The Scent of His Vengeance

The Scent of His Vengeance

Gavin

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I was Liam Hayes' s human diffuser, a vessel for a scent he owned, a living reminder of his mother' s tragic death that he blamed on my family. Tonight, I watched him with Chloe Thompson, hidden in the shadows where he told me to wait. Then, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. It was happening again. The baby, our seventh, was only three months along, but I knew the signs. Liam' s smile vanished when his eyes found mine. He dragged me to our bedroom, screaming, "You are useless, Ava!" He paced like a caged animal, snarling, "I gave you one job, and you can' t even do that." He wanted me to suffer, to feel the same emptiness his mother felt, for the rest of my life. The next day, he paraded me at a gala, a trophy for his business associates to touch. He said, "She' s all for you tonight, Marcus. Enjoy." As Marcus' s hands roamed, Liam whispered, "I own you. Your body, your scent, your shame. This is what Monroes deserve." I had lost seven children, seven tiny sparks of hope. Chloe, the woman for whom my babies' "essence" was harvested, gloated over my most recent loss, wanting to use my dead son' s ashes for a ritual bath. My grief turned to rage. "They were my children!" I screamed, clutching the urn to my chest. "Let them rest in peace!" But she threw it, and Daniel' s ashes spilled into the birdbath, dissolving into murky water. I cradled my hands, bleeding as I tried to scoop them up, when Liam appeared, his face a thunderous mask. "You dare to lay a hand on her?" he growled, fueled by Chloe' s lies. "What do I owe you, Liam?" I asked, a cold clarity settling over me. "I have given you my body, my scent, my children. What more do you want?" He grabbed me by the throat, squeezing. "I want your soul. I want you to suffer until you beg for a death I will never grant you." As the world faded, I welcomed the darkness, whispering my children' s names. He released me, then ripped my dress, exposing me to the guards. "Do what you want. Let everyone see what a Monroe is worth." Something snapped. I ran, throwing myself in front of a truck. This time, I would choose my own ending.

Introduction

I was Liam Hayes' s human diffuser, a vessel for a scent he owned, a living reminder of his mother' s tragic death that he blamed on my family. Tonight, I watched him with Chloe Thompson, hidden in the shadows where he told me to wait.

Then, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. It was happening again. The baby, our seventh, was only three months along, but I knew the signs.

Liam' s smile vanished when his eyes found mine. He dragged me to our bedroom, screaming, "You are useless, Ava!" He paced like a caged animal, snarling, "I gave you one job, and you can' t even do that." He wanted me to suffer, to feel the same emptiness his mother felt, for the rest of my life. The next day, he paraded me at a gala, a trophy for his business associates to touch. He said, "She' s all for you tonight, Marcus. Enjoy." As Marcus' s hands roamed, Liam whispered, "I own you. Your body, your scent, your shame. This is what Monroes deserve."

I had lost seven children, seven tiny sparks of hope. Chloe, the woman for whom my babies' "essence" was harvested, gloated over my most recent loss, wanting to use my dead son' s ashes for a ritual bath.

My grief turned to rage. "They were my children!" I screamed, clutching the urn to my chest. "Let them rest in peace!" But she threw it, and Daniel' s ashes spilled into the birdbath, dissolving into murky water. I cradled my hands, bleeding as I tried to scoop them up, when Liam appeared, his face a thunderous mask. "You dare to lay a hand on her?" he growled, fueled by Chloe' s lies.

"What do I owe you, Liam?" I asked, a cold clarity settling over me. "I have given you my body, my scent, my children. What more do you want?" He grabbed me by the throat, squeezing. "I want your soul. I want you to suffer until you beg for a death I will never grant you." As the world faded, I welcomed the darkness, whispering my children' s names. He released me, then ripped my dress, exposing me to the guards. "Do what you want. Let everyone see what a Monroe is worth." Something snapped. I ran, throwing myself in front of a truck. This time, I would choose my own ending.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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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