Gavin
3836 Published Stories
Gavin's Books and Stories
Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Mafia 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. Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Mafia I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. Thirty-Eight Divorces, One Betrayal
Modern Today is my fifth wedding anniversary. It's also the day my husband, Ethan, asked me for a divorce for the 38th time.
He does this for Ilene, his childhood friend. The woman who crashed her car on our wedding day, leaving her unable to have children. Ever since, he's been repaying a debt of guilt, and I've been the price.
For five years, I endured the cycle of divorce and remarriage. But this time was different. Ilene pushed me down a flight of stairs.
Ethan found me bleeding and promised me justice. He swore he would make her pay.
But days later, the police called. The security footage of the incident had been mysteriously erased. There was no evidence, no case.
That night, Ilene had me kidnapped. As her men tore at my clothes in the back of a van, I managed to call Ethan.
He rejected my call.
I jumped from the moving van. And as I ran for my life, bleeding on the cold asphalt, I made a vow.
This time, there would be no 39th remarriage.
This time, I would disappear. The 100-Point Divorce Plan
Romance For three years, I documented the slow death of my marriage in a black journal. It was my 100-point divorce plan: for every time my husband, Blake, chose his first love, Ariana, over me, I deducted points. When the score hit zero, I would leave.
The final points vanished the night he left me bleeding out from a car crash. I was eight weeks pregnant with the child we had prayed for.
In the ER, the nurses frantically called him-the star surgeon of the very hospital I was dying in.
"Dr. Santos, we have a Jane Doe, O-negative, bleeding out. She's pregnant, and we're about to lose them both. We need you to authorize an emergency blood transfer."
His voice came over the speaker, cold and impatient.
"I can't. My priority is Miss Whitfield. Do what you can for the patient, but I can't divert anything right now."
He hung up. He condemned his own child to death to ensure his ex-girlfriend had resources on standby after a minor procedure. Unwanted by Him, Chosen by the Stronger Alpha
Werewolf I was the Pack’s shame, a twenty-year-old "Runt" who had never shifted. Yet, I clung to the desperate hope that Alpha Marcus, the man I had loved my entire life, would finally claim me at the Full Moon Gala.
Instead, he stood before the entire Pack with Izzy, a woman who looked at him with hunger rather than love. With eyes as cold as stone, he didn't just ignore me; he destroyed me.
"I, Marcus Thorne, reject you, Olivia Hayes."
The rejection snapped our bond, but the nightmare was just beginning. When Izzy framed me for poisoning her, Marcus didn't hesitate. He chained me in the dungeon and wielded the silver whip himself. Each lash burned like liquid fire, tearing through my skin as he demanded a confession I couldn't give.
I woke up in a pool of my own blood, only to hear the nurse whisper the truth I was never meant to know.
The silver toxicity hadn't just broken my body; it had killed the unborn pup I didn't even know I was carrying.
Marcus had whipped the mother of his own child to protect a liar. He had killed his heir for a woman who was faking her own pregnancy.
That night, as I crawled through the mud to escape, the weak Runt died. In the freezing waters of the river, my bones snapped and reshaped. I didn't just shift; I became the legendary White Wolf.
And when Marcus finally realized the truth and came begging on his knees, I looked at him with my new, violet eyes and prepared to give him the rejection he deserved. Love, Lies, and a Vasectomy
Romance At eight months pregnant, I thought my husband Derek and I had it all. A perfect home, a loving marriage, and our miracle son on the way.
Then, while tidying his office, I found his vasectomy certificate. It was dated a year ago, long before we even started trying.
Confused and panicked, I rushed to his office, only to hear laughter from behind the door. It was Derek and his best friend, Edison.
"I can't believe she still hasn't figured it out," Edison chuckled. "She walks around with that giant belly, glowing like some kind of saint."
My husband's voice, the one that whispered words of love to me every night, was full of contempt. "Patience, my friend. The bigger she gets, the bigger the fall. And the bigger my payout."
He said our entire marriage was a cruel game to destroy me, all for his precious adopted sister, Else.
