Forever With My Children

Forever With My Children

Gavin

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The last thing I remembered was the cold, damp earth on my knees, kneeling before Liam' s grave as my wife, Olivia, stood over me, her beautiful face a mask of pure hatred. "This is where you belong, Ethan. At his feet." I had believed her promise of a child, an heir, would free me from her cruel games and secure our future. Instead, her obsession with her dead childhood sweetheart, Liam, led her to deliberately delay the C-section for our twins, costing them their lives. Then, she had her guards beat me to death. But I woke up. In a sterile white hospital room, the rhythmic beeping of a machine in my ears, I saw Olivia, seemingly unchanged, on the phone, ordering the very delay that doomed our children in my first life. My heart, which I thought was empty, throbbed with a dull ache as she publicly declared another child - Liam' s son, Lucas - her sole heir, and callously ordered my own babies to be "gotten rid of." Paternal love surged, and I rushed to protect them, only to be struck down. I awoke again, beaten and framed for attacking them, mocked by Olivia and the fake Liam. Then came the chilling realization: Olivia, too, remembered. She knew about my "second chance" and taunted me with it. She used my dying father, his life hanging by a thread in the same hospital, as leverage. When I reluctantly agreed to her demands, she killed him right in front of me, shattering my world. Imprisoned in the dark basement of our old mansion with the bodies of my dead children, utter despair consumed me. How could this be happening again? Why did she hate me so much, across two lifetimes? Why couldn't I escape this nightmare? But Olivia's twisted victory was short-lived. The very betrayal she orchestrated began to unravel, revealing Liam' s true identity as a con man and Lucas as a stranger' s child. The architect of my torment had built her empire on a foundation of lies, and now, it was all about to come crashing down.

Introduction

The last thing I remembered was the cold, damp earth on my knees, kneeling before Liam' s grave as my wife, Olivia, stood over me, her beautiful face a mask of pure hatred.

"This is where you belong, Ethan. At his feet."

I had believed her promise of a child, an heir, would free me from her cruel games and secure our future.

Instead, her obsession with her dead childhood sweetheart, Liam, led her to deliberately delay the C-section for our twins, costing them their lives.

Then, she had her guards beat me to death.

But I woke up.

In a sterile white hospital room, the rhythmic beeping of a machine in my ears, I saw Olivia, seemingly unchanged, on the phone, ordering the very delay that doomed our children in my first life.

My heart, which I thought was empty, throbbed with a dull ache as she publicly declared another child - Liam' s son, Lucas - her sole heir, and callously ordered my own babies to be "gotten rid of."

Paternal love surged, and I rushed to protect them, only to be struck down.

I awoke again, beaten and framed for attacking them, mocked by Olivia and the fake Liam.

Then came the chilling realization: Olivia, too, remembered.

She knew about my "second chance" and taunted me with it.

She used my dying father, his life hanging by a thread in the same hospital, as leverage.

When I reluctantly agreed to her demands, she killed him right in front of me, shattering my world.

Imprisoned in the dark basement of our old mansion with the bodies of my dead children, utter despair consumed me.

How could this be happening again?

Why did she hate me so much, across two lifetimes?

Why couldn't I escape this nightmare?

But Olivia's twisted victory was short-lived.

The very betrayal she orchestrated began to unravel, revealing Liam' s true identity as a con man and Lucas as a stranger' s child.

The architect of my torment had built her empire on a foundation of lies, and now, it was all about to come crashing down.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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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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