The Lies We Marry For

The Lies We Marry For

Gavin

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The white lace of my wedding dress felt heavy on my shoulders. This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. Then Mark' s voice, a mere whisper, shattered everything. "I can't do this, Chloe." He stood there, perfectly tailored, his eyes avoiding mine. "I'm sorry," he finally managed, "I love Ashley. We're already married." The world tilted. My bouquet fell, scattering petals on the cold stone. A mechanical voice, only I could hear, boomed in my head: `[System Alert: Primary Life Mission 'Marry Mark Johnson' has failed.]` `[System Failure initiating... Host life functions will terminate in 60 seconds.]` I collapsed, a crushing pain in my chest. Mark just stared, frozen in cowardice. Ashley, my stepsister, rushed in. Not to help me, but to pull Mark away. "Mark, let's go! She'll be fine," she snapped, a look of pure triumph on her face. They left me to die on the church floor. `[30 seconds remaining.]` My world was almost dark. Suddenly, a stranger burst in, desperate to help. He threw himself over me as a chandelier crashed down. He saved me, but lost his legs. Three years later, I was married to him, Ethan Miller. Out of gratitude, I gave him my life. Tonight, our anniversary, I overheard him talking to his friend. "Tell her what? That I'm the best actor in the world?" Ethan laughed, his voice cold. "What happens when she finds out your legs are perfectly fine?" Ashley had put him up to it. My life, my sacrifice, was all orchestrated. My salvation was a lie. My marriage, a cage. The pain was worse than any system countdown. I looked at the man I married, the hero I thought he was. A stranger. A liar. A conspirator with my sister. This had to end. I would burn it all to the ground.

Introduction

The white lace of my wedding dress felt heavy on my shoulders.

This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.

Then Mark' s voice, a mere whisper, shattered everything.

"I can't do this, Chloe."

He stood there, perfectly tailored, his eyes avoiding mine.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed, "I love Ashley. We're already married."

The world tilted. My bouquet fell, scattering petals on the cold stone.

A mechanical voice, only I could hear, boomed in my head: `[System Alert: Primary Life Mission 'Marry Mark Johnson' has failed.]`

`[System Failure initiating... Host life functions will terminate in 60 seconds.]`

I collapsed, a crushing pain in my chest. Mark just stared, frozen in cowardice.

Ashley, my stepsister, rushed in. Not to help me, but to pull Mark away.

"Mark, let's go! She'll be fine," she snapped, a look of pure triumph on her face.

They left me to die on the church floor. `[30 seconds remaining.]`

My world was almost dark.

Suddenly, a stranger burst in, desperate to help. He threw himself over me as a chandelier crashed down.

He saved me, but lost his legs.

Three years later, I was married to him, Ethan Miller. Out of gratitude, I gave him my life.

Tonight, our anniversary, I overheard him talking to his friend.

"Tell her what? That I'm the best actor in the world?" Ethan laughed, his voice cold.

"What happens when she finds out your legs are perfectly fine?"

Ashley had put him up to it. My life, my sacrifice, was all orchestrated.

My salvation was a lie. My marriage, a cage.

The pain was worse than any system countdown.

I looked at the man I married, the hero I thought he was. A stranger. A liar. A conspirator with my sister.

This had to end. I would burn it all to the ground.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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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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