When Love Dies: A Family's Tragic End

When Love Dies: A Family's Tragic End

Gavin

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The first thing I felt was the splintering pain in my back, a sharp, ugly ache. My art school interview, my one shot, was missed because a ladder slipped. Instead of concern, my adoptive parents, the Davises, stood over me and my ruined canvases, their faces masks of fury. "Stealing Emily's scholarship spot wasn't enough," my mother shrieked, "now you've sabotaged her art career? We never should have adopted you!" My father grabbed me, hauling me up despite my cry of pain, and dragged me to the attic, slamming the door shut with a deafening metallic click. The familiar dread of claustrophobia seized me. "Please," I gasped, pounding a weak fist against the door, "Please, don't. I can't... I can't breathe." But their footsteps faded, her words echoing: "She's just being dramatic." They left me there, trapped and forgotten, my pleas turning into choked sobs no one would hear. Days later, they discussed plans for Emily during their European vacation, dismissing the growing, sweet stench in the house as my mess. They never thought of me again, not for seven days, not until it was too late.

Introduction

The first thing I felt was the splintering pain in my back, a sharp, ugly ache.

My art school interview, my one shot, was missed because a ladder slipped.

Instead of concern, my adoptive parents, the Davises, stood over me and my ruined canvases, their faces masks of fury.

"Stealing Emily's scholarship spot wasn't enough," my mother shrieked, "now you've sabotaged her art career? We never should have adopted you!"

My father grabbed me, hauling me up despite my cry of pain, and dragged me to the attic, slamming the door shut with a deafening metallic click.

The familiar dread of claustrophobia seized me.

"Please," I gasped, pounding a weak fist against the door, "Please, don't. I can't... I can't breathe."

But their footsteps faded, her words echoing: "She's just being dramatic."

They left me there, trapped and forgotten, my pleas turning into choked sobs no one would hear.

Days later, they discussed plans for Emily during their European vacation, dismissing the growing, sweet stench in the house as my mess.

They never thought of me again, not for seven days, not until it was too late.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Mafia

5.0

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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