His Mother's Ring, His Vengeance

His Mother's Ring, His Vengeance

Our Time

5.0
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For seven years, I was Ethan Lester, the perfect prop for Jocelyn Gordon' s Silicon Valley empire, trapped in a gilded cage designed to project her ideal family image. My reward? Enduring her chilling indifference, the parade of her lovers, and watching my soul slowly erode. But when her latest boy toy, Ryan, brazenly sported my deceased mother' s cherished heirloom ring, and Jocelyn casually dismissed my outrage, a chilling calm settled over me. Then came the accident: crushed in a car wreck I was driving for Ryan, bleeding out, I watched Jocelyn rush past me, her only concern the "boy toy's" minor scratch. The sheer, sickening cruelty of her neglect was more profound than any physical pain, a clarity that screamed: You are nothing to her. I survived, but that man died in the wreckage; a new one was born, fueled by an icy resolve. Now, I' m building my own empire, while the woman who threw away my life is about to watch hers crumble, piece by painful piece.

Introduction

For seven years, I was Ethan Lester, the perfect prop for Jocelyn Gordon' s Silicon Valley empire, trapped in a gilded cage designed to project her ideal family image.

My reward? Enduring her chilling indifference, the parade of her lovers, and watching my soul slowly erode.

But when her latest boy toy, Ryan, brazenly sported my deceased mother' s cherished heirloom ring, and Jocelyn casually dismissed my outrage, a chilling calm settled over me.

Then came the accident: crushed in a car wreck I was driving for Ryan, bleeding out, I watched Jocelyn rush past me, her only concern the "boy toy's" minor scratch.

The sheer, sickening cruelty of her neglect was more profound than any physical pain, a clarity that screamed: You are nothing to her.

I survived, but that man died in the wreckage; a new one was born, fueled by an icy resolve.

Now, I' m building my own empire, while the woman who threw away my life is about to watch hers crumble, piece by painful piece.

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Her Heart, His Cruel Game

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Three years ago, I became the lost heiress to the Sterling fortune. David Sterling, the family' s handsome son, saved me from a dark clinic, spending millions on my recovery. We married, had a son, and our life felt perfect. At our son Anna's first birthday party, David pulled a scalpel from his pocket and, in front of all our guests, cut open our baby's chest. He then ripped out Anna's tiny, beating heart to save Sarah Miller' s daughter. He kicked me hard in the stomach, growling about how I had "manipulated his parents" and that my son "blamed me for being wicked." I lay in a pool of my own blood and despair, forced to watch him walk away with my son's heart. My whole life with David had been a cruel, elaborate plan for revenge. Days later, I was confined to a hospital bed in David' s mansion, not for care, but for harvesting my blood for Sarah. I was subjected to constant humiliation, forced to view videos of my son's murder, my C-section wound tearing open from the pain. David and Sarah paraded their love, while I lay in agony, ridiculed for my weakness. My heart was gone, ripped out just like my son's, leaving a hollowness so vast it swallowed me whole. How could the man I loved, the father of my child, commit such an unspeakable act of depravity? Why was I, an innocent victim, suffering this unimaginable torture? In my deepest despair, I remembered the small, hidden button on the bracelet David had given me. A desperate signal shot out into the world, a cry for help. I just had to survive for three more days.

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Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

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SHANA GRAY
4.3

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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