The Unwanted Husband's Comeback

The Unwanted Husband's Comeback

Miss Demeanor

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Our startup, Veridian Capital, was supposed to be our shared dream-Sarah's and mine. I poured my life, my family's money, everything into it, even as a mysterious, chronic fatigue consumed me. Tonight, at the annual gala, Sarah, now CEO, was radiant. Then, on stage, she didn't just announce a new strategic business partner. Her voice, filled with sickening pride, declared they were expecting a child. With him. My blood ran cold as the room erupted in whispers. She looked at me, the man she' d called her husband, and spat, "This is your fault! Your debilitating negativity! Your lack of vitality!" After I demanded a divorce, her new "partner," a supposed Italian Count, brutally attacked me in our apartment, leaving me broken and bleeding. I lay there, ribs cracked, utterly bewildered. But the true horror hit harder than any fist: My sister, a tough US Attorney, later confirmed that my mysterious illness – the very fatigue Sarah used to justify her betrayal – wasn't natural. It was a slow-acting poison, meticulously administered over two years. By Sarah. The woman I loved, the partner I built everything with, had systematically poisoned me to take my company, my life, and replace me. And now, she was about to learn that Michael Holloway, once discarded and broken, was finally free. And I was coming for everything she held dear.

Introduction

Our startup, Veridian Capital, was supposed to be our shared dream-Sarah's and mine.

I poured my life, my family's money, everything into it, even as a mysterious, chronic fatigue consumed me.

Tonight, at the annual gala, Sarah, now CEO, was radiant.

Then, on stage, she didn't just announce a new strategic business partner.

Her voice, filled with sickening pride, declared they were expecting a child.

With him.

My blood ran cold as the room erupted in whispers.

She looked at me, the man she' d called her husband, and spat, "This is your fault! Your debilitating negativity! Your lack of vitality!"

After I demanded a divorce, her new "partner," a supposed Italian Count, brutally attacked me in our apartment, leaving me broken and bleeding.

I lay there, ribs cracked, utterly bewildered.

But the true horror hit harder than any fist: My sister, a tough US Attorney, later confirmed that my mysterious illness – the very fatigue Sarah used to justify her betrayal – wasn't natural.

It was a slow-acting poison, meticulously administered over two years.

By Sarah.

The woman I loved, the partner I built everything with, had systematically poisoned me to take my company, my life, and replace me.

And now, she was about to learn that Michael Holloway, once discarded and broken, was finally free.

And I was coming for everything she held dear.

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Reborn Heiress: My Family's Bitter Karma

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On my eighteenth birthday, the celestial pact hiding my aura finally expired. I stood on the rotting steps of the trailer, watching my foster family celebrate my eviction like they’d won the lottery. Brenda threw a liability waiver at me to sign, ensuring I’d never ask for a dime of their welfare checks again. Worse, her daughter Regina stood there smirking, flaunting the heirloom emerald bracelet she’d stolen from my secret stash—unaware it was a spiritual artifact soaked in fifty years of blood magic. "Consider it payment for room and board, freak," Regina sneered, forcing the silver band over her wrist. They thought they were discarding a burden. They didn't realize I was the only dam holding back a tidal wave of their own bad karma. As I signed the papers, voluntarily severing our ties, the air pressure plummeted. The bracelet began to constrict like a snake, turning Regina’s flesh a necrotic purple as the protection I offered vanished. Before they could scream, a matte black helicopter bearing the Sterling Industries crest descended onto the muddy lawn, blowing their plastic lawn chairs into the neighbor's yard. A man in a bespoke charcoal suit stepped out, ignoring the filth to bow before me. He looked at my terrified foster family and announced, "We are here to retrieve the Sterling heiress." I smiled at Regina, whose arm was already beginning to rot, and whispered, "Keep the bracelet. You'll need it to pay for the amputation."

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I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

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