His Unwanted Wife's Redemption

His Unwanted Wife's Redemption

Gavin

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The poison tasted like bitter almonds and the bitter truth of thirty years. I was Ash Vanderbilt, heir to a fortune, and I lay dying. My husband, Ethan Miller, stood over me, a mask of indifference I'd known for three decades. Thirty years shackled to a man I' d loved with fierce passion, then forced into a marriage he never wanted. Our life together was a wasteland of resentment, his heart always belonging to Brittany Larson. Now, he was finally free. With my last ounce of strength, I lunged, plunging a letter opener into his chest. His gasp was raw, his eyes wide, not with anger, but profound, heartbreaking sorrow. "Ash, no," he choked out, pressing a vial to my lips. "It wasn't me. I was trying to help you. Antidote... someone else..." He slumped beside me, the vial rolling away, his last words echoing as the world went dark. Misunderstanding. A monstrous, colossal misunderstanding. I had just killed the man who had been trying to save me all along. Then, I awoke with a gasp, the scent of salt air filling my lungs. My head throbbed, and the sunlight streamed through the familiar Hamptons beach house window. It was the morning after I had cornered Ethan, leveraging every Vanderbilt debt, forcing him to propose. Thirty years before I died. Rebirth. It was real. I was back. The crushing weight of that final, horrifying revelation pressed down on me. This time, I would break the cycle of misery. I would free him from a marriage he never wanted. And this time, I would choose myself.

Introduction

The poison tasted like bitter almonds and the bitter truth of thirty years.

I was Ash Vanderbilt, heir to a fortune, and I lay dying.

My husband, Ethan Miller, stood over me, a mask of indifference I'd known for three decades.

Thirty years shackled to a man I' d loved with fierce passion, then forced into a marriage he never wanted.

Our life together was a wasteland of resentment, his heart always belonging to Brittany Larson.

Now, he was finally free.

With my last ounce of strength, I lunged, plunging a letter opener into his chest.

His gasp was raw, his eyes wide, not with anger, but profound, heartbreaking sorrow.

"Ash, no," he choked out, pressing a vial to my lips. "It wasn't me. I was trying to help you. Antidote... someone else..."

He slumped beside me, the vial rolling away, his last words echoing as the world went dark.

Misunderstanding. A monstrous, colossal misunderstanding.

I had just killed the man who had been trying to save me all along.

Then, I awoke with a gasp, the scent of salt air filling my lungs.

My head throbbed, and the sunlight streamed through the familiar Hamptons beach house window.

It was the morning after I had cornered Ethan, leveraging every Vanderbilt debt, forcing him to propose.

Thirty years before I died.

Rebirth. It was real. I was back.

The crushing weight of that final, horrifying revelation pressed down on me.

This time, I would break the cycle of misery.

I would free him from a marriage he never wanted.

And this time, I would choose myself.

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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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