His Betrayal, Her Burning Revenge

His Betrayal, Her Burning Revenge

Gavin

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The leather seats of the Rolls-Royce were cold against my bare skin, just like the emptiness inside me after another stolen encounter with Ethan Vance. I was Scarlett Hayes, a sharp fashion designer, entangled with a tech billionaire, a genius admired by the world. But tonight, the usual rush was gone, replaced by a chilling void as I watched city lights blur past. Then, a message on Ethan' s laptop caught my eye: "Ethan, the storm scares me..." From "Willow." Willow, my sickly stepsister, a name that tasted like bitter poison. My phone buzzed. It was Ethan. "I have to step out for a bit. An emergency. Stay here." He rushed out, leaving me with a cold dread. I tracked his car to a high-end hotel, and what I saw shattered my world: Ethan, tenderly carrying Willow like she was made of glass. He was her protector, her long-lost sweetheart; the two painful parts of my life colliding. Suddenly, Willow wasn't just some delicate girl. She was Ethan's past, and now, my stepsister. Rage, betrayal, and a deep, aching hurt swirled inside me. The arranged marriage my father forced on me wasn't just an escape anymore. It was a weapon. My revenge. Two days later, homeless and broke after a vengeful shopping spree, Ethan found me. He offered me refuge. I saw the handsome, deceptive face of the man who had played me for a fool. A week later, at Willow' s welcome-home party, the ultimate humiliation struck. In a cruel game, Ethan chose Willow repeatedly-for kindness, for trust, and finally, on a sinking ship, to save. His silence when asked who he loved more was a public verdict. He chose Willow. He always would. Something inside me snapped. I lunged at Willow, my hands finding her fragile neck. Ethan pulled me off, his face a mask of cold fury, choosing her even then. "He was never yours," Willow hissed after I was detained. "This whole affair? It was my idea. He recorded everything. All for me." The betrayal was monstrous. I walked out, went to his penthouse, and systematically destroyed it. I burned everything to the ground. The "ailing" groom in the South, Liam Sterling, was not what I expected. He was healthy, charming, and looked at me as a long-lost dream, confessing he had orchestrated the arranged marriage just to meet me. Just as I found a flicker of peace, a fragile hope for a new life, Ethan came back. He interrupted my engagement party, a wild, desperate man, publicly declaring his love for me. But it was too late. I rejected him. I had a new, real life. On the eve of my wedding, in a final, mad act of possession, Ethan kidnapped me. He took me to a secluded private island. He tried to rekindle our past with lavish gifts and desperate affection. I feigned compliance, secretly planning my escape. I managed to get a message to Liam. He came for me. As we escaped, a cliff collapsed. Ethan, in a single, selfless act, threw himself in front of us. He saved us. The last thing I saw before everything went black was Ethan, lying broken at the bottom of the cliff. He lost. I won. But deep down, a question lingered: what kind of love could twist so violently?

Introduction

The leather seats of the Rolls-Royce were cold against my bare skin, just like the emptiness inside me after another stolen encounter with Ethan Vance.

I was Scarlett Hayes, a sharp fashion designer, entangled with a tech billionaire, a genius admired by the world.

But tonight, the usual rush was gone, replaced by a chilling void as I watched city lights blur past.

Then, a message on Ethan' s laptop caught my eye: "Ethan, the storm scares me..." From "Willow." Willow, my sickly stepsister, a name that tasted like bitter poison.

My phone buzzed. It was Ethan. "I have to step out for a bit. An emergency. Stay here." He rushed out, leaving me with a cold dread.

I tracked his car to a high-end hotel, and what I saw shattered my world: Ethan, tenderly carrying Willow like she was made of glass.

He was her protector, her long-lost sweetheart; the two painful parts of my life colliding.

Suddenly, Willow wasn't just some delicate girl. She was Ethan's past, and now, my stepsister. Rage, betrayal, and a deep, aching hurt swirled inside me.

The arranged marriage my father forced on me wasn't just an escape anymore. It was a weapon. My revenge.

Two days later, homeless and broke after a vengeful shopping spree, Ethan found me. He offered me refuge. I saw the handsome, deceptive face of the man who had played me for a fool.

A week later, at Willow' s welcome-home party, the ultimate humiliation struck. In a cruel game, Ethan chose Willow repeatedly-for kindness, for trust, and finally, on a sinking ship, to save.

His silence when asked who he loved more was a public verdict. He chose Willow. He always would.

Something inside me snapped. I lunged at Willow, my hands finding her fragile neck. Ethan pulled me off, his face a mask of cold fury, choosing her even then.

"He was never yours," Willow hissed after I was detained. "This whole affair? It was my idea. He recorded everything. All for me."

The betrayal was monstrous. I walked out, went to his penthouse, and systematically destroyed it. I burned everything to the ground.

The "ailing" groom in the South, Liam Sterling, was not what I expected. He was healthy, charming, and looked at me as a long-lost dream, confessing he had orchestrated the arranged marriage just to meet me.

Just as I found a flicker of peace, a fragile hope for a new life, Ethan came back.

He interrupted my engagement party, a wild, desperate man, publicly declaring his love for me.

But it was too late. I rejected him. I had a new, real life.

On the eve of my wedding, in a final, mad act of possession, Ethan kidnapped me. He took me to a secluded private island.

He tried to rekindle our past with lavish gifts and desperate affection. I feigned compliance, secretly planning my escape.

I managed to get a message to Liam. He came for me. As we escaped, a cliff collapsed. Ethan, in a single, selfless act, threw himself in front of us. He saved us.

The last thing I saw before everything went black was Ethan, lying broken at the bottom of the cliff. He lost. I won.

But deep down, a question lingered: what kind of love could twist so violently?

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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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