His Second Life Begins

His Second Life Begins

Gavin

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My soul floated above the cold asphalt, watching my own naked body lying lifelessly on the street. I was 30, a successful architect, but all I heard were whispers of judgment-that I' d thrown my life away for Olivia. Everyone knew she never loved me, that she was always with Daniel. To die like this, discarded and forgotten, was nothing short of a pathetic waste. Then, a strange, swirling pain, and I woke up not dead, but screaming, my left hand wrapped in a bloody rag. A finger was freshly severed. Before me, tied to a chair, was Daniel. And holding a bloody knife, cold and impatient, stood Olivia. My mind reeled: this was ten years ago, the very day my life began its downward spiral. The kidnapping, the torture, the moment Olivia chose Daniel over me, leaving me for dead. The memory of my actual death, the whispers of strangers judging my wasted life, burned clearer than any past pain. I watched her look at Daniel, her choice already made in her eyes, just like before. I was nothing to her. I had always been nothing. The desperate love, the years of pining-it all turned to ashes. Why was I back? Why was I forced to relive this cruel charade, knowing the tragic end it led to? The injustice, the utter pointlessness of my devotion, fueled a cold, hard fury I' d never known. This time, something inside me snapped. This time, I wouldn' t beg. This time, I' d escape. I' d use every shred of memory I had from the future I' d just left, every bitter lesson learned, to break free and forge a life entirely my own, a life where Olivia had no place.

Introduction

My soul floated above the cold asphalt, watching my own naked body lying lifelessly on the street. I was 30, a successful architect, but all I heard were whispers of judgment-that I' d thrown my life away for Olivia. Everyone knew she never loved me, that she was always with Daniel. To die like this, discarded and forgotten, was nothing short of a pathetic waste.

Then, a strange, swirling pain, and I woke up not dead, but screaming, my left hand wrapped in a bloody rag. A finger was freshly severed. Before me, tied to a chair, was Daniel. And holding a bloody knife, cold and impatient, stood Olivia. My mind reeled: this was ten years ago, the very day my life began its downward spiral. The kidnapping, the torture, the moment Olivia chose Daniel over me, leaving me for dead.

The memory of my actual death, the whispers of strangers judging my wasted life, burned clearer than any past pain. I watched her look at Daniel, her choice already made in her eyes, just like before. I was nothing to her. I had always been nothing. The desperate love, the years of pining-it all turned to ashes.

Why was I back? Why was I forced to relive this cruel charade, knowing the tragic end it led to? The injustice, the utter pointlessness of my devotion, fueled a cold, hard fury I' d never known. This time, something inside me snapped.

This time, I wouldn' t beg. This time, I' d escape. I' d use every shred of memory I had from the future I' d just left, every bitter lesson learned, to break free and forge a life entirely my own, a life where Olivia had no place.

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When Love Turns to Ash

When Love Turns to Ash

Short stories

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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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