Framed By My Maid

Framed By My Maid

Gavin

5.0
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The last thing I remembered was the cold, the damp dungeon walls, and the raw, blinding pain as David, the man I loved, cursed me for Bethany' s death. His boot connected with my ribs, a sharp crack echoing in the small cell, as he snarled, "She killed herself because of you... you worthless woman." Broken, stripped of everything, I realized Bethany, my personal maid, had manipulated him, orchestrating her own death to frame me, sealing my fate. His final words, a curse of rot and forgotten names, followed me into the abyss. Then, I opened my eyes. I was in a lavish dressing room, in a stunning wedding gown; it was my wedding day, and my fiancé was David, no longer a brutal general but a charismatic tech CEO. A wave of nausea washed over me, because standing right there, about to be my maid of honor, was Bethany. The cold stone and crushing pain of my past life were vivid, sickeningly real. I was back at the beginning, the very day my destruction had woven its first thread. Clara, my loyal assistant, whispered, "I just saw Bethany... with David. In the garden conservatory. She was... holding onto him, crying. He was stroking her hair. It didn\'t look right." The pieces clicked into place, the exact same betrayal, the same opening act of their cruel play. In their story, I was the villain, the jealous, cruel woman. But this time, I wouldn\'t play my part. I would walk off their stage, and rewrite my own.

Introduction

The last thing I remembered was the cold, the damp dungeon walls, and the raw, blinding pain as David, the man I loved, cursed me for Bethany' s death.

His boot connected with my ribs, a sharp crack echoing in the small cell, as he snarled, "She killed herself because of you... you worthless woman."

Broken, stripped of everything, I realized Bethany, my personal maid, had manipulated him, orchestrating her own death to frame me, sealing my fate.

His final words, a curse of rot and forgotten names, followed me into the abyss.

Then, I opened my eyes.

I was in a lavish dressing room, in a stunning wedding gown; it was my wedding day, and my fiancé was David, no longer a brutal general but a charismatic tech CEO.

A wave of nausea washed over me, because standing right there, about to be my maid of honor, was Bethany.

The cold stone and crushing pain of my past life were vivid, sickeningly real.

I was back at the beginning, the very day my destruction had woven its first thread.

Clara, my loyal assistant, whispered, "I just saw Bethany... with David. In the garden conservatory. She was... holding onto him, crying. He was stroking her hair. It didn\'t look right."

The pieces clicked into place, the exact same betrayal, the same opening act of their cruel play.

In their story, I was the villain, the jealous, cruel woman.

But this time, I wouldn\'t play my part. I would walk off their stage, and rewrite my own.

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The applause was deafening, but a cold sweat trickled down my back. One moment, I was falling, the city skyline spinning. The next, I was here, at the TechFusion conference, the air thick with the smell of electronics and ambition. I looked down at my hands, steady, and took a deep breath. This was real. A second chance, pulled back from the brink of a self-inflicted end. But as I scanned the room, the past crashed into me. This was the day it all went wrong before. The host nervously announced, "It seems our next speaker, the one and only Brittany Hayes, is running a little behind schedule." Then, my phone vibrated. It was Brittany. "OMG Sarah, traffic is a nightmare! I'm gonna be late. Can you go up there and stall for me? Just say some smart marketing stuff. You're good at that. Pls pls pls save me! 🙏" Word for word, the exact same manipulative plea that had led to my public humiliation and downfall. In my past life, I' d been naive enough to agree, only for her to frame me as a desperate attention-seeker who tried to steal her spotlight. It had shattered my career, my reputation, my spirit. It started a chain of events that led to my ultimate destruction. I had lost everything. My company threw me under the bus, the industry blacklisted me, and the online mob issued death threats. I stood on my apartment balcony, the city lights blurred by tears, and I let go. The memory of my own death brought a chilling resolve. Brittany Hayes had taken everything from me. This time, the past wouldn' t repeat. This time, I knew the script. This wasn't just a second chance at life; it was a second chance at justice.

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Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

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I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

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