A Wife's Vengeance, Two Lives

A Wife's Vengeance, Two Lives

Gavin

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The sterile air of the lawyer's office hung heavy, reeking of a marriage ending and a family dividing. My twin brother, Liam, and I sat between our polished, successful parents, feeling like assets on a ledger. My father, Dr. Richard Miller, the celebrated surgeon, offered a brilliant, practiced smile. "We're going to let you choose who you want to live with." Liam' s chest puffed out, eyes already on our wealthy father. But a cold, bitter knot twisted inside me. I had lived this "choice" before. I had made the wrong one. I looked at my ten-year-old reflection in my mother's sympathetic eyes. "So we can really choose? Freely?" My father's gaze was fixed on Liam, dismissing me. He thought I'd follow like a lost puppy. He was wrong. "I choose Mom." The words sliced through the silence, shattering his charming facade. His voice, smooth a moment ago, turned sharp, like a scalpel. "Chloe, what? Don't be silly. You'll come with me, with your brother. You'll have the best of everything." He promised horses, schools, a life shimmering with gold. I looked at the man who had been my world, the man who had destroyed me with that same persuasive voice. "You said I could choose freely. Were you lying, Dad?" Then to my esteemed principal mother: "Are you going to tell me my choice is wrong because my brother wants something different?" She flinched. My father' s face darkened, the mask gone. He stood abruptly, chair scraping. "Fine. Let's go, son." He grabbed Liam, not looking at me as they left. In my last life, I chose him. He saw a tool, a test subject. He performed unethical experiments on me, documenting my pain, calling it "pushing boundaries." I endured, craving his approval, only to hear him declare me "compromised," my purpose "served." I died, a lab rat. Liam knew. He saw my sickness, my scars, but he said nothing, enjoying the spoils of my suffering. "Dad's just trying to make you better," he'd said, not looking up from his phone. When I opened my eyes in that lawyer' s office again, ten years old, there was no hesitation. Only a vow. I would not be their victim. I would be the architect of their ruin. Richard, Sarah, Liam. They would all pay. This new life wasn't a gift. It was a chance for revenge.

Introduction

The sterile air of the lawyer's office hung heavy, reeking of a marriage ending and a family dividing.

My twin brother, Liam, and I sat between our polished, successful parents, feeling like assets on a ledger.

My father, Dr. Richard Miller, the celebrated surgeon, offered a brilliant, practiced smile.

"We're going to let you choose who you want to live with."

Liam' s chest puffed out, eyes already on our wealthy father.

But a cold, bitter knot twisted inside me.

I had lived this "choice" before.

I had made the wrong one.

I looked at my ten-year-old reflection in my mother's sympathetic eyes.

"So we can really choose? Freely?"

My father's gaze was fixed on Liam, dismissing me.

He thought I'd follow like a lost puppy.

He was wrong.

"I choose Mom."

The words sliced through the silence, shattering his charming facade.

His voice, smooth a moment ago, turned sharp, like a scalpel.

"Chloe, what? Don't be silly. You'll come with me, with your brother. You'll have the best of everything."

He promised horses, schools, a life shimmering with gold.

I looked at the man who had been my world, the man who had destroyed me with that same persuasive voice.

"You said I could choose freely. Were you lying, Dad?"

Then to my esteemed principal mother: "Are you going to tell me my choice is wrong because my brother wants something different?"

She flinched.

My father' s face darkened, the mask gone.

He stood abruptly, chair scraping.

"Fine. Let's go, son."

He grabbed Liam, not looking at me as they left.

In my last life, I chose him.

He saw a tool, a test subject.

He performed unethical experiments on me, documenting my pain, calling it "pushing boundaries."

I endured, craving his approval, only to hear him declare me "compromised," my purpose "served."

I died, a lab rat.

Liam knew.

He saw my sickness, my scars, but he said nothing, enjoying the spoils of my suffering.

"Dad's just trying to make you better," he'd said, not looking up from his phone.

When I opened my eyes in that lawyer' s office again, ten years old, there was no hesitation.

Only a vow.

I would not be their victim.

I would be the architect of their ruin.

Richard, Sarah, Liam.

They would all pay.

This new life wasn't a gift.

It was a chance for revenge.

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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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