Reclaiming My Stolen Legacy

Reclaiming My Stolen Legacy

Gavin

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The scent of fresh paint used to be my sanctuary, a promise of a future forged in art alongside Liam, my fiancé, and Chloe, my adoptive sister. But that future shattered the moment I saw my masterpiece, the one I' d poured my soul into for six months, on an easel between them, while Liam declared Chloe "a true genius." They left me in the gallery, a ghost in my own stolen dreams, my heart meticulously dismantled. I died alone, forgotten, my name erased from my own work, replaced by Chloe' s. Now, I'm back, returned to the critical moment before it all went wrong, eighteen years old, a month before the exhibition, before everything was stolen. When Liam' s name lit up my phone, instead of fluttering with excitement, my past life flashed before my eyes-the betrayal, the theft, the illness that ended me. This time, the phone rang unanswered. He was persistent, but when I finally picked up, my voice was cold, decisive: "The engagement is off. We're done." His furious pounding later felt like the drumbeat of a new life, as I stared at the man I once thought was my world, now just a shallow reminder of what I'd left behind. He sneered, "This is about Chloe, isn't it? You're jealous of her talent, her fire." Little did he know, the fire raging inside me was not jealousy, but an inferno of righteous fury, sparked by a terrible truth whispered behind closed doors: Chloe wasn't just stealing my art; she had stolen my entire life the day I was born. Now, I wasn' t just fighting for my art; I was fighting for my very identity, ready to burn their world to the ground to get it back.

Introduction

The scent of fresh paint used to be my sanctuary, a promise of a future forged in art alongside Liam, my fiancé, and Chloe, my adoptive sister.

But that future shattered the moment I saw my masterpiece, the one I' d poured my soul into for six months, on an easel between them, while Liam declared Chloe "a true genius."

They left me in the gallery, a ghost in my own stolen dreams, my heart meticulously dismantled. I died alone, forgotten, my name erased from my own work, replaced by Chloe' s.

Now, I'm back, returned to the critical moment before it all went wrong, eighteen years old, a month before the exhibition, before everything was stolen.

When Liam' s name lit up my phone, instead of fluttering with excitement, my past life flashed before my eyes-the betrayal, the theft, the illness that ended me.

This time, the phone rang unanswered.

He was persistent, but when I finally picked up, my voice was cold, decisive: "The engagement is off. We're done."

His furious pounding later felt like the drumbeat of a new life, as I stared at the man I once thought was my world, now just a shallow reminder of what I'd left behind.

He sneered, "This is about Chloe, isn't it? You're jealous of her talent, her fire."

Little did he know, the fire raging inside me was not jealousy, but an inferno of righteous fury, sparked by a terrible truth whispered behind closed doors: Chloe wasn't just stealing my art; she had stolen my entire life the day I was born.

Now, I wasn' t just fighting for my art; I was fighting for my very identity, ready to burn their world to the ground to get it back.

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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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