His Penance, My Freedom

His Penance, My Freedom

Gavin

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Two years, Alex. It's been two years. My whisper was dry, lost in the cold, vast living room where I knelt on marble, gripping his expensive trousers. For two years, since his mother' s death, this had been my life, my prison. He blamed me, twisted a lie of grief into his truth: I' d hidden her sickness for his company' s IPO. Every week, a different woman. They wore my robes, used my perfume, slept in our bed. My task: welcome, serve, clean. I swallowed humiliation because my father was sick, his treatments astronomically expensive. Alex Thorne, my husband, was my only hope. But when I begged for money, for my father on his deathbed, Alex sneered, "Let him die." "It's what he deserves for having a daughter like you." Then the hospital called: My father was gone. He took his own life, leaving a note, not wanting to be a burden. I was on my knees, begging for a life already lost. "Problem solved," Alex chirped to his current paramour, tossing my phone aside. My world shattered. He was a monster who savored my pain. Something inside me snapped. The part that endured, that hoped, broke. "No," I said, rising on shaky legs. "I want a divorce, Alex." He laughed, demanding I apologize to his mistress, then commanded me to clean toilets with a toothbrush. He was mocking me. Humiliating me. Using my deepest wounds as his amusement. But as I knelt once more, a single thought crystallised: I wouldn't just leave him. I would erase him. And when he then shoved me, triggering a terrifying pain and a warm, wet sensation, I knew my silent revolution had just begun. He might have killed my father and our unborn child, but he had just awakened the storm within me.

Introduction

Two years, Alex.

It's been two years.

My whisper was dry, lost in the cold, vast living room where I knelt on marble, gripping his expensive trousers.

For two years, since his mother' s death, this had been my life, my prison.

He blamed me, twisted a lie of grief into his truth: I' d hidden her sickness for his company' s IPO.

Every week, a different woman.

They wore my robes, used my perfume, slept in our bed.

My task: welcome, serve, clean.

I swallowed humiliation because my father was sick, his treatments astronomically expensive.

Alex Thorne, my husband, was my only hope.

But when I begged for money, for my father on his deathbed, Alex sneered, "Let him die."

"It's what he deserves for having a daughter like you."

Then the hospital called: My father was gone.

He took his own life, leaving a note, not wanting to be a burden.

I was on my knees, begging for a life already lost.

"Problem solved," Alex chirped to his current paramour, tossing my phone aside.

My world shattered.

He was a monster who savored my pain.

Something inside me snapped.

The part that endured, that hoped, broke.

"No," I said, rising on shaky legs.

"I want a divorce, Alex."

He laughed, demanding I apologize to his mistress, then commanded me to clean toilets with a toothbrush.

He was mocking me.

Humiliating me.

Using my deepest wounds as his amusement.

But as I knelt once more, a single thought crystallised: I wouldn't just leave him.

I would erase him.

And when he then shoved me, triggering a terrifying pain and a warm, wet sensation, I knew my silent revolution had just begun.

He might have killed my father and our unborn child, but he had just awakened the storm within me.

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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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