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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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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