The Wife He Broke, The Woman Who Rose

The Wife He Broke, The Woman Who Rose

Gavin

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My husband, Andrew, came home tonight, and he wasn't alone. Standing beside him was his high-school sweetheart, Sabrina Chavez, her hand resting conspicuously on her swollen belly. Then, he dropped the bombshell: Sabrina would be his public partner, she was pregnant, and our marriage was a mistake. He called me barren, an embarrassment from the mountains, and declared he was being generous by not divorcing me, condemning me to stay unseen. My world tilted, because I was four months pregnant, secretly carrying our child, a truth he dismissed with cruel words. The next morning, his security team dumped my belongings in the cold, damp basement - a place not for living, but for storage. My old illness, the one I got saving him, returned with a vengeance, and a sharp pain told me I was losing our baby. Then I watched them chainsaw down the cherry blossom tree Andrew and I planted, a brutal symbol of our love' s end. Days later, Andrew accused me of making Sabrina miscarry, though I knew it wasn't my doing. He beat me, kicked me until I curled on the floor, and in that agony, my baby was gone. He locked me in the basement, bleeding, broken, but a cold fire began to burn inside me. I mailed the signed divorce papers and left my tiny son, wrapped in cloth, for Andrew to find. Then, I set fire to my old life, burning it all to ashes, and whispered, "I' m coming home. For expansion." I escaped into the night, ready to reclaim my power.

Introduction

My husband, Andrew, came home tonight, and he wasn't alone.

Standing beside him was his high-school sweetheart, Sabrina Chavez, her hand resting conspicuously on her swollen belly.

Then, he dropped the bombshell: Sabrina would be his public partner, she was pregnant, and our marriage was a mistake.

He called me barren, an embarrassment from the mountains, and declared he was being generous by not divorcing me, condemning me to stay unseen.

My world tilted, because I was four months pregnant, secretly carrying our child, a truth he dismissed with cruel words.

The next morning, his security team dumped my belongings in the cold, damp basement - a place not for living, but for storage.

My old illness, the one I got saving him, returned with a vengeance, and a sharp pain told me I was losing our baby.

Then I watched them chainsaw down the cherry blossom tree Andrew and I planted, a brutal symbol of our love' s end.

Days later, Andrew accused me of making Sabrina miscarry, though I knew it wasn't my doing.

He beat me, kicked me until I curled on the floor, and in that agony, my baby was gone.

He locked me in the basement, bleeding, broken, but a cold fire began to burn inside me.

I mailed the signed divorce papers and left my tiny son, wrapped in cloth, for Andrew to find.

Then, I set fire to my old life, burning it all to ashes, and whispered, "I' m coming home. For expansion."

I escaped into the night, ready to reclaim my power.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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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