The Betrayed Wife's Sweet Revenge

The Betrayed Wife's Sweet Revenge

Gavin

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The heavy iron gate groaned open, and I stepped out, expecting freedom. After a year inside, I longed for my fiancé, Liam, and our son, Noah. But the drive home to our familiar house revealed a chilling transformation: the paint was wrong, my rose bushes were gone. Then Mrs. Gable, our neighbor, delivered the first blow: "Liam has had his hands full, you know. It was a blessing he had Sarah to help him, especially with her being pregnant and all." Sarah. My brother' s widow. Pregnant. My heart seized. The key didn' t fit, but the door was unlocked. Inside, my home was alien-cold, modern, bare of our memories. And then I saw it: a baby' s playpen, a high chair. Not ours. Creeping to the back patio, I saw Liam, his arm around Sarah, her hand on a very pregnant belly. They looked like a perfect family. My perfect family. Then their words: "Are you sure she won' t cause any trouble? She' s supposed to get out this week." "Don' t you worry about Olivia. I know her. She' s loyal to a fault. She took the fall for us once, she' s not going to make waves now. She knows her place." Us. The word twisted in my gut. The truth hit me: Liam hadn' t made a mistake. Sarah had falsified the architectural plans. They had conspired. Liam had begged me to take the blame, promising a future, swearing he' d wait. I believed him. I sacrificed a year, my reputation, my career, for a monstrous lie. The betrayal shattered my heart, but beneath the pain, a cold, hard anger ignited. They thought I was broken, a loyal fool. They were about to learn how wrong they were.

Introduction

The heavy iron gate groaned open, and I stepped out, expecting freedom.

After a year inside, I longed for my fiancé, Liam, and our son, Noah.

But the drive home to our familiar house revealed a chilling transformation: the paint was wrong, my rose bushes were gone.

Then Mrs. Gable, our neighbor, delivered the first blow:

"Liam has had his hands full, you know. It was a blessing he had Sarah to help him, especially with her being pregnant and all."

Sarah. My brother' s widow. Pregnant. My heart seized.

The key didn' t fit, but the door was unlocked.

Inside, my home was alien-cold, modern, bare of our memories.

And then I saw it: a baby' s playpen, a high chair. Not ours.

Creeping to the back patio, I saw Liam, his arm around Sarah, her hand on a very pregnant belly. They looked like a perfect family. My perfect family.

Then their words:

"Are you sure she won' t cause any trouble? She' s supposed to get out this week."

"Don' t you worry about Olivia. I know her. She' s loyal to a fault. She took the fall for us once, she' s not going to make waves now. She knows her place."

Us. The word twisted in my gut.

The truth hit me: Liam hadn' t made a mistake. Sarah had falsified the architectural plans. They had conspired.

Liam had begged me to take the blame, promising a future, swearing he' d wait. I believed him. I sacrificed a year, my reputation, my career, for a monstrous lie.

The betrayal shattered my heart, but beneath the pain, a cold, hard anger ignited.

They thought I was broken, a loyal fool.

They were about to learn how wrong they were.

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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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