Beyond the River's Edge

Beyond the River's Edge

Gavin

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The last thing I remembered was the freezing water closing over my head, Brittany' s triumphant smile the final image in my mind. Then, a gasp. I shot up, coughing, not in the dark river, but in my bed, sunlight streaming through the window. Had it all been a nightmare? The public shaming, getting fired, the whispers, the utter despair that drove me to that river' s edge? A self-satisfied hum from the living room shattered the illusion. Brittany. My heart hammered. This wasn' t a nightmare. It was a second chance. Memories flooded back: my sweet, bubbly roommate turning into a viper. She started using my online identity, my photos, twisting them into something sordid. When I confronted her, she just laughed, "Chloe, don' t be such a prude. They love it. It' s just a bit of fun." I went to HR, but she got there first, twisting the story, painting me as a jealous, unstable friend. They believed her. The photos became more explicit, sent from my work email. I was publicly humiliated, labeled an exhibitionist. My boss couldn' t look me in the eye. The company fired me to "protect its image." My career, everything I' d worked for, was gone. Brittany thrived. She took my job, my desk, my life. She stood on the ashes of my career and pretended she was a hero. The final blow was the public scandal that nearly cost me my life. And then, it did. As the current pulled me under, she had won. But now I was back. The girl who died in that river took all my innocence with her. What was left was a cold, burning desire for revenge. And as I lay there, listening to the clicks of her camera, I knew exactly how I was going to get it.

Introduction

The last thing I remembered was the freezing water closing over my head, Brittany' s triumphant smile the final image in my mind.

Then, a gasp. I shot up, coughing, not in the dark river, but in my bed, sunlight streaming through the window.

Had it all been a nightmare? The public shaming, getting fired, the whispers, the utter despair that drove me to that river' s edge?

A self-satisfied hum from the living room shattered the illusion. Brittany.

My heart hammered. This wasn' t a nightmare. It was a second chance.

Memories flooded back: my sweet, bubbly roommate turning into a viper. She started using my online identity, my photos, twisting them into something sordid.

When I confronted her, she just laughed, "Chloe, don' t be such a prude. They love it. It' s just a bit of fun."

I went to HR, but she got there first, twisting the story, painting me as a jealous, unstable friend. They believed her.

The photos became more explicit, sent from my work email. I was publicly humiliated, labeled an exhibitionist. My boss couldn' t look me in the eye.

The company fired me to "protect its image." My career, everything I' d worked for, was gone.

Brittany thrived. She took my job, my desk, my life. She stood on the ashes of my career and pretended she was a hero.

The final blow was the public scandal that nearly cost me my life. And then, it did.

As the current pulled me under, she had won. But now I was back.

The girl who died in that river took all my innocence with her. What was left was a cold, burning desire for revenge.

And as I lay there, listening to the clicks of her camera, I knew exactly how I was going to get it.

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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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