Revenge Is Sweet When Love Dies

Gavin

Romance | Completed

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I gave up a life in London for my high school sweetheart, Blake Shaw. He repaid me by leaving me to be trampled by a panicked crowd while he saved another girl. That was just the beginning. His obsession with being a hero to the fragile transfer student, Kris Gray, became a slow poison. He abandoned me during dates, gave me food I was deathly allergic to, and ignored my screams for help when I was assaulted. Each time he chose her, it was another cut, until I was raw and bleeding. The end came when he believed her most vicious lie. He looked at me with cold certainty as he called the police, framing me for a crime I didn't commit. I watched from the back of the cop car as he held her, the hero protecting his damsel from the monster he had made me into. My love didn't just break that day; it turned to dust. My family wiped the charges and put me on the next jet to London. I never looked back. Until now. Five years later, I'm back, and Blake is about to learn that some choices come with consequences you can never outrun.

Betrayal Solitude Love triangle Childhood love Personal growth

Chapter 14

11-04 09:30

Chapter 1

I gave up my dream art school in London for my boyfriend, Blake.

But when I was trampled by a panicked crowd, he let go of my hand to save another girl.

When our car plunged into a river, he looked me in the eyes, then turned and swam away to save her instead.

The news called him a hero, while he had me arrested based on her lies.

Five years later, I'm one of the most sought-after artists in the world, and my first seven-figure commission just came from him.

He thinks his money can buy me back.

Chapter 1

Elisabeth Hall POV:

The first time Blake Shaw chose another woman over me, I was trampled by a panicked crowd.

It was the Sun Down music festival, our bodies pressed so close together in the swaying, euphoric sea of people that I couldn't tell where I ended and he began.

Blake's arm was a familiar, solid weight around my waist, anchoring me in the chaos.

"See?" he murmured into my ear, his breath warm against my skin, smelling faintly of beer and the summer night.

"A perfect night."

It was.

It was the easy, comfortable rhythm of our love, a love so certain and deep-rooted it felt like the bedrock of my entire world.

A year ago, I'd stared at a full scholarship acceptance letter to my dream art school in London, the Slade School of Fine Art, and I had turned it down.

I turned it down for this, for him, for a future I never had to question.

Then, a fight broke out near the stage. A bottle smashed.

The crowd surged backward like a single, terrified organism, a human tidal wave, and my feet tangled beneath me. I lost my footing.

"Blake, I'm falling!" I screamed, my hand, slick with sweat, slipping from his.

His grip loosened. For a fraction of a second, he held on, but his eyes were already scanning the chaos, looking past me.

"Just a second, Lis," he said, his voice strained. "I think I see Kris."

Kris Gray. The transfer student. The living, breathing embodiment of the drama our comfortable, predictable life lacked.

Three months ago, she'd swerved her car into a ditch to avoid hitting his truck, and in that instant, she became his personal project, his exciting, broken toy that needed fixing.

His arm was gone.

He was moving away from me, a swift, decisive movement toward her. He was choosing her.

I hit the ground hard.

Pain exploded in my ankle, a sickening, grinding pop that I felt all the way up to my teeth. The world dissolved into a nightmare of stomping feet and suffocating darkness.

I curled into a ball, my arms over my head, but all I could see in my mind's eye was Blake's back as he disappeared into the throng to save someone else.

Later, in the suffocating heat of the medical tent, a paramedic wrapping my swollen ankle, I called him.

His voice was distant, distracted by Kris's soft, theatrical whimpering in the background. "Shit, Lis, I'm so sorry. I can't get there right now. Kris is having a massive panic attack."

"Blake, my ankle is broken," I choked out, the words thick with pain and disbelief. "The paramedic said it's a clean break."

"I know," he insisted, his voice impatient, "but she's really losing it."

Through the phone, I heard her pathetic, cloying whine, "Blake, please don't leave me. I can't breathe without you."

"I've got to go, Lis," he said, the finality in his tone like a slap.

The line went dead.

The next day, he showed up at my door. He wasn't holding flowers. He was holding a small, velvet box from Tiffany's. Inside was a diamond tennis bracelet that cost more than my first car.

His eyes were wide, not with guilt for my pain, but with a raw, animal panic. It was the look of a man who sees his perfectly planned future about to go up in flames.

"I'm so sorry, Lis," he said, his voice shaking as he fumbled with the clasp around my wrist. The diamonds felt cold against my skin. "It will never happen again. It's you. It's always been you. You know that, right?"

I looked at the diamonds sparkling on my wrist, a glittering apology for his abandonment. I looked at the sheer terror in his eyes.

And I chose to believe him.

I mistook his fear of losing his perfect future for a testament to his love for me.