Love’s End, Her New Beginning

Love's End, Her New Beginning

Gavin

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For five years, my life was Liam Vance, the visionary I helped build an empire with, sketching user interfaces on napkins and designing the very buildings that housed his dreams. Then he brought Chloe Davis home, an aspiring influencer all wide eyes and soft smiles, and my world started to crack. He began showering her with affection, calling her "pure," while subtly eroding my confidence, telling me I was "too ambitious," "like a shark." The criticism was a constant hum, culminating in his promise to marry me "just as soon as you learn to be as sweet and compliant as Chloe." The humiliations started small, then grew brutal. I was forced to kneel and spoon-feed Chloe while our friends watched, locked in a freezing server room until I missed a career-defining project, and made a human target for a combat drone, all while his staff called her "Mrs. Vance." Each atrocity chipped away at me, symbolized by the architectural models he' d had custom-made for our future, each one now sinking into the river, a painful reminder of a lie. I had no choice but to endure, trapped by the scholarship he funded for my younger brother, Ethan, my only family, my only weakness. But when, at a public gala, he let his men strip me naked and throw me onto a stage while he proposed to Chloe, something inside me snapped. Then, there was Ethan. In a cold, glass-walled conference room, Liam, fueled by a possessive rage, pulled a gun and shot my innocent brother, killing the only family I had left. The world went silent, everything turning to dust, but in that void, a cold, sharp resolve began to crystalize. I burned the last model, a miniature wedding chapel, watched our future turn to ash, and finally, unequivocally, walked away, leaving him and five years of memories behind.

Introduction

For five years, my life was Liam Vance, the visionary I helped build an empire with, sketching user interfaces on napkins and designing the very buildings that housed his dreams.

Then he brought Chloe Davis home, an aspiring influencer all wide eyes and soft smiles, and my world started to crack.

He began showering her with affection, calling her "pure," while subtly eroding my confidence, telling me I was "too ambitious," "like a shark."

The criticism was a constant hum, culminating in his promise to marry me "just as soon as you learn to be as sweet and compliant as Chloe."

The humiliations started small, then grew brutal.

I was forced to kneel and spoon-feed Chloe while our friends watched, locked in a freezing server room until I missed a career-defining project, and made a human target for a combat drone, all while his staff called her "Mrs. Vance."

Each atrocity chipped away at me, symbolized by the architectural models he' d had custom-made for our future, each one now sinking into the river, a painful reminder of a lie.

I had no choice but to endure, trapped by the scholarship he funded for my younger brother, Ethan, my only family, my only weakness.

But when, at a public gala, he let his men strip me naked and throw me onto a stage while he proposed to Chloe, something inside me snapped.

Then, there was Ethan. In a cold, glass-walled conference room, Liam, fueled by a possessive rage, pulled a gun and shot my innocent brother, killing the only family I had left.

The world went silent, everything turning to dust, but in that void, a cold, sharp resolve began to crystalize.

I burned the last model, a miniature wedding chapel, watched our future turn to ash, and finally, unequivocally, walked away, leaving him and five years of memories behind.

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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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