From Torment to Triumph

From Torment to Triumph

Gavin

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For seven years, my husband Jake, a firefighter captain, made our home a tomb. He blamed me for his high school sweetheart Chloe's death in a wildfire, a fire where he "saved" me only because I was pregnant with his son. His constant accusations and cold silence were a living hell. Then, he announced he was using the "Second Chance Program"-an experimental time travel initiative-to go back to that fire. "I have to save her," he said, and with those words, he was erasing our entire life. His final jab, "Why would I have saved you if I didn't worry Chloe would be judged?" echoed the universal blame I already carried. In the rewritten timeline, the nightmare only deepened. He chose Chloe, ran me over with his truck, causing a miscarriage, and then left me bleeding in the inferno. He prioritized Chloe's dog's 'trauma' over my injuries, dismissed my pain as 'faking it,' and starved me, literally taking bread from my tray to feed Chloe's endless demands. How could the man who swore to protect me become this cruel stranger, constantly choosing a manipulating ghost over his wife and unborn child? And then he asked, "How do I even know it's mine?"-a gut-wrenching accusation for a baby already gone. That was the breaking point. I left, clutching the divorce papers he unknowingly signed, determined to use the very same time travel program. Not to fix him, not to save us, but to save myself from the blame, and find a life of my own. My second chance was finally for me.

Introduction

For seven years, my husband Jake, a firefighter captain, made our home a tomb.

He blamed me for his high school sweetheart Chloe's death in a wildfire, a fire where he "saved" me only because I was pregnant with his son.

His constant accusations and cold silence were a living hell.

Then, he announced he was using the "Second Chance Program"-an experimental time travel initiative-to go back to that fire.

"I have to save her," he said, and with those words, he was erasing our entire life.

His final jab, "Why would I have saved you if I didn't worry Chloe would be judged?" echoed the universal blame I already carried.

In the rewritten timeline, the nightmare only deepened.

He chose Chloe, ran me over with his truck, causing a miscarriage, and then left me bleeding in the inferno.

He prioritized Chloe's dog's 'trauma' over my injuries, dismissed my pain as 'faking it,' and starved me, literally taking bread from my tray to feed Chloe's endless demands.

How could the man who swore to protect me become this cruel stranger, constantly choosing a manipulating ghost over his wife and unborn child?

And then he asked, "How do I even know it's mine?"-a gut-wrenching accusation for a baby already gone.

That was the breaking point.

I left, clutching the divorce papers he unknowingly signed, determined to use the very same time travel program.

Not to fix him, not to save us, but to save myself from the blame, and find a life of my own.

My second chance was finally for me.

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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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