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He Buried Me, But I Bloomed

He Buried Me, But I Bloomed

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Chapter 1 

Word Count: 1155    |    Released on: Today at 17:48

. Now, five years later, Ivy Richardson stood at he

gravestone. "Beloved daughter and fiancée," the inscrip

bling, he pointed, gasping, "Oh my God... you look

red, shaking: "Ivy? Where have you been?" She crushed his che

ot Resuscitate" order for his mistress, Ainsl

expired when you signed the DNR... and Ainsley was watching, wasn'

pte

chards

k trench coat turned up against the biting Los Angeles wind. The heavy fabric felt li

g up a swirl of dead, brown leaves around my expensive leather boots. The barren

ers meticulously carved into the stone: *H

ting shackles that had bound me

d at the corner of my lips.

found love five years ago when I was bleeding out on a sterile hospital bed

pitch-black leather gloves, the suppl

iding the jagged, ugly scars carved deep into my wrists-the

ertips lightly traced the freezing surface of the he

ng that the weak, pathetic girl burie

ower engine suddenly shattered the

er in stained, heavy-duty work clothes was driving a sma

loudly, and grabbed a dirty metal shovel from the bac

a second on the black-and-white porcelain portrait embedded in the marble. The pho

d his head and look

is grip. It hit the crushed gravel pa

backward, his boots slipping on the loose stones. He pointed a trembling, dirt-stained

l cords seizing up in pure terror.

a fraction of an inch, my eyes complete

errifying financial dynasty had taught me how to keep my

to my black Hermès Birkin bag and pulled o

le of the elite: cash could buy silence, and si

rrified man. My posture was rigid

said. My voice was a flat, icy mono

y gloved fingers. He didn't say a word. He just turned and scrambled back to his utility

ing out on the gravel before he sped off, disappe

ffocating sil

ad absolutely zero lingering attachment to this patch of dirt or the fake grie

ng sound of footsteps echoed f

nd panicked. They stopped exactl

ack

ass made me pause. It was a bouquet of cheap, plas

o buy real flowers for the w

sceral, uncontrollable trauma response. My body recognized

heard hi

that had once forced me to shrink myself down

breathing. He sounded like a ma

trembling violently, cracking under the

forcing the icy air deep into my lungs to crush

m. I was the judge, the j

ing onto the man standing before me

Where the hell have you be

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He Buried Me, But I Bloomed
He Buried Me, But I Bloomed
“She was dead. Or at least, that's what they thought. Now, five years later, Ivy Richardson stood at her own grave, ready to face the man who put her there. Ivy, in a custom coat, stood at her cold, black marble gravestone. "Beloved daughter and fiancée," the inscription read-a cruel joke mirroring her heart's wasteland. A gravedigger dropped his shovel, face ashen. Trembling, he pointed, gasping, "Oh my God... you look exactly like her." He saw a ghost; Ivy was alive. She paid for silence. Then, Clayton, her former fiancé, appeared, shaking: "Ivy? Where have you been?" She crushed his cheap lilies, her lethal gaze replacing the girl he'd abandoned. He snarled, blaming her, justifying her "Do Not Resuscitate" order for his mistress, Ainsley. Ivy's cold laugh mocked his pathetic lies. "Fiancé?" she echoed, revealing her new wedding ring. "That title expired when you signed the DNR... and Ainsley was watching, wasn't she?" With an icy "Go to hell," Ivy left him slipping in the mud.”