Anniversary Betrayal, A New Dawn

Anniversary Betrayal, A New Dawn

Gavin

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The table was set for our fifth wedding anniversary, with his favorite meal and a carefully wrapped gift, but my phone buzzed with a text that erased it all: "Something came up at work. Can\'t make it." Just that. No apology, no explanation. A familiar hollowness spread through me, deepened by the sight of his briefcase, unlatched by the door, a thick manila envelope peeking out. What I found inside shattered everything: pre-signed divorce papers, dated three months ago, detailing a "dissolution of marriage." My husband, Mark, had been planning to discard me. The betrayal hit me with a physical force, a wave of nausea. Five years of my life, put on hold for him, for our home, only to be thrown away like yesterday' s news. Then it all clicked – the distance, the late nights, the sudden reappearance of Emily, his "first love." She wasn' t just back in town; she was back in his life. I remembered the company dinner, the way he' d ignored me, the way Emily had purred, "Some things are just meant to be, aren\'t they?" He hadn' t just neglected me; he had actively replaced me. I had been a fool, lying to myself, pretending not to see the obvious cracks in our marriage. The humiliation, sharp and painful, burned through me. He wanted out? Fine. He could have it. But he wouldn' t be the one to end this on his terms. I stood up, walked to his briefcase, and meticulously placed the divorce papers exactly as I' d found them. Then, I went upstairs, to the room we' d shared for five years, and began to pack. He wouldn' t be the one to discard me. I was leaving him.

Introduction

The table was set for our fifth wedding anniversary, with his favorite meal and a carefully wrapped gift, but my phone buzzed with a text that erased it all: "Something came up at work. Can\'t make it."

Just that. No apology, no explanation.

A familiar hollowness spread through me, deepened by the sight of his briefcase, unlatched by the door, a thick manila envelope peeking out. What I found inside shattered everything: pre-signed divorce papers, dated three months ago, detailing a "dissolution of marriage." My husband, Mark, had been planning to discard me.

The betrayal hit me with a physical force, a wave of nausea. Five years of my life, put on hold for him, for our home, only to be thrown away like yesterday' s news. Then it all clicked – the distance, the late nights, the sudden reappearance of Emily, his "first love." She wasn' t just back in town; she was back in his life. I remembered the company dinner, the way he' d ignored me, the way Emily had purred, "Some things are just meant to be, aren\'t they?" He hadn' t just neglected me; he had actively replaced me. I had been a fool, lying to myself, pretending not to see the obvious cracks in our marriage.

The humiliation, sharp and painful, burned through me. He wanted out? Fine. He could have it. But he wouldn' t be the one to end this on his terms.

I stood up, walked to his briefcase, and meticulously placed the divorce papers exactly as I' d found them. Then, I went upstairs, to the room we' d shared for five years, and began to pack. He wouldn' t be the one to discard me. I was leaving him.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Mafia

5.0

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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