Her Second Chance at Vengeance

Her Second Chance at Vengeance

Gavin

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The last thing I remembered was the cold, my body broken, kneeling in the snow at Chloe Davis' s memorial. I was Olivia Reynolds, a tech heiress who gave everything for Julian Thorne, only for him to shatter my soul. He built a digital shrine to his "dead" ex-girlfriend in our home, forcing me to chant repentance for sins I didn' t commit, mourning a woman whose supposed death catalyzed his public transformation into a guru. This relentless torment led to my miscarriage, the loss of our unborn child, and ultimately, my own lonely death. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back in the bridal suite of the Grand Astoria Hotel, on my wedding day, the scent of gardenias filling the air. The day it all began, again. Julian walked in, his charming smile now turning my stomach. "Olivia, my love," he said, "I need to talk to you about Chloe." He spun the same manipulative tale from my past life, claiming Chloe was leaving the country forever and he needed to see her "one last time" for "our future." He called it a sacrifice we had to make, together. The same sacrifice that had made me the lamb on his altar before. I remembered his cruelty, my empty crib, my parents' grief, Ethan' s vacant eyes after Julian destroyed his life. He had been reborn too, and knew. But this time, I wouldn't be so foolish. I wouldn't cry or beg. I would give Julian exactly what he thought he wanted: my blessing to go.

Introduction

The last thing I remembered was the cold, my body broken, kneeling in the snow at Chloe Davis' s memorial. I was Olivia Reynolds, a tech heiress who gave everything for Julian Thorne, only for him to shatter my soul.

He built a digital shrine to his "dead" ex-girlfriend in our home, forcing me to chant repentance for sins I didn' t commit, mourning a woman whose supposed death catalyzed his public transformation into a guru. This relentless torment led to my miscarriage, the loss of our unborn child, and ultimately, my own lonely death.

Then, I opened my eyes. I was back in the bridal suite of the Grand Astoria Hotel, on my wedding day, the scent of gardenias filling the air. The day it all began, again.

Julian walked in, his charming smile now turning my stomach. "Olivia, my love," he said, "I need to talk to you about Chloe." He spun the same manipulative tale from my past life, claiming Chloe was leaving the country forever and he needed to see her "one last time" for "our future."

He called it a sacrifice we had to make, together. The same sacrifice that had made me the lamb on his altar before.

I remembered his cruelty, my empty crib, my parents' grief, Ethan' s vacant eyes after Julian destroyed his life. He had been reborn too, and knew.

But this time, I wouldn't be so foolish. I wouldn't cry or beg. I would give Julian exactly what he thought he wanted: my blessing to go.

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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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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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