Her Own Making: A Family

Her Own Making: A Family

Gavin

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The familiar scent of my Aunt Carol' s pot roast once symbolized family, now it was the smell of my personal hell. My fiancé, Michael, sat beside me, urging me to eat, while my cousin Bethany feigned illness, subtly pressuring me to give up my Star-Tech internship for her. In my first life, I capitulated, sacrificing my hard-earned opportunity because Bethany "wanted" it, swayed by her theatrics and my family' s relentless pressure. That decision was the beginning of the end, leading to a life of quiet desperation, watching my dreams handed to my manipulative cousin while I was praised for my "understanding." It ended in a hospital bed, alone, broken, and dying, while Michael and Bethany planned their wedding. The cold, sterile memory of that flatlining heart monitor brought a wave of blinding nausea. But this time, it was different. This wasn' t a memory; it was a horrifying replay. "Actually," I stated, pulling my hand from Michael' s, my voice clear and steady as a bell, shocking everyone at the table, "I won' t be giving up the internship." A stunned silence fell, Bethany' s feigned sympathy replaced by immediate tears, Michael' s concern for her. My aunt snapped, calling me selfish, Bethany fragile. I pushed back my chair, declaring my decision was final, and walked out, leaving my untouched plate. This wasn' t a negotiation; it was a declaration of independence. The life they had planned for me was officially canceled. I sold my mother's jewelry, deleted Michael's texts, and applied to a university thousands of miles away. It was my second chance, a new beginning, and this time, I wouldn' t be a victim.

Introduction

The familiar scent of my Aunt Carol' s pot roast once symbolized family, now it was the smell of my personal hell.

My fiancé, Michael, sat beside me, urging me to eat, while my cousin Bethany feigned illness, subtly pressuring me to give up my Star-Tech internship for her.

In my first life, I capitulated, sacrificing my hard-earned opportunity because Bethany "wanted" it, swayed by her theatrics and my family' s relentless pressure.

That decision was the beginning of the end, leading to a life of quiet desperation, watching my dreams handed to my manipulative cousin while I was praised for my "understanding."

It ended in a hospital bed, alone, broken, and dying, while Michael and Bethany planned their wedding.

The cold, sterile memory of that flatlining heart monitor brought a wave of blinding nausea.

But this time, it was different.

This wasn' t a memory; it was a horrifying replay.

"Actually," I stated, pulling my hand from Michael' s, my voice clear and steady as a bell, shocking everyone at the table, "I won' t be giving up the internship."

A stunned silence fell, Bethany' s feigned sympathy replaced by immediate tears, Michael' s concern for her.

My aunt snapped, calling me selfish, Bethany fragile.

I pushed back my chair, declaring my decision was final, and walked out, leaving my untouched plate.

This wasn' t a negotiation; it was a declaration of independence.

The life they had planned for me was officially canceled.

I sold my mother's jewelry, deleted Michael's texts, and applied to a university thousands of miles away.

It was my second chance, a new beginning, and this time, I wouldn' t be a victim.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Mafia

4.5

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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