The Unseen Twin

The Unseen Twin

Ty Lyle

5.0
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The cold floor bit into Chloe' s cheek as rough hands pulled at her, accusations screaming in her ears – accusations of ruining lives, of being a disgrace. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open to sunlight streaming through her window, the familiar comfort of her own bed; she was back. But the relief was fleeting as the news anchor's voice cut through the quiet night, detailing a scandalous video of her, filmed at the prestigious Hawthorne Hotel, showing illicit activities that had gone viral. Her phone exploded with a torrent of hate, each comment a sharp object piercing her, while her fiancé, Mark, stormed in, his eyes blazing, demanding answers and throwing his phone down to reveal the damning video, accusing her of everything. Even as police detailed irrefutable evidence of her presence with DNA, timestamps, and surveillance footage, she knew it was impossible-she had been home all day-and a chilling impossibility settled over her as a desperate thought began to form: how could it be her, yet not be her?

Introduction

The cold floor bit into Chloe' s cheek as rough hands pulled at her, accusations screaming in her ears – accusations of ruining lives, of being a disgrace.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open to sunlight streaming through her window, the familiar comfort of her own bed; she was back.

But the relief was fleeting as the news anchor's voice cut through the quiet night, detailing a scandalous video of her, filmed at the prestigious Hawthorne Hotel, showing illicit activities that had gone viral.

Her phone exploded with a torrent of hate, each comment a sharp object piercing her, while her fiancé, Mark, stormed in, his eyes blazing, demanding answers and throwing his phone down to reveal the damning video, accusing her of everything.

Even as police detailed irrefutable evidence of her presence with DNA, timestamps, and surveillance footage, she knew it was impossible-she had been home all day-and a chilling impossibility settled over her as a desperate thought began to form: how could it be her, yet not be her?

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His Betrayal, Her Unforeseen Destiny

His Betrayal, Her Unforeseen Destiny

Romance

5.0

For five years, I lived for Marcus, my boss-a phantom in the shadows, cleaning up his messes, raising his son, Leo, and silently loving him. I secretly nursed a fragile hope, even as he brushed off my unspoken feelings with a dismissive, "You're too young, Ava. Don't get tied down with an old man like me." Yet, in the next breath, he' d ask me to pick up Leo from school. Then came the corporate espionage, a mission that went sideways fast, and Marcus was captured. The rival CEO, a ruthless man named Victor Thorne, contacted me, demanding my deadliest secret-a vulnerability I' d found in his company's system. I gave it up without a second thought; Marcus' s life was worth any cost. He came back shaken but unharmed, and I felt hollowed out, used. The next day, I heard him talking to our PR manager, Celeste. "She always tried to get me to commit. Never met such a desperate woman!" Celeste purred, "You have to admit, she's useful." "Useful?" Marcus scoffed. "If she wasn't so good at digging up dirt, I would have fired her years ago! Her puppy-dog eyes are exhausting." My world shattered. Every sacrifice, every late night, every ounce of love I' d poured into him, into his son-it was all a joke, a convenience. I was just…useful. My heart didn' t just break; it disintegrated. I realized I' d mistaken a job for a home, a boss for a savior. Later that week, everything fell apart even more. A routine operation turned into an ambush, and gunfire erupted. A bullet tore through my shoulder. Another grazed my side. Pain exploded through me. The last thing I heard before darkness consumed me was Marcus' s frantic cry over the comms system: "Ava! No! Please, God, please, bring her back to me..." Too little, too late.

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Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

SHANA GRAY
4.3

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

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