They were even running a bet on who the real father was.
"So, the bet is still on?" Edison asked. "My money's still on me."
My baby was a trophy in their sick contest. The world tilted on its axis. The love I felt, the family I was building—it was all a sham.
In that moment, a cold, clear decision formed in the ruins of my heart.
I pulled out my phone, my voice surprisingly steady as I called a private clinic.
"Hello," I said. "I need to schedule an appointment. For a termination." Just A Substitute: The Don's Lost Love
Modern I returned to the manor after four years, handing Marcus Thorne an invitation to my wedding.
He looked at me with cold eyes, his arm around his fiancée, Chloe—the woman I was molded to look like.
But the real blow came at lunch.
A waiter tripped, sending three mugs of scalding coffee flying toward us.
Marcus didn't move to protect me.
He lunged to grab his phone from the table because Chloe’s face was on the screen.
The boiling liquid splashed across my chest, burning my skin instantly.
While I screamed in agony, Marcus simply checked his notifications.
"I have to go," he said, stepping over me as my fiancé, David, desperately poured ice water on my burns. "Chloe broke a nail. She's hysterical."
He walked out of the restaurant without looking back, leaving me writhing in pain.
At the hospital, the doctor dropped another bombshell: I was pregnant.
Marcus didn't know.
He didn't know I was carrying another man's child.
Just like he didn't know about the baby of his I had lost three years ago—the one I miscarried while he ignored my calls to close a business deal.
I wiped my tears and looked at David.
"Get the plane ready," I whispered. "We leave tonight."
When Marcus finally came looking for me, all he found was a medical report of the child he killed with his neglect, and a note saying I was gone forever. The Three-Year Lie: Her Sweet Revenge
Romance The day I found out I was pregnant was the same day I learned my three-year relationship was a meticulously crafted lie.
I rushed to surprise my perfect fiancé, Anthony Holden, only to overhear him talking to his twin brother.
"I've endured three years of this farce," he said, his voice cold. "Not once did I touch the woman."
My entire life was a revenge plot for his childhood friend, a woman who bullied me relentlessly in college.
They left me to grieve my grandmother's death alone, subjected me to tortures designed from my deepest fears, and left me for dead-twice.
The man who swore to protect me became my villain, convinced I deserved every moment of pain.
On our wedding day, he stood at the altar, ready to deliver his final, humiliating blow.
He had no idea I was miles away, about to live-stream his confession to the entire world.
My revenge was just beginning. No Longer Your Bridge: The Heiress Awakens
Modern I thought I was the center of Michael’s universe, carrying the heir to his shipping empire. That illusion shattered the day I found his journal.
It turned out I was just a "vessel" to launder money, while his "cousin" Selena was his true love.
The cruelty peaked at lunch. When a tureen of scalding lobster bisque tipped over, Michael didn't lunge for his pregnant wife.
He threw his body over Selena to protect her silk dress.
The boiling soup soaked my stomach. As I screamed in agony, feeling the life slip from my womb, Michael only glared at me.
"Stop making a scene, Liv! It would have ruined her outfit."
That fall killed his son. But I didn't tell him.
Instead, I watched him panic when Selena went into kidney failure days later. He begged me to get tested as a donor.
"She's family, Liv. Please."
I asked him, "If it were me dying, would you ask her to cut herself open?"
"No," he whispered. "I wouldn't let anyone hurt her."
That was the answer I needed.
I agreed to the test just to distract him.
While he liquidated his entire fortune to buy her a black-market organ, I finalized the divorce, emptied the accounts, and vanished.
I left him with nothing but a medical report on his desk: *Fetal Demise due to abdominal trauma.*
He saved her dress. But he killed his heir. Just A Substitute: The Wife He Failed
Modern At the family dinner, the waiter stumbled, sending a tray of boiling onion soup flying toward the table.
My husband, Marcus, moved instantly.
But not for me.
He threw his body over my cousin Chloe, shielding her completely in his arms.
I was left exposed. The scalding liquid hit my chest and arm, burning my skin instantly.
