Framed By My Maid

Framed By My Maid

Gavin

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The last thing I remembered was the cold, the damp dungeon walls, and the raw, blinding pain as David, the man I loved, cursed me for Bethany' s death. His boot connected with my ribs, a sharp crack echoing in the small cell, as he snarled, "She killed herself because of you... you worthless woman." Broken, stripped of everything, I realized Bethany, my personal maid, had manipulated him, orchestrating her own death to frame me, sealing my fate. His final words, a curse of rot and forgotten names, followed me into the abyss. Then, I opened my eyes. I was in a lavish dressing room, in a stunning wedding gown; it was my wedding day, and my fiancé was David, no longer a brutal general but a charismatic tech CEO. A wave of nausea washed over me, because standing right there, about to be my maid of honor, was Bethany. The cold stone and crushing pain of my past life were vivid, sickeningly real. I was back at the beginning, the very day my destruction had woven its first thread. Clara, my loyal assistant, whispered, "I just saw Bethany... with David. In the garden conservatory. She was... holding onto him, crying. He was stroking her hair. It didn\'t look right." The pieces clicked into place, the exact same betrayal, the same opening act of their cruel play. In their story, I was the villain, the jealous, cruel woman. But this time, I wouldn\'t play my part. I would walk off their stage, and rewrite my own.

Introduction

The last thing I remembered was the cold, the damp dungeon walls, and the raw, blinding pain as David, the man I loved, cursed me for Bethany' s death.

His boot connected with my ribs, a sharp crack echoing in the small cell, as he snarled, "She killed herself because of you... you worthless woman."

Broken, stripped of everything, I realized Bethany, my personal maid, had manipulated him, orchestrating her own death to frame me, sealing my fate.

His final words, a curse of rot and forgotten names, followed me into the abyss.

Then, I opened my eyes.

I was in a lavish dressing room, in a stunning wedding gown; it was my wedding day, and my fiancé was David, no longer a brutal general but a charismatic tech CEO.

A wave of nausea washed over me, because standing right there, about to be my maid of honor, was Bethany.

The cold stone and crushing pain of my past life were vivid, sickeningly real.

I was back at the beginning, the very day my destruction had woven its first thread.

Clara, my loyal assistant, whispered, "I just saw Bethany... with David. In the garden conservatory. She was... holding onto him, crying. He was stroking her hair. It didn\'t look right."

The pieces clicked into place, the exact same betrayal, the same opening act of their cruel play.

In their story, I was the villain, the jealous, cruel woman.

But this time, I wouldn\'t play my part. I would walk off their stage, and rewrite my own.

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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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