them, Ethan, Daniel, and Sophia at the hospital, and with a primal howl, I confronted them. As their faces twisted in shock and contempt, a horrifying clarity hit me: there was no escape. I shoved Daniel toward Ethan, then, without a second thought, I threw myself through the twelfth-story window. But instead of endless dark, I woke up back in the courtroom, five years earlier, on trial for attempted murder. Daniel was on the stand, about to lie, about to seal my fate. This time, things would be different.

Introduction

The heavy iron gate of the juvenile detention center groaned open, a sound I had dreamed of for five long years.

I stepped out, a small, warm hand in mine-Leo' s. He was my only good thing from that hellhole, a promise to his dying mother.

But freedom felt just as suffocating as my cell, because the world outside held nothing but the bitter truth.

The Blackwood family, powerful and relentless, had already claimed everything I loved.

They had driven my parents to suicide with their lies and pressure, all while I was locked away, helpless, branded "Chloe the Monster."

The media fed their narrative, and even my own brother, Daniel, pointed an accusatory finger in court, sealing my fate.

Then, a familiar fleet of black luxury cars screeched to a halt, boxing us in.

Ethan Blackwood, my former fiancé, stepped out, his handsome face contorted with hatred.

He wanted me to suffer, to pay for Sophia, his mother, who now sat in a wheelchair.

They forced me to crawl across burning coals, my hands and knees searing, just to protect Leo.

But it wasn't enough.

They dragged me to my parents' fresh graves, informing me they had "couldn't handle the shame."

Then, they tied me to a frame, and Daniel, my own brother, systematically ran me over with a car.

My world went black.

I woke in a hospital, broken, only to be reunited with Leo, who was terrified, apologizing for something he didn' t understand.

The day they took him to a foster home was the hardest of my life, leaving me with a shattered body and no hope.

I earned pennies cleaning toilets, clinging to the jar that symbolized my only goal: getting Leo back.

Then came the ultimate cruelty: a message from Ethan with a picture of Leo playing by a pool, followed by: "He looked so happy. It's a shame he was so clumsy. This is what happens when you defy me, Chloe. Everything you love will turn to ash."

My innocent boy was dead.

The grief wasn't despair; it was a blinding, white-hot rage that consumed everything.

I found them, Ethan, Daniel, and Sophia at the hospital, and with a primal howl, I confronted them.

As their faces twisted in shock and contempt, a horrifying clarity hit me: there was no escape.

I shoved Daniel toward Ethan, then, without a second thought, I threw myself through the twelfth-story window.

But instead of endless dark, I woke up back in the courtroom, five years earlier, on trial for attempted murder.

Daniel was on the stand, about to lie, about to seal my fate.

This time, things would be different.

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When Love Turns to Ash

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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