Played for Fools: Our Unstoppable Wedding

Played for Fools: Our Unstoppable Wedding

Gavin

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For seven years, I, the lead singer of "Static Bloom," harbored a secret love for our infuriatingly talented guitarist, Jack. Thanksgiving night was supposed to be our night, with his brother Noah also nursing a long-standing crush on my ex-best friend, Olivia. But neither Jack nor Olivia showed up where they were supposed to be. My phone buzzed with an Instagram notification, then a shared post appeared: Jack and Olivia, arms around each other, announcing, "Finally making it official. Happy Thanksgiving! ❤️" The photo, five years old, shattered my world, confirming years of their secret relationship and calculated deception. Jack, who'd recycled love songs for me, and Olivia, who'd used Noah as her dutiful admirer, saw us as naive pawns in their cruel game. Olivia later messaged, gloating and asking if I was "happy" for them, while Jack dismissed my seven years of devotion as "intense." Noah and I met, numb with betrayal, realizing how deeply and deliberately we had been played, their arrogant triumph stinging more than the heartbreak. The sheer audacity of their lies, the way they'd used our unwavering affection as a smokescreen for half a decade, burned with an unbearable injustice. How could they have been so cold, so manipulative, while we poured our hearts out? They truly believed they had won, that they were clever escaping the messy entanglements of their own making. Then, amidst the ashes of our shared misery, Noah looked at me, a wild glint in his eye, and dropped the bomb: "Let's get married, Emily." It was reckless, insane, gloriously petty, and the perfect chaotic revenge. To give them a surprise they wouldn't expect, we decided to tie the knot, turning betrayal into our most unexpected love story.

Introduction

For seven years, I, the lead singer of "Static Bloom," harbored a secret love for our infuriatingly talented guitarist, Jack.

Thanksgiving night was supposed to be our night, with his brother Noah also nursing a long-standing crush on my ex-best friend, Olivia.

But neither Jack nor Olivia showed up where they were supposed to be.

My phone buzzed with an Instagram notification, then a shared post appeared: Jack and Olivia, arms around each other, announcing, "Finally making it official. Happy Thanksgiving! ❤️"

The photo, five years old, shattered my world, confirming years of their secret relationship and calculated deception.

Jack, who'd recycled love songs for me, and Olivia, who'd used Noah as her dutiful admirer, saw us as naive pawns in their cruel game.

Olivia later messaged, gloating and asking if I was "happy" for them, while Jack dismissed my seven years of devotion as "intense."

Noah and I met, numb with betrayal, realizing how deeply and deliberately we had been played, their arrogant triumph stinging more than the heartbreak.

The sheer audacity of their lies, the way they'd used our unwavering affection as a smokescreen for half a decade, burned with an unbearable injustice.

How could they have been so cold, so manipulative, while we poured our hearts out?

They truly believed they had won, that they were clever escaping the messy entanglements of their own making.

Then, amidst the ashes of our shared misery, Noah looked at me, a wild glint in his eye, and dropped the bomb: "Let's get married, Emily."

It was reckless, insane, gloriously petty, and the perfect chaotic revenge.

To give them a surprise they wouldn't expect, we decided to tie the knot, turning betrayal into our most unexpected love story.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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5.0

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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