When Revenge Kills, Love Prevails

When Revenge Kills, Love Prevails

Gavin

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My crystal glass felt cold, a stark contrast to the stifling ballroom where hundreds of people laughed around me. Then I saw her, Scarlett Hayes, the city' s richest heiress, moving directly towards me, her cruel smile widening. She publicly humiliated me, reminding everyone how her family funded my mother' s medical bills and my education. She' d always made it clear what I was: her servant, her puppet. I was nothing more than a stand-in, a substitute for Liam, her obsessed-over step-brother. The constant abuse, the public shaming – it was all her game. But then my phone rang. It was the hospital. "Mr. Miller?" a nurse' s voice said, urgent. "It' s your mother." A cold dread washed over me. I raced to the hospital, but it was too late. My mother was gone. The payment for her emergency medication had been canceled, that very afternoon. By Scarlett. She had done this. Her petty revenge had cost my mother her life. The grief was a physical blow, but beneath it, something else simmered. The deal was broken. I had nothing left to lose. I walked back to her mansion, left her key and her credit card on the table. "My mother is dead," I said, my voice flat. "Well, that' s not my problem," she retorted. "No," I said, looking her directly in the eye for the first time without fear. "It' s not. Not anymore." I turned and walked out, leaving my life as her puppet behind. For the first time in a year, I felt like I could breathe. I was free. Or so I thought.

Introduction

My crystal glass felt cold, a stark contrast to the stifling ballroom where hundreds of people laughed around me.

Then I saw her, Scarlett Hayes, the city' s richest heiress, moving directly towards me, her cruel smile widening.

She publicly humiliated me, reminding everyone how her family funded my mother' s medical bills and my education. She' d always made it clear what I was: her servant, her puppet.

I was nothing more than a stand-in, a substitute for Liam, her obsessed-over step-brother. The constant abuse, the public shaming – it was all her game.

But then my phone rang. It was the hospital.

"Mr. Miller?" a nurse' s voice said, urgent. "It' s your mother."

A cold dread washed over me. I raced to the hospital, but it was too late.

My mother was gone. The payment for her emergency medication had been canceled, that very afternoon. By Scarlett.

She had done this. Her petty revenge had cost my mother her life.

The grief was a physical blow, but beneath it, something else simmered. The deal was broken. I had nothing left to lose.

I walked back to her mansion, left her key and her credit card on the table.

"My mother is dead," I said, my voice flat.

"Well, that' s not my problem," she retorted.

"No," I said, looking her directly in the eye for the first time without fear. "It' s not. Not anymore."

I turned and walked out, leaving my life as her puppet behind. For the first time in a year, I felt like I could breathe.

I was free. Or so I thought.

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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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