Regretful Man, Redeemed Woman

Regretful Man, Redeemed Woman

Gavin

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I put the divorce papers on the mahogany desk, a soft thud in the quiet study. Ethan didn't even look up from his laptop. "Divorce papers," I said, my voice steady, betraying none of the thousand times I' d practiced this moment. He signed them without a glance, dismissing a decade of my love, two years of marriage, with a casual flick of a pen. "I' m going to be busy with Isabella for the next few days," he added, attention already back on his screen. "Don' t call me unless the house is on fire." His indifference was a physical blow, a chilling premonition of the betrayal to come. Just three weeks ago, I had held a positive pregnancy test, naive hope swelling in my heart that our baby would finally make him see me, make our house a home. Instead, I watched him propose to Isabella, his college sweetheart, on the evening news, a public spectacle of his true affections. The shock sent me to the floor, pain tearing through me, and I woke up in a hospital bed-alone-the doctor' s grim words confirming I had lost our child. He never even knew it existed. Now, I found myself packing a single suitcase, leaving behind everything, even the life I had so desperately tried to build. My best friend, Chloe, asked, "He didn' t even ask why?" "No," I whispered, my hand instinctively going to my flat stomach, an ache, a constant, dull reminder. I felt empty, completely empty, yet a strange sense of calm settled over me. Because as I looked at the signed papers, I knew this wasn't just a divorce. It was a declaration of independence.

Introduction

I put the divorce papers on the mahogany desk, a soft thud in the quiet study.

Ethan didn't even look up from his laptop.

"Divorce papers," I said, my voice steady, betraying none of the thousand times I' d practiced this moment.

He signed them without a glance, dismissing a decade of my love, two years of marriage, with a casual flick of a pen.

"I' m going to be busy with Isabella for the next few days," he added, attention already back on his screen. "Don' t call me unless the house is on fire."

His indifference was a physical blow, a chilling premonition of the betrayal to come.

Just three weeks ago, I had held a positive pregnancy test, naive hope swelling in my heart that our baby would finally make him see me, make our house a home.

Instead, I watched him propose to Isabella, his college sweetheart, on the evening news, a public spectacle of his true affections.

The shock sent me to the floor, pain tearing through me, and I woke up in a hospital bed-alone-the doctor' s grim words confirming I had lost our child.

He never even knew it existed.

Now, I found myself packing a single suitcase, leaving behind everything, even the life I had so desperately tried to build.

My best friend, Chloe, asked, "He didn' t even ask why?"

"No," I whispered, my hand instinctively going to my flat stomach, an ache, a constant, dull reminder.

I felt empty, completely empty, yet a strange sense of calm settled over me.

Because as I looked at the signed papers, I knew this wasn't just a divorce.

It was a declaration of independence.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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4.5

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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