Whispers of the Delta: A Ghostly Comeback

Whispers of the Delta: A Ghostly Comeback

Gavin

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It was my wedding night in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, the air thick with the hum of my guitar and the sweet promise of a new life with Jennifer. Everyone called me a prodigy, especially when I poured my essence into the "Soul Chord," a gift that felt like pure magic flowing through my fingers. Then, the juke joint doors burst open, and a biker gang stormed in, dragging me off stage. They held me down, and their leader, with a ball-peen hammer, systematically crushed the bones in my left hand, the one that played my Soul Chord. Through a haze of blinding pain, I saw Jennifer, shielding Caleb, watching without a word, her eyes cold and distant. Later, in the clinic, drugged but awake, I heard their whispers: Jennifer, Sabrina, and Caleb. They had planned it all, drugged me, orchestrated the attack to steal my music for Caleb' s album. My deepest secret, a dormant Soul Chord in my right hand, was brought up. And then, Jennifer quietly, methodically, severed the tendons in my right wrist, destroying my last hope, my last chance to play. They framed me as a violent gang affiliate, spread lies, and announced Jennifer and Caleb' s engagement, built on my ruin. My own adopted mother, Sabrina, then ordered my legs broken, leaving me a helpless, shattered mess. Thrown into a swamp to die, betrayed by everyone I loved, a cold rage ignited in me. They destroyed my body, my spirit, my life, but they made one fatal mistake: they left me breathing. Now, all that pain, all that fury, has become something more. And I' m coming back for every single one of them.

Introduction

It was my wedding night in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, the air thick with the hum of my guitar and the sweet promise of a new life with Jennifer.

Everyone called me a prodigy, especially when I poured my essence into the "Soul Chord," a gift that felt like pure magic flowing through my fingers.

Then, the juke joint doors burst open, and a biker gang stormed in, dragging me off stage.

They held me down, and their leader, with a ball-peen hammer, systematically crushed the bones in my left hand, the one that played my Soul Chord.

Through a haze of blinding pain, I saw Jennifer, shielding Caleb, watching without a word, her eyes cold and distant.

Later, in the clinic, drugged but awake, I heard their whispers: Jennifer, Sabrina, and Caleb.

They had planned it all, drugged me, orchestrated the attack to steal my music for Caleb' s album.

My deepest secret, a dormant Soul Chord in my right hand, was brought up.

And then, Jennifer quietly, methodically, severed the tendons in my right wrist, destroying my last hope, my last chance to play.

They framed me as a violent gang affiliate, spread lies, and announced Jennifer and Caleb' s engagement, built on my ruin.

My own adopted mother, Sabrina, then ordered my legs broken, leaving me a helpless, shattered mess.

Thrown into a swamp to die, betrayed by everyone I loved, a cold rage ignited in me.

They destroyed my body, my spirit, my life, but they made one fatal mistake: they left me breathing.

Now, all that pain, all that fury, has become something more.

And I' m coming back for every single one of them.

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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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