Reborn: No Sacrifice for Him

Reborn: No Sacrifice for Him

Gavin

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"I' m turning it down." My words, quiet but firm, echoed in the university president' s opulent office as I rejected the Ivy League scholarship that was supposed to be my golden ticket. This scholarship, the one I' d bled for, I had given up for him-Ethan Hayes, my fiancé, who convinced me his struggling "first love," Chloe, needed it more. In my past life, I watched him rise to tech billionaire status, only to be discarded like an old toy. He and our son, Leo, kicked me out, calling me an embarrassment, while Ethan flaunted Chloe, who conveniently reappeared once the money flowed again. I died at 45, penniless and alone, my life a footnote in his grand story. The sting of that memory, a cold, hard stone in my chest, fuels me now. I don' t understand how I believed his lies, how I let myself be erased. How could I have been so blind? But now, I' m back. This time, there will be no sacrifices for Ethan, no quiet suffering. This time, I hold the pen, and I will write my own future.

Introduction

"I' m turning it down." My words, quiet but firm, echoed in the university president' s opulent office as I rejected the Ivy League scholarship that was supposed to be my golden ticket.

This scholarship, the one I' d bled for, I had given up for him-Ethan Hayes, my fiancé, who convinced me his struggling "first love," Chloe, needed it more.

In my past life, I watched him rise to tech billionaire status, only to be discarded like an old toy. He and our son, Leo, kicked me out, calling me an embarrassment, while Ethan flaunted Chloe, who conveniently reappeared once the money flowed again. I died at 45, penniless and alone, my life a footnote in his grand story.

The sting of that memory, a cold, hard stone in my chest, fuels me now. I don' t understand how I believed his lies, how I let myself be erased. How could I have been so blind?

But now, I' m back. This time, there will be no sacrifices for Ethan, no quiet suffering. This time, I hold the pen, and I will write my own future.

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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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