The Judge, The Fiancée, The Frame-up

The Judge, The Fiancée, The Frame-up

Gavin

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The judge' s voice was a flat, impersonal drone. "Guilty." My fiancée, Olivia, a vision in her tailored business suit, didn' t even flinch. Her eyes, once so full of love, slid away from mine, landing on my half-brother, Liam. He covered her hand with his, a small, intimate gesture that screamed a truth louder than the verdict. They were abandoning me. My parents were gone, killed in the very accident I was now convicted of causing. Seven years I spent in hell, every appeal denied, every lead a dead end. Sarah, my childhood friend and court-appointed lawyer-and my wife on paper-was my only lifeline. She kept promising to fight, telling me everything was a lie. Then, a miracle. My conviction overturned. I was finally free. But freedom quickly turned to another nightmare. Sarah, my champion, tearfully confessed her family' s firm was bleeding money from an embezzlement scheme. She needed a fall guy, and I, a freshly released ex-con, was the perfect one. "I' ll do it," I said, believing I was repaying a debt, an honorable sacrifice for the woman who saved me. Another seven years stolen. When I was finally released, 42 years old, I went to Sarah' s mother' s house, this time to surprise her. But the surprise was on me, in the form of a conversation overheard. "Liam needs this to be over." "He thought I was marrying him to save him," Sarah' s voice, cold and sharp, cut through me. "The only reason I married him was to become the victim' s family representative. The only way to legally sign a waiver that would prevent prosecutors from ever going after the real killer." Liam. He was the killer. And Sarah, my trusted friend, my wife, had been the architect of my destruction from the very beginning. Fourteen years. Two prison sentences. All a lie to protect the man who murdered my parents.

Introduction

The judge' s voice was a flat, impersonal drone.

"Guilty."

My fiancée, Olivia, a vision in her tailored business suit, didn' t even flinch.

Her eyes, once so full of love, slid away from mine, landing on my half-brother, Liam.

He covered her hand with his, a small, intimate gesture that screamed a truth louder than the verdict.

They were abandoning me. My parents were gone, killed in the very accident I was now convicted of causing.

Seven years I spent in hell, every appeal denied, every lead a dead end.

Sarah, my childhood friend and court-appointed lawyer-and my wife on paper-was my only lifeline.

She kept promising to fight, telling me everything was a lie.

Then, a miracle. My conviction overturned. I was finally free.

But freedom quickly turned to another nightmare.

Sarah, my champion, tearfully confessed her family' s firm was bleeding money from an embezzlement scheme.

She needed a fall guy, and I, a freshly released ex-con, was the perfect one.

"I' ll do it," I said, believing I was repaying a debt, an honorable sacrifice for the woman who saved me.

Another seven years stolen.

When I was finally released, 42 years old, I went to Sarah' s mother' s house, this time to surprise her.

But the surprise was on me, in the form of a conversation overheard.

"Liam needs this to be over."

"He thought I was marrying him to save him," Sarah' s voice, cold and sharp, cut through me.

"The only reason I married him was to become the victim' s family representative. The only way to legally sign a waiver that would prevent prosecutors from ever going after the real killer."

Liam. He was the killer.

And Sarah, my trusted friend, my wife, had been the architect of my destruction from the very beginning.

Fourteen years. Two prison sentences. All a lie to protect the man who murdered my parents.

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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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