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For five years, I chased Marcus Thorne' s ghost. My husband, a test pilot, vanished, but I refused to believe he was gone. I sold my house, exhausted my savings, working endless shifts to fund my search. My last treasure, my father' s telescope, was pawned for a gala ticket-a chance at closure. At that glittering event, I saw him. Marcus. Alive. He smirked beside my stepsister, Izzy Vance. "She actually did it, Marcus! Pathetic," Izzy scoffed, revealing their cruel prank. His eyes, tender for Izzy but ice-cold for me, confirmed his betrayal. He blamed my father for Izzy's fake scar, claiming my family "owed" them. My five years of grief? A calculated lie to punish me. They publicly shamed me, then imprisoned me, slowly destroying my spirit. How could the man I loved orchestrate such monstrous cruelty with my own stepsister? Every taunt, every manipulation, the deliberate shattering of my father' s telescope-why this relentless torment? What secret sin warranted such vengeance? But when they framed me for arson, then abandoned me in the scorching desert with rattlesnake attractant, nearing death, a new fire blazed. I would not be their casualty.