While I screamed in agony on the floor, Marcus was frantically checking Chloe for scratches, whispering, "Thank God it missed you. You are more important than her. Always."
In the hospital, he handed me a check for fifty thousand dollars.
"It was an instinct," he said, avoiding my eyes. "Don't make a scene."
He didn't notice my hollow expression.
He didn't ask why the doctors were looking at him with pity.
And he certainly didn't know that the shock and trauma had caused me to miscarry our six-week-old baby.
For four years, I had been his perfect doll. I dressed like Chloe, painted like Chloe, and waited for him to love me.
I thought I was his wife.
I didn't realize I was just a placeholder until he sacrificed our child to save his true love from a splash of soup.
When he left to comfort Chloe again, I pulled the IV from my arm.
I placed the signed divorce papers on the bedside table.
Underneath them, I left the medical report confirming the miscarriage of his child.
Then, I vanished. He Promised Forever, Then Left Me
Modern After the crash that killed my parents and stole my voice, my childhood friend Josiah swore he would be my voice. For years, I believed him, my silent world revolving around the boy who pulled me from the wreckage. I was even relearning to speak, just for him.
Then I overheard the truth. To his friends, I was just the "town tragedy girl," a burden he was tired of carrying.
The cruelty didn't stop. He let his new girlfriend publicly humiliate me, and when she faked an injury, he forced me to my knees to apologize in front of everyone.
The final betrayal came during a storm. He abandoned me in the woods, deaf without my hearing aids, leaving me to face the same terror that shattered my life years ago. He chose her.
He broke his promise. He broke me.
So I left. I found my own voice, my own strength. Three years later, I returned for my first art exhibition, and when I saw his face in the crowd, I knew he was about to hear everything he'd forced me to keep silent. The Waitress Is Actually The Mafia Queen
Mafia I spent a year scrubbing floors in my fiancé’s club, hiding my identity as the daughter of the Capo dei Capi.
I needed to know if Connor Bishop was a King worth merging empires with, or just a puppet.
The answer came walking in wearing a neon pink dress.
Jaden Juarez, a civilian he was infatuated with, didn't just treat me like a servant; she deliberately poured scalding espresso over my hand because I refused to be her valet.
The pain was blinding, my skin blistering instantly.
I video-called Connor, showing him the burn, expecting him to enforce the code of our world.
Instead, seeing his investors watching, he panicked.
He chose to sacrifice me to save face.
"Get on your knees," he roared through the speaker. "Beg her pardon. Show her the respect she deserves."
He wanted the daughter of the most dangerous man on the East Coast to kneel to his mistress.
He thought he was showing strength.
He didn't realize he was looking at a woman who could burn his entire world to ash with a single phone call.
I didn't cry. I didn't beg.
I simply hung up the phone and locked the kitchen doors.
Then, I dialed the one number everyone in the underworld feared.
"Dad," I said, my voice cold as steel. "Code Black. Bring the papers."
"And send the wolves." Ten Years a Ward
Modern For ten years, I secretly loved my guardian, Ethan Hayes. After my family fell apart, he took me in and raised me. He was my entire world.
On my eighteenth birthday, I gathered all my courage to confess my love to him.
But his reaction was a fury I had never seen before. He swept my birthday cake to the floor and roared, "Are you insane? I am your GUARDIAN!"
He then mercilessly tore the painting I had spent a year on-my confession-to shreds.
Just days later, he brought home his fiancée, Chloe.
The man who had promised to wait for me to grow up, who called me his brightest star, had vanished. My decade of desperate, burning love had only managed to burn myself.
The person who was supposed to protect me had become the one who hurt me the most.
I looked down at the NYU acceptance letter in my hand. I had to leave. I had to pull him out of my heart, no matter how much it hurt.
I picked up the phone and dialed my father's number.
"Dad," I said, my voice hoarse, "I've decided. I want to come be with you in New York." Heiress Betrayed: My Sweet Revenge Wedding
Modern For seven years, I hid my identity as a wealthy heiress to be with my boyfriend, Ewing. I followed him across the country and made myself small so he could feel big.
