Love Drained, Life Reclaimed

Love Drained, Life Reclaimed

Gavin

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For twenty years, all Ava Lewis wanted was to find her biological family, the missing piece of her identity. When her adopted sister, Brittany Miller, beamed and said, "Almost there, Ava. You're going to love our old town. It's where all the family traditions started," Ava believed it was the start of something beautiful. But the moment they stepped out of the car at a secluded, dark cabin, the loving facade shattered. Two burly men appeared, seizing her arms as her "parents" stood by, their faces blank, their smiles gone. "Don't fight it, Ava," Brittany's voice was chillingly cold. "It'll be easier if you just cooperate." Dragged inside, bound to a chair, Ava watched in horror as Brittany approached with a strange, ancient device, a needle glinting. "This is our family tradition," Brittany explained, piercing Ava's chest. "We are connecting your life force to this ancient family relic. It will bring us good fortune and health." Her "parents" chimed in, "It's your duty as our daughter." Ava' s life force drained away with each transfer, leaving her hollow and weak, while her biological family seemingly thrived. But after the forty-ninth transfer, the truth, colder and crueler than any physical pain, was revealed: "That's the point," Brittany whispered, a malicious smile twisting her lips. "This was never about health. It was about your death." Bound, exposed, bleeding, Ava realized she was merely a product, auctioned off to the highest bidder for their depraved entertainment. Then he appeared, "the Master," a man who seemed to stop the horror, only to brand her with her own essence, making her a monument to his family's generational vendetta. But from the depths of betrayal and despair, a burning rage ignited. She might be broken, but she would not be silenced. She was Ava Lewis, and she would make them pay.

Introduction

For twenty years, all Ava Lewis wanted was to find her biological family, the missing piece of her identity.

When her adopted sister, Brittany Miller, beamed and said, "Almost there, Ava. You're going to love our old town. It's where all the family traditions started," Ava believed it was the start of something beautiful.

But the moment they stepped out of the car at a secluded, dark cabin, the loving facade shattered.

Two burly men appeared, seizing her arms as her "parents" stood by, their faces blank, their smiles gone.

"Don't fight it, Ava," Brittany's voice was chillingly cold. "It'll be easier if you just cooperate."

Dragged inside, bound to a chair, Ava watched in horror as Brittany approached with a strange, ancient device, a needle glinting.

"This is our family tradition," Brittany explained, piercing Ava's chest. "We are connecting your life force to this ancient family relic. It will bring us good fortune and health."

Her "parents" chimed in, "It's your duty as our daughter."

Ava' s life force drained away with each transfer, leaving her hollow and weak, while her biological family seemingly thrived.

But after the forty-ninth transfer, the truth, colder and crueler than any physical pain, was revealed: "That's the point," Brittany whispered, a malicious smile twisting her lips. "This was never about health. It was about your death."

Bound, exposed, bleeding, Ava realized she was merely a product, auctioned off to the highest bidder for their depraved entertainment.

Then he appeared, "the Master," a man who seemed to stop the horror, only to brand her with her own essence, making her a monument to his family's generational vendetta.

But from the depths of betrayal and despair, a burning rage ignited.

She might be broken, but she would not be silenced.

She was Ava Lewis, and she would make them pay.

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I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

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