No More Tears, Only Retribution

No More Tears, Only Retribution

Gavin

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The eviction notice, a cruel red rectangle, mocked me from my door. Just months ago, I was Chloe, the artist poised to revolutionize the world with Aura, my groundbreaking AI. Now, the world was closing in, air squeezed from my lungs. Then, at the sprawling Innovatech conference, the stage set for our triumph, my fiancé Mark unveiled Aura, which I poured my soul into, as his own. "I call her... Genesis," he boomed, "created solely by me." My best friend, Sarah, whose hand I held moments before, gazed at him with adoration, not outrage. The fallout was swift and brutal. Mark, the instant tech celebrity, branded me a disgruntled ex. Sarah, leveraging her gallery connections, systematically blacklisted me, painting me as unstable, a fraud. Calls unanswered, doors slammed shut-my life, my legacy, evaporated. I was a ghost in a rundown apartment, bearing an eviction notice, with nothing left. How could they? How could the two people I trusted most, the two people who were my family, betray me so completely, so publicly? The world had become a twisted, unrecognizable place where truth was irrelevant, and loyalty meant nothing. But in the ashes of utter despair, sifting through the remains of my life, my fingers brushed against my estranged father' s dusty hard drive-a digital arsenal of hacking tools and encrypted journals. The artist in me was dead, but something else, a chilling new resolve, began to stir. I would change my destiny, not by going back, but by going forward with skills they never saw coming.

Introduction

The eviction notice, a cruel red rectangle, mocked me from my door.

Just months ago, I was Chloe, the artist poised to revolutionize the world with Aura, my groundbreaking AI.

Now, the world was closing in, air squeezed from my lungs.

Then, at the sprawling Innovatech conference, the stage set for our triumph, my fiancé Mark unveiled Aura, which I poured my soul into, as his own.

"I call her... Genesis," he boomed, "created solely by me."

My best friend, Sarah, whose hand I held moments before, gazed at him with adoration, not outrage.

The fallout was swift and brutal.

Mark, the instant tech celebrity, branded me a disgruntled ex.

Sarah, leveraging her gallery connections, systematically blacklisted me, painting me as unstable, a fraud.

Calls unanswered, doors slammed shut-my life, my legacy, evaporated.

I was a ghost in a rundown apartment, bearing an eviction notice, with nothing left.

How could they? How could the two people I trusted most, the two people who were my family, betray me so completely, so publicly?

The world had become a twisted, unrecognizable place where truth was irrelevant, and loyalty meant nothing.

But in the ashes of utter despair, sifting through the remains of my life, my fingers brushed against my estranged father' s dusty hard drive-a digital arsenal of hacking tools and encrypted journals.

The artist in me was dead, but something else, a chilling new resolve, began to stir.

I would change my destiny, not by going back, but by going forward with skills they never saw coming.

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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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