Second Chances, True Love

Second Chances, True Love

Gavin

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"Are you sure about this, Chloe?" Ethan' s voice came through the phone, a mix of hope and disbelief. "Marrying me?" For seven years, I had loved Mark, believing we were a power couple, an architect and a developer building dreams. A week ago, I discovered I was just his "pastime," a "fun distraction." He was already engaged to Sophia Miller, a socialite whose picture was plastered all over the society pages. He offered to keep me as his mistress, a proposition he tried to seal with a diamond-studded collar engraved with "Mine." I reeled, but kept my face blank as he left for Sophia' s birthday party- which I later learned was a surprise party at his mountain estate. He abandoned me on a deserted road after I slapped him for trying to put the collar on me in the car. Sophia appeared, feigning concern, then publicly humiliated me and accused me of pushing her, an accusation Mark instantly believed. He left me in his car, miles from home, only to send his secretary to pick me up and bring me to Sophia' s party. There, Sophia, with Mark's approval, arranged for me to be assaulted, then lied again, claiming I had attacked her. Mark, seeing my bleeding knee but choosing to believe them, told me to apologize, calling me a "crazy ex." Why did he believe her so easily? Why was I, after seven years, so easily replaced by a woman he barely knew, who so clearly hated me? Why was I left feeling nothing but sick, used, and utterly disposable? With the last shred of my dignity, I pulled myself up, refusing to be his victim or her pet. I took the blood money he offered, blocked his number, and escaped, flying home to Ethan, ready to leave the nightmare behind and build a new future for myself.

Introduction

"Are you sure about this, Chloe?" Ethan' s voice came through the phone, a mix of hope and disbelief. "Marrying me?" For seven years, I had loved Mark, believing we were a power couple, an architect and a developer building dreams.

A week ago, I discovered I was just his "pastime," a "fun distraction." He was already engaged to Sophia Miller, a socialite whose picture was plastered all over the society pages. He offered to keep me as his mistress, a proposition he tried to seal with a diamond-studded collar engraved with "Mine."

I reeled, but kept my face blank as he left for Sophia' s birthday party- which I later learned was a surprise party at his mountain estate. He abandoned me on a deserted road after I slapped him for trying to put the collar on me in the car. Sophia appeared, feigning concern, then publicly humiliated me and accused me of pushing her, an accusation Mark instantly believed.

He left me in his car, miles from home, only to send his secretary to pick me up and bring me to Sophia' s party. There, Sophia, with Mark's approval, arranged for me to be assaulted, then lied again, claiming I had attacked her. Mark, seeing my bleeding knee but choosing to believe them, told me to apologize, calling me a "crazy ex."

Why did he believe her so easily? Why was I, after seven years, so easily replaced by a woman he barely knew, who so clearly hated me? Why was I left feeling nothing but sick, used, and utterly disposable?

With the last shred of my dignity, I pulled myself up, refusing to be his victim or her pet. I took the blood money he offered, blocked his number, and escaped, flying home to Ethan, ready to leave the nightmare behind and build a new future for myself.

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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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