Beyond The 99 Percent

Beyond The 99 Percent

Gavin

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The music vibrated through the floor at Vance Architecture's biggest project win in a decade. My husband, Ethan Vance, CEO, stood in the center, smiling, but his gaze was fixed on Sophia Miller, so close they were almost touching. She was back, and I felt like the invisible woman in my own life. "To Sophia," he announced, his voice warm with a feeling he' d never shown me, "for coming back. The firm wasn't the same without you." Waves of applause crashed around me as I stood by the wall, my untouched juice a stark contrast to their champagne, the bitter truth settling in: it was all over. A quiet, mechanical voice echoed in my head, a secret only I could hear: [Host, your mission completion is at 99%. Are you certain you wish to terminate the task?] I didn' t need to say yes aloud. My thoughts were enough: Yes, I'm certain. He doesn't love me. He loves her. All this time, I was just a substitute – a ghost he loved through me. My five years of devotion, every effort, every believed promise, every step closer... it was all a lie. Then, just last night, I' d heard his confession, heard him admit I was just a "substitute." My world shattered. [Understood. Processing request for termination. A 30-day buffer period has been initiated.] I wasn' t Chloe Davis originally. I was a soul from another reality, with a mission: win 100% affection to go home, healthy and whole. I escaped an abusive adoptive family, only to be "saved" by Ethan Vance, who built my world, offered me everything, and then asked me to marry him. I genuinely believed he loved me for me, switching my mission target to him, and the progress bar leapt to 80%, slowly crawling to 99%... and stalling. Now I knew why. He wouldn' t even notice I was gone. I was done. I was ready to leave this world.

Introduction

The music vibrated through the floor at Vance Architecture's biggest project win in a decade.

My husband, Ethan Vance, CEO, stood in the center, smiling, but his gaze was fixed on Sophia Miller, so close they were almost touching.

She was back, and I felt like the invisible woman in my own life.

"To Sophia," he announced, his voice warm with a feeling he' d never shown me, "for coming back. The firm wasn't the same without you."

Waves of applause crashed around me as I stood by the wall, my untouched juice a stark contrast to their champagne, the bitter truth settling in: it was all over.

A quiet, mechanical voice echoed in my head, a secret only I could hear: [Host, your mission completion is at 99%. Are you certain you wish to terminate the task?]

I didn' t need to say yes aloud. My thoughts were enough: Yes, I'm certain.

He doesn't love me. He loves her. All this time, I was just a substitute – a ghost he loved through me.

My five years of devotion, every effort, every believed promise, every step closer... it was all a lie.

Then, just last night, I' d heard his confession, heard him admit I was just a "substitute."

My world shattered.

[Understood. Processing request for termination. A 30-day buffer period has been initiated.]

I wasn' t Chloe Davis originally. I was a soul from another reality, with a mission: win 100% affection to go home, healthy and whole.

I escaped an abusive adoptive family, only to be "saved" by Ethan Vance, who built my world, offered me everything, and then asked me to marry him.

I genuinely believed he loved me for me, switching my mission target to him, and the progress bar leapt to 80%, slowly crawling to 99%... and stalling.

Now I knew why.

He wouldn' t even notice I was gone.

I was done.

I was ready to leave this world.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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