Laila3793021
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Gaslit By Him, Reborn From Ashes
Xiao Wang I have a deadly peanut allergy, but my fiancé Jason's childhood best friend Kelly thinks I'm just making a big deal out of nothing.
Under the guise of "treatment," she deliberately poured peanut oil into my soup, sending me straight to the ICU in anaphylactic shock.
And Jason didn't defend me at all — instead, he emotionally manipulated me, saying she "meant well."
While I was fighting for my life, they secretly moved away and stole my multi-million-dollar matcha café brand, putting Kelly in charge.
When I went to confront them, Jason's family surrounded me and threatened me — I couldn't leave unless I ate a bowl of noodles with peanut oil.
I was forced to eat that bowl of noodles, which resulted in a stomach perforation, and I nearly died again.
I couldn't understand how the man who once supported my dreams could watch me struggle in agony and still call me "hard to please."
In his eyes, my love and my life were worthless — nothing compared to his sick loyalty to her.
After the surgery, I didn't shed another tear.
I called my lawyer. Let the full-scale legal battle begin! Broken Hand, Unbroken Architect's Spirit
Priority I poured everything I had into it—staked my entire life's plan—all for one thing: building a perfect future with my fiancé. But everything I'd given my whole heart to, everything I'd raced toward with everything I had, couldn't withstand the betrayal he'd hidden in the shadows.
He stole my pendant and my wedding gown and gave them to the female student he'd secretly been infatuated with.
I threw myself forward, desperate to take back what was rightfully and entirely mine. But for that woman, he swept an entire row of clothing racks crashing down. The hard metal frame slammed into my arm, shattering it completely.
My career as a gold-medal architect—something I'd guarded and built for years—was destroyed in that single moment. My chance to stand at the summit of my industry was gone forever.
Bone-deep, searing pain tore through my body. I clutched my ruined arm, every last shred of restraint crumbling, and I wept in utter despair.
But he just stood there, holding that female student's hand, and pronounced my verdict from on high: "Your hand is finished. You'll never be an architect again. From now on, Ariel will take your place."
And then I understood. Through all those long years of sharing a life together, I had never been his one and only. I was nothing but a substitute—one that could be replaced at any time.
So on the day of the wedding that was supposed to be ours, I walked into the ceremony hall step by step, arm-in-arm with the childhood friend who'd grown up beside me.