Betrayed By Blood, Reclaimed By Love

Betrayed By Blood, Reclaimed By Love

Gavin

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A splash of ice-cold water shocked me awake, but the smell of stale takeout and cheap air freshener told me something was terribly wrong. The last thing I remembered was a dark cargo container, the scent of the sea, and the chilling realization that my own brother, Liam, had sold me to human traffickers to pay off his gambling debts. I was supposed to be dead, yet here he was, whining about co-signing a loan, completely oblivious. Then I saw the date: three years ago. Three years before my life completely fell apart, three years before he' d betray me. A cold, sharp rage drowned out years of guilt and my mother' s dying wish: "Always look after your brother, Chloe. Promise me." That promise had been a chain around my neck, strangling me until I lost my marriage, my savings, my home, and finally, my life. Not again. I looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time without the filter of sisterly obligation. I saw a parasite. Then I did something I had never done in my entire life. I slapped him. His eyes widened in disbelief. "What the hell, Chloe?" he shrieked. "No," I said, my voice low and steady. "I'm not signing anything. Not today. Not ever again." "You don't get to be 'done'! You owe me! I'm your brother!" he snarled, grabbing my arm. "A brother doesn't sell his sister to traffickers for a hundred grand," I said calmly. The blood drained from his face as his grip loosened. He hadn't done it yet in this timeline, but the idea, the calculation, flickered in his eyes. He didn' t know how I knew. And that gave me all the power. I was back, and this time, I would be the one writing the ending.

Introduction

A splash of ice-cold water shocked me awake, but the smell of stale takeout and cheap air freshener told me something was terribly wrong.

The last thing I remembered was a dark cargo container, the scent of the sea, and the chilling realization that my own brother, Liam, had sold me to human traffickers to pay off his gambling debts.

I was supposed to be dead, yet here he was, whining about co-signing a loan, completely oblivious.

Then I saw the date: three years ago. Three years before my life completely fell apart, three years before he' d betray me.

A cold, sharp rage drowned out years of guilt and my mother' s dying wish: "Always look after your brother, Chloe. Promise me." That promise had been a chain around my neck, strangling me until I lost my marriage, my savings, my home, and finally, my life.

Not again.

I looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time without the filter of sisterly obligation. I saw a parasite.

Then I did something I had never done in my entire life. I slapped him.

His eyes widened in disbelief. "What the hell, Chloe?" he shrieked.

"No," I said, my voice low and steady. "I'm not signing anything. Not today. Not ever again."

"You don't get to be 'done'! You owe me! I'm your brother!" he snarled, grabbing my arm.

"A brother doesn't sell his sister to traffickers for a hundred grand," I said calmly.

The blood drained from his face as his grip loosened. He hadn't done it yet in this timeline, but the idea, the calculation, flickered in his eyes. He didn' t know how I knew.

And that gave me all the power. I was back, and this time, I would be the one writing the ending.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Mafia

4.3

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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