Heartbreak and Hidden Art

Heartbreak and Hidden Art

Perswaysion

5.0
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My grandmother, Eleanor Vance, a woman who curated lives as meticulously as her art collection, had decided my future: marriage to the influential gallery owner, Daniel. My dream, however, was to attend the prestigious Blackwood Art Academy, a dream she' d promised to fund-on the condition of this union. But then, my cousin Olivia, ever the delicate flower, executed a theatrical faint at the dinner table, perfectly timed with the announcement of my tuition. She claimed a rare heart condition, and my grandmother, blind to the obvious manipulation, diverted my entire academy fund to Olivia' s supposed treatment, even suggesting I become her "assistant." The injustice burned, the audacity of Daniel-my supposed fiancé-proposing I become his mistress after he secured the Vance fortune through Olivia, was breathtaking. Was my art, my entire future, to be sacrificed for a transparent charade? Just as I believed all hope was lost, a mysterious letter arrived: a full, anonymous scholarship to Blackwood, the exact academy I had been barred from, exposing Olivia' s deceit in front of the city' s elite.

Introduction

My grandmother, Eleanor Vance, a woman who curated lives as meticulously as her art collection, had decided my future: marriage to the influential gallery owner, Daniel.

My dream, however, was to attend the prestigious Blackwood Art Academy, a dream she' d promised to fund-on the condition of this union.

But then, my cousin Olivia, ever the delicate flower, executed a theatrical faint at the dinner table, perfectly timed with the announcement of my tuition.

She claimed a rare heart condition, and my grandmother, blind to the obvious manipulation, diverted my entire academy fund to Olivia' s supposed treatment, even suggesting I become her "assistant."

The injustice burned, the audacity of Daniel-my supposed fiancé-proposing I become his mistress after he secured the Vance fortune through Olivia, was breathtaking.

Was my art, my entire future, to be sacrificed for a transparent charade?

Just as I believed all hope was lost, a mysterious letter arrived: a full, anonymous scholarship to Blackwood, the exact academy I had been barred from, exposing Olivia' s deceit in front of the city' s elite.

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His Loss, Her Lasting Love

His Loss, Her Lasting Love

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5.0

Six years. An engagement ring on my finger. A future designed together, just like the buildings we drafted. All of it shattered when Mark, my fiancé and professional partner, coldly declared, "It's not working, Ava. I'm with Chloe now." My world crumbled further as Mark and his new, younger intern, Chloe, began a calculated campaign to erase my contributions at work, culminating in Chloe taking credit for my projects and Mark accusing me of mental instability to sideline me professionally. The betrayal escalated when, after I tried to confront Chloe about my vandalized portfolio and missing belongings-acts I knew she committed-Mark brazenly defended her, painting me as the aggressor. "You' ve gone from pathetic to dangerous," he sneered, publicly suspending me and demanding I leave the premises. Shoved into a dark storage closet by security, alone and overwhelmed, I overheard Mark' s contemptuous voice: "She's faking it. She's just looking for sympathy. Leave her there. It's what she deserves." Then Chloe appeared, her face close to mine, venomously whispering, "You should have just stayed broken. He was mine. This job was mine. You had your turn." She pressed down hard on the bruise Mark had left on my arm, a chilling, triumphant smile on her face. Just as I thought I couldn' t bear another moment, a new voice cut through the air outside, loud and utterly unfamiliar: "I'm looking for Ava Miller. Her fiancé sent me to pick her up. Where is she?"

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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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