The Perfect Daughter's Secret

The Perfect Daughter's Secret

Gavin

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My mother, a medical examiner, sees death every day. Yet, for ten years, she never truly saw me, not after my father' s tragic death, which she relentlessly blamed on me. Instead, all her love was lavished upon Chloe, the perfect daughter, my shining replacement. On my 21st birthday, Chloe sent men to abduct me. With a phone pressed to my ear, a hiss on the other end commanded me to beg my mother for a birthday meeting. Liv' s response was a chilling dismissal, a final accusation regarding my father' s death, and then echoing silence. Soon after, I became a Jane Doe, dismembered and stuffed into a duffel bag, delivered directly to my mother' s morgue. I watched, an unseen ghost, as her meticulous, gloved hands pieced together my violated body. She didn't flinch, my own mother, just saw a case, a victim, nothing more. Anguish, a useless emotion for a ghost, consumed me. As Liv worked, I relived Chloe' s whispered taunts: "He always liked you best, Sarah. Even dead, he liked you best." Chloe, the one who orchestrated my father's boating 'accident' and then meticulously murdered me, went home to my mother' s continued praise and love. Meanwhile, I lay in pieces on a cold steel table, under my mother' s unseeing eyes. But a small, silver dolphin pendant, my father' s last gift, sent back to my mother with a severed hand and a lock of shocking pink hair, ultimately ripped through her carefully constructed blindness. It was a macabre gift, a final, undeniable piece of a monstrous truth linking her perfect daughter, my father' s death, and my own brutal end. The story wasn' t over; it was just beginning.

Introduction

My mother, a medical examiner, sees death every day.

Yet, for ten years, she never truly saw me, not after my father' s tragic death, which she relentlessly blamed on me.

Instead, all her love was lavished upon Chloe, the perfect daughter, my shining replacement.

On my 21st birthday, Chloe sent men to abduct me.

With a phone pressed to my ear, a hiss on the other end commanded me to beg my mother for a birthday meeting.

Liv' s response was a chilling dismissal, a final accusation regarding my father' s death, and then echoing silence.

Soon after, I became a Jane Doe, dismembered and stuffed into a duffel bag, delivered directly to my mother' s morgue.

I watched, an unseen ghost, as her meticulous, gloved hands pieced together my violated body.

She didn't flinch, my own mother, just saw a case, a victim, nothing more.

Anguish, a useless emotion for a ghost, consumed me.

As Liv worked, I relived Chloe' s whispered taunts: "He always liked you best, Sarah. Even dead, he liked you best."

Chloe, the one who orchestrated my father's boating 'accident' and then meticulously murdered me, went home to my mother' s continued praise and love.

Meanwhile, I lay in pieces on a cold steel table, under my mother' s unseeing eyes.

But a small, silver dolphin pendant, my father' s last gift, sent back to my mother with a severed hand and a lock of shocking pink hair, ultimately ripped through her carefully constructed blindness.

It was a macabre gift, a final, undeniable piece of a monstrous truth linking her perfect daughter, my father' s death, and my own brutal end.

The story wasn' t over; it was just beginning.

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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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