To be loved right

To be loved right

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Michelle never imagined her one-year relationship with Greyson would end so abruptly. The painful truth was that the relationship dissolved because Greyson was best friends with her own sister, Flora. He constantly compared the two girls, making it painfully obvious that he favored Flora. Caught in the middle, Michelle tried desperately to please them both, but Greyson never saw her worth. He ended their relationship with cruel insults, leaving Michelle utterly heartbroken and depressed. But as she struggled to rebuild her life, she stumbled upon the world-famous artist Jace Konvensky (JK). Through their unexpected connection, Konvensky began to show her how amazing it feels to be genuinely loved and valued for who she is.

Chapter 1 HEARTBROKEN

In a dimly lit room, Michelle sat motionless on the edge of her bed, her gaze distant and unfocused. Her breathing was so shallow she could have been mistaken for a lifeless person. Memories of her past relationship with Greyson flooded back like a recurring nightmare, the raw pain still lingering, a physical weight in her chest.

Michelle bit down hard on her pale lips, fighting a physical reaction as images of their time together rushed back. Her body began shaking violently as she tried to suppress the heartbreaking scream that threatened to tear itself from her throat.

Why would love be so cruel to her? Why would Greyson leave her just like that? And why couldn't he love her the way she had loved him? The relentless questions swirled in her mind, with no one to answer them. Michelle's fists clenched tightly at her sides, and she felt a surge of anger and frustration. She hated herself for being too soft, too kind-hearted. She hated herself for loving Greyson as deeply and foolishly as she did.

Pushing herself up from the bed to wipe away her tears, Michelle caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. The woman reflected there was a ghost of the stunning beauty she once was. Now she looked haggard, with dark, bruised circles under her eyes and a sallow, pale complexion. She let out a deep, shuddering sigh, the sound echoing through the empty room.

With a heavy heart, Michelle began to change out of her worn-out clothes. The soft fabric of her new outfit-a simple dress she barely registered buying-offered a gentle, fleeting comfort against her skin. She moved mechanically, her actions devoid of enthusiasm or purpose. As she finished dressing, she caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror and felt a sharp pang of disappointment. She used to be a girl full of life and energy, but now she was merely a shadow of her former self.

Greyson's final words echoed in her ears, making her feel like her heart was being ripped out all over again: "You're obsessed with me. I want a girl like your sister; she has always been my crush."

Did he really have to say such hurtful words to her? She wondered, wrapping her arms around herself.

The sharp sound of her phone buzzing broke the heavy silence. Michelle hesitated for a moment before picking it up. She glanced at the screen, and her heart gave a painful jolt as she saw Greyson's name flashing on the display. For a split second, she was tempted to ignore the call, to pretend she wasn't available. But something inside her-a desperate, foolish hope-compelled her to answer, to see what he wanted.

"Hello?" Michelle's voice was cautious, guarded.

"Hey, Michelle. I was just checking in on you," Greyson's voice came through the speaker. It sounded friendly enough, but Michelle detected a faint, underlying hint of sarcasm.

"I'm fine," Michelle replied, her voice flat and emotionless. She didn't know what else to say; she didn't know how to pretend like everything was okay when it wasn't.

"Michelle, can we talk?" Greyson's voice was full of a familiar, irritating authority, and for a fleeting moment, Michelle felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe he had realized his feelings for her; maybe he wanted to make things work between them after all. But before she could respond, Greyson continued, "I think we need to talk about your sister. She's been really upset about us. What did you say to her? I don't want her to get hurt."

Michelle's heart sank like a stone, and she felt a wave of cold anger wash over her. So, it was about her sister again. It was always about her sister.

"There's nothing to talk about, Greyson," Michelle's voice was cold, detached, and final. "You made your choice, and I respect that. And I did not say anything to her, so don't call me again, okay?"

There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line. For a moment, Michelle wondered if Greyson would say something-anything-to make things right between them. But the line went dead, the silence returning, leaving Michelle standing there feeling more profoundly alone than ever before. She took a deep, steadying breath.

Maybe it was time to move on, to finally leave the heartbreak and the memories of Greyson behind. But as she looked at her reflection in the mirror one last time, Michelle couldn't shake off the feeling that she was still trapped in the past, stuck in the memories of what could have been.

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Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

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I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

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