A Life Built on Their Lies

A Life Built on Their Lies

Gavin

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The phone call came at 7 PM on New Year' s Eve. My parents, struggling artists, were missing our countdown again for a "last-minute commission." I, Olivia, stared at a sad frozen pizza, preparing for another lonely night. But when I went to bring them dinner at their studio, I saw something that made my world tilt: a luxury SUV, my father in a tailored suit, my mother in a stunning gown, and a handsome boy my age. They laughed, a perfect, happy family heading into the city's most expensive restaurant. When I called out, their smiles vanished, replaced by panic. "What are you doing here?" my mother snapped. The boy, Julian, looked at my cheap clothes with disdain. "No one, Julian, just a... distant relative," my mother quickly said, shielding him from me. My father gave me a hard look. "Go home, Olivia. We' ll talk later." They walked away, leaving me on the cold pavement, the festive sounds from the restaurant mocking my pain. Back in the apartment, tears streaming down my face, I tore the place apart, desperate for answers. I found a hidden compartment in a wooden box: property deeds for luxury condos, stock certificates, and contracts for art sales worth millions. My parents weren't poor; they were immensely rich. They treated Julian with the love and pride I had always craved, while I was their shameful secret, their "distant relative." How could they? All my life, I had sacrificed everything, believing I was helping them escape poverty. My existence was a calculated charade. The truth was inescapable. The next morning, I heard my mother whispering on the phone to Julian: "Don' t worry about her. She doesn' t suspect a thing. We' ll keep it a secret, just like we always have. It' s for your own good, sweetheart." Their entire production, designed to keep me in a cage, was for his benefit. I had to get out.

Introduction

The phone call came at 7 PM on New Year' s Eve. My parents, struggling artists, were missing our countdown again for a "last-minute commission." I, Olivia, stared at a sad frozen pizza, preparing for another lonely night.

But when I went to bring them dinner at their studio, I saw something that made my world tilt: a luxury SUV, my father in a tailored suit, my mother in a stunning gown, and a handsome boy my age. They laughed, a perfect, happy family heading into the city's most expensive restaurant.

When I called out, their smiles vanished, replaced by panic. "What are you doing here?" my mother snapped. The boy, Julian, looked at my cheap clothes with disdain. "No one, Julian, just a... distant relative," my mother quickly said, shielding him from me. My father gave me a hard look. "Go home, Olivia. We' ll talk later." They walked away, leaving me on the cold pavement, the festive sounds from the restaurant mocking my pain.

Back in the apartment, tears streaming down my face, I tore the place apart, desperate for answers. I found a hidden compartment in a wooden box: property deeds for luxury condos, stock certificates, and contracts for art sales worth millions. My parents weren't poor; they were immensely rich. They treated Julian with the love and pride I had always craved, while I was their shameful secret, their "distant relative."

How could they? All my life, I had sacrificed everything, believing I was helping them escape poverty. My existence was a calculated charade. The truth was inescapable. The next morning, I heard my mother whispering on the phone to Julian: "Don' t worry about her. She doesn' t suspect a thing. We' ll keep it a secret, just like we always have. It' s for your own good, sweetheart." Their entire production, designed to keep me in a cage, was for his benefit. I had to get out.

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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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