When Love Finds Its Way Home

When Love Finds Its Way Home

Gavin

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The digital timer in my vision pulsed, counting down to my supposed obliteration-ten minutes until my existence was wiped clean. Three years ago, a car crash stole my parents, leaving me, then just nineteen, to raise my two stepsons, Ethan and Caleb. I' d given up my Olympic dreams to give them a stable home. I believed their promises, that we were a family, that they would always protect me. Then Chloe Davis walked in, an intern, all wide eyes and sweet smiles, a delicate charm bracelet glinting on her wrist. From that day, I became their personal scapegoat, my achievements overshadowed, my talent exploited, all to bolster Chloe' s image. Last week, a sabotaged client presentation, files deleted, backups corrupted, and Chloe was responsible. But Ethan, in the crowded boardroom, turned to me, his face a cold mask: "Sarah, this is your fault." Caleb chimed in, refusing to meet my eyes, "Chloe is new, she's still learning. You should know better." They didn' t even ask, just saw Chloe' s tears and blamed me. I swallowed the familiar, bitter humiliation, the weight of their betrayal a physical pressure on my lungs. But today, I chose to fail. "I' m not abandoning it. I' m choosing to fail," I whispered to the empty room. [Decision confirmed. Initiating protocol for mission failure. The consequences are irreversible. Host will be held fully responsible.] The system' s voice was calm, but the penalty was clear: my existence would be erased, my "Goodness Value" transferred to Chloe. Then, the office door burst open. Ethan and Caleb stormed in, accusing me of sabotaging Chloe again. Chloe appeared, tear-streaked and fragile, playing victim once more. "Sarah, find the contract. Now. And then you are going to go out there and apologize to Chloe in front of everyone for stressing her out." I knew this was my final task, a deep dive into humiliation before freedom. I had nowhere left to go. So I stepped forward.

Introduction

The digital timer in my vision pulsed, counting down to my supposed obliteration-ten minutes until my existence was wiped clean.

Three years ago, a car crash stole my parents, leaving me, then just nineteen, to raise my two stepsons, Ethan and Caleb. I' d given up my Olympic dreams to give them a stable home.

I believed their promises, that we were a family, that they would always protect me.

Then Chloe Davis walked in, an intern, all wide eyes and sweet smiles, a delicate charm bracelet glinting on her wrist.

From that day, I became their personal scapegoat, my achievements overshadowed, my talent exploited, all to bolster Chloe' s image.

Last week, a sabotaged client presentation, files deleted, backups corrupted, and Chloe was responsible.

But Ethan, in the crowded boardroom, turned to me, his face a cold mask: "Sarah, this is your fault."

Caleb chimed in, refusing to meet my eyes, "Chloe is new, she's still learning. You should know better."

They didn' t even ask, just saw Chloe' s tears and blamed me.

I swallowed the familiar, bitter humiliation, the weight of their betrayal a physical pressure on my lungs.

But today, I chose to fail.

"I' m not abandoning it. I' m choosing to fail," I whispered to the empty room.

[Decision confirmed. Initiating protocol for mission failure. The consequences are irreversible. Host will be held fully responsible.]

The system' s voice was calm, but the penalty was clear: my existence would be erased, my "Goodness Value" transferred to Chloe.

Then, the office door burst open. Ethan and Caleb stormed in, accusing me of sabotaging Chloe again.

Chloe appeared, tear-streaked and fragile, playing victim once more.

"Sarah, find the contract. Now. And then you are going to go out there and apologize to Chloe in front of everyone for stressing her out."

I knew this was my final task, a deep dive into humiliation before freedom.

I had nowhere left to go.

So I stepped forward.

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When Love Turns to Ash

When Love Turns to Ash

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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.

The Contract Wife: Thorne's Redemption

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I lay in the sterile silence of the hospital, mourning the baby I never got to hold. Everyone called it a tragic accident. A slip and fall. But I knew the truth of my husband's shove. Mark finally came to visit. He didn't bring flowers; he brought a briefcase. Inside were divorce papers and a non-disclosure agreement. He calmly informed me that his mistress-my friend-was pregnant. They were his "real family" now, and they couldn't have any "unpleasantness." He threatened to use fabricated psychiatric reports to paint me as an unstable danger to myself. "Sign the papers, Clara," he warned, his voice void of emotion. "Or you'll be moved from this comfortable room to a more... secure facility. A long-term one." I looked at the man I had loved and saw a monster. This wasn't a tragedy; it was a corporate takeover of my life. He had been meeting with lawyers while I was losing our child. I wasn't his grieving wife; I was a liability being managed, a loose end to be tied. I was utterly and completely trapped. Just as despair consumed me, my parents' old lawyer appeared like a ghost from the past. She pressed a heavy, ornate key into my palm. "Your parents left you an escape route," she whispered, her eyes filled with resolve. "For a day like this." The key led to a forgotten contract, a pact made by our grandfathers decades ago. An ironclad marriage agreement, binding me to the one man my husband feared more than death itself: the ruthless, reclusive billionaire Julian Thorne.

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