Shattered Vases, Broken Promises

Shattered Vases, Broken Promises

Gavin

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The silence in the sprawling mansion was a physical weight, pressing down on me as I hunched over my drafting table. They called me Liam' s wife, but I was merely the ghost in his machine, designing award-winning architecture he took full credit for. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, swept in, her venomous words cutting deeper than any knife, accusing me of being a gold-digger and a disgrace. Then, my world shattered. My younger sister, Ava, appeared, showering Eleanor with affection, a warmth I only dreamed of. Suddenly, a Ming Dynasty vase lay in pieces. Eleanor shrieked, blaming me, her eyes filled with a terrifying conviction: "She's jealous. She wants to destroy everything beautiful in this house." Later, Liam arrived, surveyed the wreckage, and effortlessly dismissed my silent plea, his cold eyes branding me as nothing more than a careless maid. Night fell, and I overheard Liam and Ava' s intimate murmurs, her soft laughter echoing through the cold mansion. A sick feeling coiled in my stomach. The shattered vase, the familiar intimacy between my husband and my sister-it was all a blur of confusion and betrayal I couldn' t comprehend. My father' s critical illness became a cruel reminder of the life I' d abandoned for a loveless marriage. Finally, fed up, I told Liam I wanted a divorce, expecting a fight. Instead, he simply said, "Alright." Too easy. My relief quickly turned to unease. He looked at me with an unreadable expression, a strange mixture of something unidentifiable. Why was he agreeing to this so easily? What was I missing? Driven by a desperate need to save my father, I pushed past my fears, resolved to unravel the web of deceit that entangled me, knowing this was my only chance at freedom and perhaps, redemption.

Introduction

The silence in the sprawling mansion was a physical weight, pressing down on me as I hunched over my drafting table. They called me Liam' s wife, but I was merely the ghost in his machine, designing award-winning architecture he took full credit for. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, swept in, her venomous words cutting deeper than any knife, accusing me of being a gold-digger and a disgrace.

Then, my world shattered. My younger sister, Ava, appeared, showering Eleanor with affection, a warmth I only dreamed of. Suddenly, a Ming Dynasty vase lay in pieces. Eleanor shrieked, blaming me, her eyes filled with a terrifying conviction: "She's jealous. She wants to destroy everything beautiful in this house." Later, Liam arrived, surveyed the wreckage, and effortlessly dismissed my silent plea, his cold eyes branding me as nothing more than a careless maid.

Night fell, and I overheard Liam and Ava' s intimate murmurs, her soft laughter echoing through the cold mansion. A sick feeling coiled in my stomach. The shattered vase, the familiar intimacy between my husband and my sister-it was all a blur of confusion and betrayal I couldn' t comprehend.

My father' s critical illness became a cruel reminder of the life I' d abandoned for a loveless marriage. Finally, fed up, I told Liam I wanted a divorce, expecting a fight. Instead, he simply said, "Alright." Too easy. My relief quickly turned to unease. He looked at me with an unreadable expression, a strange mixture of something unidentifiable. Why was he agreeing to this so easily? What was I missing?

Driven by a desperate need to save my father, I pushed past my fears, resolved to unravel the web of deceit that entangled me, knowing this was my only chance at freedom and perhaps, redemption.

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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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