A Husband’s Rage, A Wife’s Betrayal

A Husband's Rage, A Wife's Betrayal

Gavin

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My life with Olivia Hayes was the dream I' d chased since I was a boy. We had it all: a sprawling house I designed, two beautiful children, Lily and Leo, and a brilliant wife. Then, on a Tuesday night during the worst blizzard in fifty years, our perfect world shattered when Olivia, in a fit of rage, locked our three-year-old twins outside in their thin pajamas. I begged, I pleaded, I offered myself in their place, but she only sneered, shoving me back as she dragged my screaming children into the snow, the lock clicking behind them. Trapped in the basement, I heard their cries fade, replaced by a terrifying silence. When the door finally opened in the morning, Olivia stood perfectly dressed, while my children lay huddled outside, two frozen, broken dolls. "She murdered them," ran through my head, but her mother, Mrs. Hayes, urged silence, whispering of shock and family reputation. Then Olivia' s cold, businesslike voice on the phone: "Did you talk to Ethan? Is he going to be reasonable? I have a board meeting in an hour... tell him the family will compensate him generously. He can name his price." And then, casually, asking about Marcus, her COO. The realization hit me: this wasn' t just about old family hatred; it was about him, and her calculating indifference. Days later, at our home, Marcus Green, her lover, stood in what used to be my children' s playroom, ordering workers to trash their toys as he gloated, "Olivia is pregnant, you know. My child, this time. A real heir.\" He called my children' s precious belongings "garbage," announcing their baby would be in Lily and Leo's room. My heart, a dead stone for days, exploded into white-hot rage, and I lunged. As I held a crumpled drawing of our once-perfect family, Olivia returned, unimpressed, dismissing their belongings as "just stuff" and their deaths as "an accident." "It' s bad luck to have things from the dead in the house when you' re expecting," she said, protecting her belly. As I was forcibly restrained, watching them empty my children' s lives into garbage bags, I knew then what I had to do. I signed the divorce papers, disconnected my number, and vanished, leaving her to face the desolate silence of a house where I would never return.

Introduction

My life with Olivia Hayes was the dream I' d chased since I was a boy.

We had it all: a sprawling house I designed, two beautiful children, Lily and Leo, and a brilliant wife.

Then, on a Tuesday night during the worst blizzard in fifty years, our perfect world shattered when Olivia, in a fit of rage, locked our three-year-old twins outside in their thin pajamas.

I begged, I pleaded, I offered myself in their place, but she only sneered, shoving me back as she dragged my screaming children into the snow, the lock clicking behind them.

Trapped in the basement, I heard their cries fade, replaced by a terrifying silence.

When the door finally opened in the morning, Olivia stood perfectly dressed, while my children lay huddled outside, two frozen, broken dolls.

"She murdered them," ran through my head, but her mother, Mrs. Hayes, urged silence, whispering of shock and family reputation.

Then Olivia' s cold, businesslike voice on the phone: "Did you talk to Ethan? Is he going to be reasonable? I have a board meeting in an hour... tell him the family will compensate him generously. He can name his price."

And then, casually, asking about Marcus, her COO.

The realization hit me: this wasn' t just about old family hatred; it was about him, and her calculating indifference.

Days later, at our home, Marcus Green, her lover, stood in what used to be my children' s playroom, ordering workers to trash their toys as he gloated, "Olivia is pregnant, you know. My child, this time. A real heir.\"

He called my children' s precious belongings "garbage," announcing their baby would be in Lily and Leo's room.

My heart, a dead stone for days, exploded into white-hot rage, and I lunged.

As I held a crumpled drawing of our once-perfect family, Olivia returned, unimpressed, dismissing their belongings as "just stuff" and their deaths as "an accident."

"It' s bad luck to have things from the dead in the house when you' re expecting," she said, protecting her belly.

As I was forcibly restrained, watching them empty my children' s lives into garbage bags, I knew then what I had to do.

I signed the divorce papers, disconnected my number, and vanished, leaving her to face the desolate silence of a house where I would never return.

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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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