His Last Regret, My New Life

His Last Regret, My New Life

Gavin

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The grand hall of the Thompson estate. The scent of expensive flowers and a decade of my family' s fading name. Tonight, I, Sarah Miller, was the offering, a supposed "lucky charm" to merge our dying empire with the titans of the Thompson Corporation. But the truth was, I was just a broodmare, chosen to birth their legacy, just like in my first life. The memory wasn' t a dream; it was a brand etched into my soul. The cold concrete floor, the smell of dust and ozone. I was tied to a chair, my body weak from giving birth to my three children. Across the room, David, the man I was forced to marry, stood over three small, still forms on a steel table. "The offerings are ready," a scientist said, his voice flat. "The biological processors will give the AI an unparalleled learning curve." Biological processors. Offerings. No. I screamed, a ragged sound. "David, no! Please, not our children!" He grabbed my hair, back. "Our children? You manipulative witch! You tricked my mother into making me have these... abominations with you!" He gestured to a photo: Olivia Reed, "My Love." "You ruined everything! She was pregnant with my true heir! But you and your cursed luck forced my hand." He forced a bitter liquid down my throat. My world went black. And then, I woke up. Back in the Thompson' s grand hall, the scent of flowers choking me. Mrs. Thompson held my hand. David stood beside her, his eyes holding the same cold hatred. We were back. The day of our forced engagement. Before the nightmare could begin again, I pulled my hand from Mrs. Thompson' s grasp. My voice small, unsteady, I said, "Mrs. Thompson... I can' t accept." This time, he wanted Olivia. He believed her child was his key to power. I would hand him the shovel and watch him dig his own grave.

Introduction

The grand hall of the Thompson estate. The scent of expensive flowers and a decade of my family' s fading name. Tonight, I, Sarah Miller, was the offering, a supposed "lucky charm" to merge our dying empire with the titans of the Thompson Corporation.

But the truth was, I was just a broodmare, chosen to birth their legacy, just like in my first life.

The memory wasn' t a dream; it was a brand etched into my soul. The cold concrete floor, the smell of dust and ozone. I was tied to a chair, my body weak from giving birth to my three children.

Across the room, David, the man I was forced to marry, stood over three small, still forms on a steel table. "The offerings are ready," a scientist said, his voice flat. "The biological processors will give the AI an unparalleled learning curve."

Biological processors. Offerings. No.

I screamed, a ragged sound. "David, no! Please, not our children!"

He grabbed my hair, back. "Our children? You manipulative witch! You tricked my mother into making me have these... abominations with you!" He gestured to a photo: Olivia Reed, "My Love." "You ruined everything! She was pregnant with my true heir! But you and your cursed luck forced my hand."

He forced a bitter liquid down my throat. My world went black.

And then, I woke up.

Back in the Thompson' s grand hall, the scent of flowers choking me. Mrs. Thompson held my hand. David stood beside her, his eyes holding the same cold hatred.

We were back. The day of our forced engagement.

Before the nightmare could begin again, I pulled my hand from Mrs. Thompson' s grasp. My voice small, unsteady, I said, "Mrs. Thompson... I can' t accept."

This time, he wanted Olivia. He believed her child was his key to power. I would hand him the shovel and watch him dig his own grave.

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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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