No Mercy for the Merciless

No Mercy for the Merciless

Gavin

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My volunteer work was simple, a quiet act of kindness. For two years, I drove underprivileged students to their SATs, finding genuine joy in helping. Then my phone buzzed, and a sharp, high-pitched voice introduced me to Tiffany. She wasn't just demanding a ride; she was demanding a luxury SUV for five, not three, and a perfectly pristine car. "Make sure your car is clean. We don' t want to show up to the most important exam of our lives covered in dog hair or smelling like old takeout." Her voice dripped with an entitlement that left me breathless, and I knew this was different. I brushed aside the unease, telling myself it was just one difficult person. But from the moment they sauntered out, laughing, holding expensive coffees, the verbal jabs began, culminating in Tiffany grabbing my steering wheel on the highway. The car swerved violently. A truck narrowly missed us. "What is wrong with you? You could have killed us!" I yelled, my body shaking with rage. "Me? You' re the one who can' t drive! You almost got us killed!" she shrieked back, her eyes wide with indignation, not remorse. To my horror, Jessica, one of the others, nodded in agreement with Tiffany's outrageous lie. The unfairness of it all made me sick. My good deed had been twisted into an obligation, and I was being made the villain. My husband' s calm voice echoed in my head: "Don't give them a single thing they can use against you. Be polite, be professional..." I decided I would be a robot. A chauffeur. No emotion, just function. I would finish this, and then wash my hands of them forever.

Introduction

My volunteer work was simple, a quiet act of kindness.

For two years, I drove underprivileged students to their SATs, finding genuine joy in helping.

Then my phone buzzed, and a sharp, high-pitched voice introduced me to Tiffany.

She wasn't just demanding a ride; she was demanding a luxury SUV for five, not three, and a perfectly pristine car.

"Make sure your car is clean. We don' t want to show up to the most important exam of our lives covered in dog hair or smelling like old takeout."

Her voice dripped with an entitlement that left me breathless, and I knew this was different.

I brushed aside the unease, telling myself it was just one difficult person.

But from the moment they sauntered out, laughing, holding expensive coffees, the verbal jabs began, culminating in Tiffany grabbing my steering wheel on the highway.

The car swerved violently.

A truck narrowly missed us.

"What is wrong with you? You could have killed us!" I yelled, my body shaking with rage.

"Me? You' re the one who can' t drive! You almost got us killed!" she shrieked back, her eyes wide with indignation, not remorse.

To my horror, Jessica, one of the others, nodded in agreement with Tiffany's outrageous lie.

The unfairness of it all made me sick.

My good deed had been twisted into an obligation, and I was being made the villain.

My husband' s calm voice echoed in my head: "Don't give them a single thing they can use against you. Be polite, be professional..."

I decided I would be a robot.

A chauffeur.

No emotion, just function.

I would finish this, and then wash my hands of them forever.

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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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