Her Two Lives: From Maine to Manhattan

Her Two Lives: From Maine to Manhattan

Gavin

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I was a simple fisherman from Maine. I saved a girl named Izzy from a shipwreck, and in her amnesia, we built a pure, simple love. We promised each other forever by the salty sea. Years later, the woman who looked exactly like my Izzy, now the formidable heiress Isabelle Sterling, summoned me to New York. But this Isabelle was cold, distant, and chillingly allowed her aggressive fiancé, Preston, to repeatedly brutalize me. She kept me confined in her luxurious penthouse, a gilded cage far from my home. Preston had me beaten in an alley, smashed my jaw, and even framed me for assault, sending me to Rikers Island for a brutal month. Isabelle watched, seemingly unmoved, later bringing me back only to keep me under her watchful eye. My health was failing, constant headaches and blurred vision plaguing me, but I clung to the hope that my real Izzy was truly out there, fighting for her family, plotting our reunion. "My Izzy would never abandon me," I' d whisper, constantly denying this powerful, callous Isabelle was the girl I loved. Why was she letting this happen to me? Was the Izzy I knew gone, or just buried under layers of New York ambition? Then, at a glittering gala, as Isabelle triumphantly exposed Preston' s crimes and shockingly announced our engagement, he screamed the devastating truth: "She IS Izzy! She abandoned you for power! And she' s using you again!" The world spun, my carefully constructed reality crumbled, and the full weight of her betrayal, coupled with a crushing pain, brought me to my knees.

Introduction

I was a simple fisherman from Maine.

I saved a girl named Izzy from a shipwreck, and in her amnesia, we built a pure, simple love.

We promised each other forever by the salty sea.

Years later, the woman who looked exactly like my Izzy, now the formidable heiress Isabelle Sterling, summoned me to New York.

But this Isabelle was cold, distant, and chillingly allowed her aggressive fiancé, Preston, to repeatedly brutalize me.

She kept me confined in her luxurious penthouse, a gilded cage far from my home.

Preston had me beaten in an alley, smashed my jaw, and even framed me for assault, sending me to Rikers Island for a brutal month.

Isabelle watched, seemingly unmoved, later bringing me back only to keep me under her watchful eye.

My health was failing, constant headaches and blurred vision plaguing me, but I clung to the hope that my real Izzy was truly out there, fighting for her family, plotting our reunion.

"My Izzy would never abandon me," I' d whisper, constantly denying this powerful, callous Isabelle was the girl I loved.

Why was she letting this happen to me?

Was the Izzy I knew gone, or just buried under layers of New York ambition?

Then, at a glittering gala, as Isabelle triumphantly exposed Preston' s crimes and shockingly announced our engagement, he screamed the devastating truth: "She IS Izzy! She abandoned you for power! And she' s using you again!"

The world spun, my carefully constructed reality crumbled, and the full weight of her betrayal, coupled with a crushing pain, brought me to my knees.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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4.5

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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