My Marriage, A Deadly Lie

My Marriage, A Deadly Lie

Gavin

5.0
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My marriage was a lie, a tragic commitment made in the shadow of my fiancé Ryan's untimely death in a plane crash. Drowning in grief, I accepted his younger brother Liam' s proposal to continue the engagement, believing it was an act of selfless duty to protect the family and honor Ryan. Liam transformed, becoming a devoted, loving husband who showered me with affection, whispering promises of eternal fidelity. He was my rock through fertility struggles, heartbreaking doctor' s appointments, and especially after losing our unborn child, our little Hope. "I love you, Chloe," he swore, his voice thick with emotion after our miscarriage. "I don' t care if we ever have children. It' s you I want. Only you, forever." I clung to those words, believing them to be the one solid truth in my shattered world. A month later, a overheard conversation changed everything: Liam' s cousin, Maya, desperate about her son Leo, and Liam' s calm reassurance, "Don' t worry, I' ll handle it." Then came a chilling whisper from Maya, "You helped me and your brother, who faked his death, to be together." Ryan, alive? Leo, his son? The pieces of a monstrous betrayal slammed into place, shattering my reality. Liam' s love, his tears for our lost baby, his unwavering support-it was all an act, a calculated performance to hide his brother and protect an heir. My marriage wasn't just a lie; it was a crime scene. He orchestrated my miscarriage to clear Leo' s path to the inheritance. He murdered Hope. The pain, bottled up and performed as grief, rushed back as a tidal wave of pure, clarifying rage. I wouldn' t cry. I wouldn't break down. Not yet. "No, you' re not (going to kill him)," my best friend and private investigator Jessica said, gripping my shoulders. "You' re going to destroy him. There' s a difference. We can go to the police right now." "No," I declared, a chilling clarity cutting through the pain. "The police won' t be enough. His family is too powerful. They' ll bury it. They' ll paint me as a hysterical, grieving wife." I wiped away my tears, the grief now fuel. "They want Leo to be the heir?" I said, my voice cold and hard. "They want to protect the family' s reputation? Fine. I' ll give them exactly what they want, right before I take it all away." "I' m not running away," I declared. "I' m not going to be a victim. I' m staying right here. I' m going to host a party. A big one. The biggest this family has ever seen. And I' m going to give everyone a show they will never, ever forget."

Introduction

My marriage was a lie, a tragic commitment made in the shadow of my fiancé Ryan's untimely death in a plane crash.

Drowning in grief, I accepted his younger brother Liam' s proposal to continue the engagement, believing it was an act of selfless duty to protect the family and honor Ryan.

Liam transformed, becoming a devoted, loving husband who showered me with affection, whispering promises of eternal fidelity.

He was my rock through fertility struggles, heartbreaking doctor' s appointments, and especially after losing our unborn child, our little Hope.

"I love you, Chloe," he swore, his voice thick with emotion after our miscarriage. "I don' t care if we ever have children. It' s you I want. Only you, forever."

I clung to those words, believing them to be the one solid truth in my shattered world.

A month later, a overheard conversation changed everything: Liam' s cousin, Maya, desperate about her son Leo, and Liam' s calm reassurance, "Don' t worry, I' ll handle it."

Then came a chilling whisper from Maya, "You helped me and your brother, who faked his death, to be together."

Ryan, alive? Leo, his son? The pieces of a monstrous betrayal slammed into place, shattering my reality.

Liam' s love, his tears for our lost baby, his unwavering support-it was all an act, a calculated performance to hide his brother and protect an heir.

My marriage wasn't just a lie; it was a crime scene.

He orchestrated my miscarriage to clear Leo' s path to the inheritance.

He murdered Hope.

The pain, bottled up and performed as grief, rushed back as a tidal wave of pure, clarifying rage.

I wouldn' t cry.

I wouldn't break down.

Not yet.

"No, you' re not (going to kill him)," my best friend and private investigator Jessica said, gripping my shoulders. "You' re going to destroy him. There' s a difference. We can go to the police right now."

"No," I declared, a chilling clarity cutting through the pain. "The police won' t be enough. His family is too powerful. They' ll bury it. They' ll paint me as a hysterical, grieving wife."

I wiped away my tears, the grief now fuel.

"They want Leo to be the heir?" I said, my voice cold and hard. "They want to protect the family' s reputation? Fine. I' ll give them exactly what they want, right before I take it all away."

"I' m not running away," I declared. "I' m not going to be a victim. I' m staying right here. I' m going to host a party. A big one. The biggest this family has ever seen. And I' m going to give everyone a show they will never, ever forget."

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Mafia

4.5

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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