Beyond the Grave: My Ex-Husband's Ruin

Beyond the Grave: My Ex-Husband's Ruin

Elroy Notman

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Three years after my death, my music mogul husband, Andrew Scott, sued my estate. His claim? That the bone marrow I donated to his starlet lover, Molly Clarkson, was failing her, causing her leukemia to relapse. I' m a ghost, tied to him, forced to watch him rage. He held a press conference, signing over my life' s work-my entire unreleased song catalog-to Molly, calling it a "gift." When that stunt didn' t work, he stormed to my family' s modest home, accusing me of faking my death, convinced I was just hiding. He dismissed my younger sister, Stella' s, pleas that I was dead, then brutally attacked my beloved three-legged terrier, Banjo, as a twisted warning. He boasted about financially bailing out my family, twisting the knife. But Andrew didn' t know the whole truth. I died from complications after the bone marrow procedure, critically weakened. I had a rare genetic condition, Fanconi anemia, which made the donation incredibly high-risk. The doctors Molly paid never told him, and they gave me a dangerously low dose of anesthesia, leaving me paralyzed but conscious, feeling every agonizing drill into my bones. I died less than two weeks later, while he celebrated Molly' s "remission" in Aspen. He believed the falsified hospital records saying I was discharged in stable condition, refusing to accept I was gone. Now, my spirit screamed as Andrew vowed to find me, threatening my family with unspeakable violence unless I reappeared. My grave was empty. My brother, Matthew, will bring me home.

Introduction

Three years after my death, my music mogul husband, Andrew Scott, sued my estate.

His claim? That the bone marrow I donated to his starlet lover, Molly Clarkson, was failing her, causing her leukemia to relapse.

I' m a ghost, tied to him, forced to watch him rage.

He held a press conference, signing over my life' s work-my entire unreleased song catalog-to Molly, calling it a "gift."

When that stunt didn' t work, he stormed to my family' s modest home, accusing me of faking my death, convinced I was just hiding.

He dismissed my younger sister, Stella' s, pleas that I was dead, then brutally attacked my beloved three-legged terrier, Banjo, as a twisted warning.

He boasted about financially bailing out my family, twisting the knife.

But Andrew didn' t know the whole truth.

I died from complications after the bone marrow procedure, critically weakened.

I had a rare genetic condition, Fanconi anemia, which made the donation incredibly high-risk.

The doctors Molly paid never told him, and they gave me a dangerously low dose of anesthesia, leaving me paralyzed but conscious, feeling every agonizing drill into my bones.

I died less than two weeks later, while he celebrated Molly' s "remission" in Aspen.

He believed the falsified hospital records saying I was discharged in stable condition, refusing to accept I was gone.

Now, my spirit screamed as Andrew vowed to find me, threatening my family with unspeakable violence unless I reappeared.

My grave was empty.

My brother, Matthew, will bring me home.

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The Unwanted Historian: Claimed by a Better Alpha

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He told me his Inner Wolf was dormant. He claimed he couldn't feel the Mate Bond, that divine connection the Moon Goddess gifts to us. I believed him. For years, I waited in the shadows, protecting his secret, convinced my Alpha was just broken. But the truth revealed itself in the middle of a fire. During a rogue ambush, an explosion threw me into a ditch. My ankle was crushed in a hidden poacher’s trap, the silver teeth searing my flesh like acid. I screamed for him. Ethan sprinted through the smoke. He stopped, looking down at me. He saw the trap. He saw the blood. He saw the silver burning me alive. Then he looked at Chloe. She was sitting on the grass nearby, clutching a tiny, insignificant scratch on her forehead, wailing like a child. He didn't hesitate. Not for a heartbeat. He turned his back on me. He scooped Chloe up in his arms, cradling her like she was made of precious glass, and ran to safety. As the flames licked closer to my trapped leg, his voice cut through the Mind-Link, cold as a winter grave. "You are too weak, Ava. You don't deserve to be my Luna." He wasn't dormant. He never was. He just didn't want me. I didn't die in that fire. I dragged myself out, leaving my love in the ashes. The next morning, I limped into the Pack Hall. My leg was a ruin, but my mind was clear. Ethan sat on his throne, Chloe smirking on his lap. He looked at me with annoyance, expecting me to beg. Instead, I stood tall, letting my own wolf rise. "I, Ava Miller, reject you, Ethan Reed, as my mate."

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