His Betrayal, My Second Chance At Life

His Betrayal, My Second Chance At Life

Gavin

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The bank manager looked at me, professional calm masking his judgment. "I'm sorry, sir, the transaction has been declined." I knew why. The primary card on my account, the unlimited Black Card my parents had given me, was being bled dry by the two people I trusted most. It wasn' t just the extravagant five-thousand-dollar handbags or the lavish weekend getaways. It was the crushing betrayal when I overheard them in Sarah' s apartment, my girlfriend laughing as my best friend, Mike, mocked my naivety. "Liam is so boring. So naive. He just hands over his money like an idiot," Sarah giggled. "He is an idiot," Mike' s voice oozed contempt. "But a useful one. As long as he keeps paying, you and I can have anything we want." My world shattered. I stumbled away, heart pounding, the bitter taste of their deceit overwhelming me. Two days later, at our usual campus coffee shop, I confronted them. Sarah' s face twisted in fury, Mike' s feigned concern turning to a calculated smear campaign. They gaslit me, painting me as the crazy, jealous boyfriend, publicly humiliating me until I ran. That night, Mike lured me to a cliffside lookout. He pushed me. I remembered the sickening crunch of rocks as I fell, seen his empty eyes as he drove away. The police called it suicide. But I wasn't dead. I was back. Waking up in my own bed, three weeks before my murder. This time, the ending would be different. This time, I was in control.

Introduction

The bank manager looked at me, professional calm masking his judgment.

"I'm sorry, sir, the transaction has been declined."

I knew why. The primary card on my account, the unlimited Black Card my parents had given me, was being bled dry by the two people I trusted most.

It wasn' t just the extravagant five-thousand-dollar handbags or the lavish weekend getaways. It was the crushing betrayal when I overheard them in Sarah' s apartment, my girlfriend laughing as my best friend, Mike, mocked my naivety.

"Liam is so boring. So naive. He just hands over his money like an idiot," Sarah giggled.

"He is an idiot," Mike' s voice oozed contempt. "But a useful one. As long as he keeps paying, you and I can have anything we want."

My world shattered. I stumbled away, heart pounding, the bitter taste of their deceit overwhelming me.

Two days later, at our usual campus coffee shop, I confronted them. Sarah' s face twisted in fury, Mike' s feigned concern turning to a calculated smear campaign. They gaslit me, painting me as the crazy, jealous boyfriend, publicly humiliating me until I ran.

That night, Mike lured me to a cliffside lookout. He pushed me. I remembered the sickening crunch of rocks as I fell, seen his empty eyes as he drove away. The police called it suicide.

But I wasn't dead. I was back. Waking up in my own bed, three weeks before my murder.

This time, the ending would be different. This time, I was in control.

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When Love Rebuilds From Frozen Hearts

When Love Rebuilds From Frozen Hearts

Short stories

5.0

On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news. He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city. The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.” For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets. My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me. So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts. He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked. He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree. He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.

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I'm Divorcing with You, Mr Billionaire!

I'm Divorcing with You, Mr Billionaire!

The Wine Press
4.5

I received a pornographic video. "Do you like this?" The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven't seen for several months. He is naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I can't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts. "Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screams ecstatically in response. "You naughty girl!" Mark stands up and flips her over, slapping her buttocks as he speaks. "Stick your ass up!" The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed. I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It's bad enough that my husband is having an affair, but what's worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Bella. ************************************************************************************************************************ "I want to get a divorce, Mark," I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time-even though I knew he'd heard me clearly. He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!" The last thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him. "I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster. He didn't even say another word after that and just went through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. I grabbed my suitcase, which I'd already had my things packed in and headed out of the house.

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