On Thanksgiving, he ditched our celebration for his first love, Bree, who supposedly had a "burst pipe."
Later, she posted an intimate selfie with him, calling him her "hero."
Then she sent me a video of him at a bar, laughing with his friends.
"She's just being dramatic," he slurred, smirking at the camera. "A new necklace and she'll forget all about it. She's easy."
Easy. Seven years of my life, my love, my sacrifice-all reduced to that one word. I realized I was never his partner. I was just a placeholder.
I didn't cry. I packed my bags, booked a one-way flight to New York, and sent him one final text before blocking his number.
"Don't bother coming home. I'm getting married." You Chose Her: Now Watch Me Leave
Modern I was the Hayes heiress, the silent engine behind my husband’s startup, and the woman carrying his child.
But while I sat in the waiting room, rubbing my six-month-pregnant belly, Michael was on Instagram posting a photo of his "friend" Selena’s baby with the caption: *My little Prince, Michael II.*
He claimed it was a joke. He claimed I was hormonal.
But when Selena fell ill with leukemia, the mask finally slipped.
He didn't just ask me to get tested for a bone marrow transplant; he begged me to cut myself open for the woman who treated me like an intruder in my own marriage.
I asked him the only question that mattered: "If we were both dying, who would you save?"
He didn't hesitate. "Selena."
He lied to me about a business trip to Singapore so he could donate his kidney to her. He wanted to be her hero.
He didn't know that while he was under anesthesia saving her, I was alone in a cold hospital room, losing our baby.
When he finally woke up, expecting my devotion, he found the villa stripped bare.
On his desk sat a signed divorce decree and a medical report: *Fetal Demise.*
Underneath, I left one final note: *He would have had your eyes. But you were too busy looking at her.*
I didn't just leave him. I took my money, erased my existence, and vanished into thin air. The Substitute Wife Escapes Her Gilded Cage
Mafia Everyone thought I was the pampered queen of Marcus D’Angelo, New York's most feared Don. But I was just a placeholder for the woman he couldn't have: his cousin, Izzy.
The truth shattered everything at a family dinner. A waiter tripped, sending a tureen of scalding soup flying toward the table.
Without a second of hesitation, Marcus threw himself over Izzy to shield her.
He left me exposed.
The boiling liquid seared my legs, but the real agony was watching him cradle her face, checking for scratches, while I screamed on the floor.
"In my hierarchy of pain," he later told her, ignoring my burns, "her death is an inconvenience. A scratch on you is a tragedy."
He didn't know that while he was comforting her over a bruise, I was in emergency surgery losing our unborn child.
When I woke up, he didn't ask about me. He didn't ask about the baby he didn't know existed. instead, he asked if I would donate blood to help Izzy recover.
That was the moment the old Liv died.
I signed the divorce papers with a steady hand.
And inside the envelope with the legal documents, I tucked a single, devastating medical report.
*Diagnosis: Spontaneous Abortion. Cause: Trauma.*
I left it on his desk and disappeared into the night.
By the time he realizes he sacrificed his own heir to save his mistress, I will be a ghost he can never touch again. The Ninety-Ninth Goodbye
Young Adult The ninety-ninth time Jax Little broke my heart was the last time. We were the golden couple of Northgate High, our future perfectly mapped out for UCLA. But in our senior year, he fell for a new girl, Catalina, and our love story became a sick, exhausting dance of his betrayals and my empty threats to leave.
At a graduation party, Catalina "accidentally" pulled me into the pool with her. Jax dove in without a second's hesitation. He swam right past me as I struggled, wrapped his arms around Catalina, and pulled her to safety.
As he helped her out to the cheers of his friends, he glanced back at me, my body shivering and my mascara running in black rivers.
"Your life isn't my problem anymore," he said, his voice as cold as the water I was drowning in.
That night, something inside me finally shattered. I went home, opened my laptop, and clicked the button that confirmed my admission.
Not to UCLA with him, but to NYU, an entire country away. 
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