The Scorned Fiance: Reclaiming His Crown

The Scorned Fiance: Reclaiming His Crown

Gavin

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I barely had two pennies to rub together, living in a small back-house room the Petersons let me use, but at least I had Tiffany. Tiffany Peterson, my beautiful fiancée, was my world. That was, until she didn't come home from whatever party she' d gone to. The next morning, Julian Astor III, New York' s notorious playboy, appeared. He smirked, waving Tiffany's silk scarf in my face. "Found it in my penthouse this morning. Tiffany left in a bit of a hurry. You'll be seeing a lot more of her." Tiffany confirmed it all, not a trace of remorse on her face. Our engagement? "A formality, darling. Julian is my future." Later, Julian returned to my room, his goons beating my only friend, Mike, just for asking questions. Julian then detailed intimate acts with Tiffany, twisting the knife. When I confronted the Petersons, my adoptive parents, they sneered: "You're a nobody, Alex. An orphan we took in out of charity. You will go along with it." My supposed family, the people who raised me, were selling me out, orchestrating my humiliation for their social climb. My world shattered. How could this be happening? The woman I loved, my adoptive family, all conspiring to humiliate and discard me like trash. Why? What had I ever done to deserve such betrayal and cruelty? Broken and devoid of hope, I started packing my worn duffel bag – the only thing left from my parents. Then, something fell out: a faded photograph of a woman with my eyes, wearing a unique crescent-moon pendant. A stranger named Chloe Vanderbilt later saw it and whispered of "a prominent family, a lost heir, connected by a crescent symbol." Was there more to my past than I knew? And could this secret be my only way out of this nightmare?

Introduction

I barely had two pennies to rub together, living in a small back-house room the Petersons let me use, but at least I had Tiffany.

Tiffany Peterson, my beautiful fiancée, was my world.

That was, until she didn't come home from whatever party she' d gone to.

The next morning, Julian Astor III, New York' s notorious playboy, appeared.

He smirked, waving Tiffany's silk scarf in my face.

"Found it in my penthouse this morning. Tiffany left in a bit of a hurry. You'll be seeing a lot more of her."

Tiffany confirmed it all, not a trace of remorse on her face.

Our engagement? "A formality, darling. Julian is my future."

Later, Julian returned to my room, his goons beating my only friend, Mike, just for asking questions.

Julian then detailed intimate acts with Tiffany, twisting the knife.

When I confronted the Petersons, my adoptive parents, they sneered: "You're a nobody, Alex. An orphan we took in out of charity. You will go along with it."

My supposed family, the people who raised me, were selling me out, orchestrating my humiliation for their social climb.

My world shattered.

How could this be happening?

The woman I loved, my adoptive family, all conspiring to humiliate and discard me like trash.

Why?

What had I ever done to deserve such betrayal and cruelty?

Broken and devoid of hope, I started packing my worn duffel bag – the only thing left from my parents.

Then, something fell out: a faded photograph of a woman with my eyes, wearing a unique crescent-moon pendant.

A stranger named Chloe Vanderbilt later saw it and whispered of "a prominent family, a lost heir, connected by a crescent symbol."

Was there more to my past than I knew?

And could this secret be my only way out of this nightmare?

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Mafia

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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