Happily Ever After, Without You

Happily Ever After, Without You

Gavin

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Five years ago, I drove away from Boston, vowing never to look back at the city that had shattered my world. I had meticulously rebuilt my life in Portland, nurturing a freelance design business, a loving marriage with my supportive husband, David, and a joyful life with our son, Leo. But a mandatory design conference now pulled me back, forcing me to confront the ghosts of a past I had believed were long buried. The first ghost appeared in the form of Jessica Bellwether, a former sorority sister, whose familiar laugh cut through the convention center's buzz. She approached me with that same pitying smile, mentioning "him." "He still talks about you," she whispered conspiratorially, her words a deliberate jab. "If you just admitted your mistake, he' d take you back." Mistake? That singular word plunged me back into the nightmare of my own rehearsal dinner. I was there, in a beautiful white dress, standing before two hundred of Boston' s elite, when Ethan Hayes, my fiancé, produced a sheaf of printed messages. He publicly branded me a deceitful woman, twisting my most intimate expressions of grief for my beloved, deceased brother, Mark, into fabricated evidence of a secret lover. Chloe Vance, his ambitious colleague, had orchestrated the deception, and he, in his blind fury and pride, had cast me aside without a single question. My world disintegrated on that elegant ballroom floor, a public execution orchestrated by the man who had promised me forever. How could he have so easily devoured such a monstrous lie, so readily destroying me and the memory of my brother? The sheer unfairness and the profound pain of his betrayal had lingered for half a decade, a scar hidden beneath my newfound peace. Now, Ethan, hearing whispers of my quiet happiness, has tracked me across the country. He' s invaded my serene Portland life, demanding answers, accusing me of abandoning him. His audacious presence has rekindled a righteous anger I swore I' d never feel again. This time, I won' t just walk away; I will speak my truth, and he will finally hear the brutal reality of what he truly did.

Introduction

Five years ago, I drove away from Boston, vowing never to look back at the city that had shattered my world.

I had meticulously rebuilt my life in Portland, nurturing a freelance design business, a loving marriage with my supportive husband, David, and a joyful life with our son, Leo.

But a mandatory design conference now pulled me back, forcing me to confront the ghosts of a past I had believed were long buried.

The first ghost appeared in the form of Jessica Bellwether, a former sorority sister, whose familiar laugh cut through the convention center's buzz.

She approached me with that same pitying smile, mentioning "him."

"He still talks about you," she whispered conspiratorially, her words a deliberate jab.

"If you just admitted your mistake, he' d take you back."

Mistake? That singular word plunged me back into the nightmare of my own rehearsal dinner.

I was there, in a beautiful white dress, standing before two hundred of Boston' s elite, when Ethan Hayes, my fiancé, produced a sheaf of printed messages.

He publicly branded me a deceitful woman, twisting my most intimate expressions of grief for my beloved, deceased brother, Mark, into fabricated evidence of a secret lover.

Chloe Vance, his ambitious colleague, had orchestrated the deception, and he, in his blind fury and pride, had cast me aside without a single question.

My world disintegrated on that elegant ballroom floor, a public execution orchestrated by the man who had promised me forever.

How could he have so easily devoured such a monstrous lie, so readily destroying me and the memory of my brother?

The sheer unfairness and the profound pain of his betrayal had lingered for half a decade, a scar hidden beneath my newfound peace.

Now, Ethan, hearing whispers of my quiet happiness, has tracked me across the country.

He' s invaded my serene Portland life, demanding answers, accusing me of abandoning him.

His audacious presence has rekindled a righteous anger I swore I' d never feel again.

This time, I won' t just walk away; I will speak my truth, and he will finally hear the brutal reality of what he truly did.

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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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