The Harrison Heir's Vengeance

The Harrison Heir's Vengeance

Gavin

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My Austin estate, usually a haven of quiet luxury, felt like a cage. My engagement to Brooke, stable as the family fortune, was meant to be the next logical step in a life I thought I largely controlled. Then came the primal scream from my throat, wordless in the chill of a nightmare that suddenly, terrifyingly, became real: the heavy thud of our main gate, the crash downstairs signaling intruders, and the glint of steel. I barricaded my mother and myself in my room, listening in horror as my sister, Savannah, dismissed Mom's desperate pleas as "drama" on the phone, accusing me of faking it, while a knife plunged into Mom's chest. Barely escaping with my life and a broken body, I stumbled to my fiancée Brooke for help, only to be branded a liar and brutally whipped by her, Savannah's poisoned words already having turned her against me. How could my own flesh and blood, consumed by jealousy for some pathetic country singer, orchestrate such a savage betrayal, painting me as the villain while my mother bled out? The burning injustice tore through me, mingling with the chilling realization that those I trusted most were the ones who condemned me. But as the sirens approached and a call from the sheriff confirmed the bloody truth and an arrest, a new, cold resolve cemented within me: the naive boy was gone, replaced by a man forged in fire, ready to reclaim his destiny, unmask the true orchestrator, and dismantle the lives of everyone who dared to wrong the Harrisons.

Introduction

My Austin estate, usually a haven of quiet luxury, felt like a cage. My engagement to Brooke, stable as the family fortune, was meant to be the next logical step in a life I thought I largely controlled.

Then came the primal scream from my throat, wordless in the chill of a nightmare that suddenly, terrifyingly, became real: the heavy thud of our main gate, the crash downstairs signaling intruders, and the glint of steel.

I barricaded my mother and myself in my room, listening in horror as my sister, Savannah, dismissed Mom's desperate pleas as "drama" on the phone, accusing me of faking it, while a knife plunged into Mom's chest. Barely escaping with my life and a broken body, I stumbled to my fiancée Brooke for help, only to be branded a liar and brutally whipped by her, Savannah's poisoned words already having turned her against me.

How could my own flesh and blood, consumed by jealousy for some pathetic country singer, orchestrate such a savage betrayal, painting me as the villain while my mother bled out? The burning injustice tore through me, mingling with the chilling realization that those I trusted most were the ones who condemned me.

But as the sirens approached and a call from the sheriff confirmed the bloody truth and an arrest, a new, cold resolve cemented within me: the naive boy was gone, replaced by a man forged in fire, ready to reclaim his destiny, unmask the true orchestrator, and dismantle the lives of everyone who dared to wrong the Harrisons.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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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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