The Dying Wife's Last Revenge

The Dying Wife's Last Revenge

Gavin

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My doctor' s words echoed: rare, aggressive cancer. My husband, Mark, squeezed my hand, his politician's smile unconvincing. Then came the sliver of hope: an exclusive experimental program. But my sympathetic specialist, Dr. Ramirez, also mentioned my adopted sister, Jessica, suffering from a "severe, debilitating" flu aftermath. Mark, backed by my parents, didn't hesitate. They deemed frail Jessica more deserving of the treatment, claiming I was "strong." I watched as my only chance was handed over to her. It wasn't enough. Soon, Mark asked for a divorce to marry Jessica, citing her "stability" and "Leo' s future." My life' s work, my beloved bakery chain, signed over. My son, Leo, began calling Jessica "Mom." Even as my body screamed warnings – nosebleeds, fainting – they dismissed them, telling me to stop being "dramatic" and "upsetting Jessica." How could they be so utterly blind? So consumed by their self-serving narratives, so deaf to my silent screams? I was dying, yet they only saw a "strong" woman who needed to be "sensible" and give everything away. But then, Dr. Ramirez slipped me an unmarked vial: an experimental analgesic, three days of perfect health before a painful end. Three days to look fine, feel normal. Three days for my ultimate plan. My revenge would be served cold, from beyond the grave.

Introduction

My doctor' s words echoed: rare, aggressive cancer.

My husband, Mark, squeezed my hand, his politician's smile unconvincing.

Then came the sliver of hope: an exclusive experimental program.

But my sympathetic specialist, Dr. Ramirez, also mentioned my adopted sister, Jessica, suffering from a "severe, debilitating" flu aftermath.

Mark, backed by my parents, didn't hesitate.

They deemed frail Jessica more deserving of the treatment, claiming I was "strong."

I watched as my only chance was handed over to her.

It wasn't enough.

Soon, Mark asked for a divorce to marry Jessica, citing her "stability" and "Leo' s future."

My life' s work, my beloved bakery chain, signed over.

My son, Leo, began calling Jessica "Mom."

Even as my body screamed warnings – nosebleeds, fainting – they dismissed them, telling me to stop being "dramatic" and "upsetting Jessica."

How could they be so utterly blind?

So consumed by their self-serving narratives, so deaf to my silent screams?

I was dying, yet they only saw a "strong" woman who needed to be "sensible" and give everything away.

But then, Dr. Ramirez slipped me an unmarked vial: an experimental analgesic, three days of perfect health before a painful end.

Three days to look fine, feel normal.

Three days for my ultimate plan.

My revenge would be served cold, from beyond the grave.

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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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