Chloe's Web, Liam's Freedom

Chloe's Web, Liam's Freedom

Gavin

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Today was supposed to be my fourth wedding to Chloe, my fiancée since we were sixteen. I stood at the altar, surrounded by friends and family, the grand church filled with white roses. But instead of Chloe, her maid of honor rushed down the aisle, clutching her phone, her face etched with panic. Then, my phone vibrated. A text from Chloe: "I' m so sorry, Liam. I can' t. Mark needs me. He' s at the hospital. He said he was in a car accident." Not again. Another one of Mark' s car accident lies, the same one he used months ago. Hundreds of eyes fixed on me, a mix of pity and morbid curiosity. This wasn't postponement; it was a public execution. Tears of profound humiliation stung my eyes. My decade of devotion meant nothing; she chose her manipulative assistant over me, again. Then, a new notification. A social media post from Mark. A selfie. Mark, smug and triumphant. And Chloe, asleep on his shoulder, in a hotel room, not a hospital. "Some things are worth fighting for. So happy you' re finally mine," the caption read. Rage, hot and white-hot, surged through me. This was a calculated, public humiliation. They weren't hiding; they were celebrating. Then, a message request from Mark. A picture. Chloe, asleep in the hotel bed. My wedding dress, draped over a chair in the background, a ghostly white sentinel. He had planned this. He was taunting me. Mark answered my call, his voice smooth and arrogant. "We're at the Grand Star Hotel, room 1208. You know, the one right next to the general hospital. It' s so much more comfortable for Chloe to rest here while I recover from my, ah, 'terrible accident' ." He laughed, a smug, ugly sound. He sent another picture: Chloe' s hand, intertwined with his. My great-grandmother' s engagement ring gone, replaced by a simple gold band. "It feels like nothing," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "You can have her." I hung up. I left it all behind, the house, the memories, the woman. I was free, but I had to fight to stay that way.

Introduction

Today was supposed to be my fourth wedding to Chloe, my fiancée since we were sixteen.

I stood at the altar, surrounded by friends and family, the grand church filled with white roses.

But instead of Chloe, her maid of honor rushed down the aisle, clutching her phone, her face etched with panic.

Then, my phone vibrated.

A text from Chloe: "I' m so sorry, Liam. I can' t. Mark needs me. He' s at the hospital. He said he was in a car accident."

Not again. Another one of Mark' s car accident lies, the same one he used months ago.

Hundreds of eyes fixed on me, a mix of pity and morbid curiosity.

This wasn't postponement; it was a public execution.

Tears of profound humiliation stung my eyes.

My decade of devotion meant nothing; she chose her manipulative assistant over me, again.

Then, a new notification. A social media post from Mark.

A selfie. Mark, smug and triumphant. And Chloe, asleep on his shoulder, in a hotel room, not a hospital.

"Some things are worth fighting for. So happy you' re finally mine," the caption read.

Rage, hot and white-hot, surged through me.

This was a calculated, public humiliation. They weren't hiding; they were celebrating.

Then, a message request from Mark. A picture.

Chloe, asleep in the hotel bed. My wedding dress, draped over a chair in the background, a ghostly white sentinel.

He had planned this. He was taunting me.

Mark answered my call, his voice smooth and arrogant.

"We're at the Grand Star Hotel, room 1208. You know, the one right next to the general hospital. It' s so much more comfortable for Chloe to rest here while I recover from my, ah, 'terrible accident' ."

He laughed, a smug, ugly sound.

He sent another picture: Chloe' s hand, intertwined with his. My great-grandmother' s engagement ring gone, replaced by a simple gold band.

"It feels like nothing," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "You can have her."

I hung up. I left it all behind, the house, the memories, the woman.

I was free, but I had to fight to stay that way.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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