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The woman next to me gave me a knowing smile, like she could smell the arousal on me. He told anonymized stories: the newly divorced mom who cried the first time she orgasmed alone after twenty years; the twenty-five-year-old who’d only ever come from a vibrator on high and thought that was the only way; the wife whose husband called her “starfish” until she learned to ask for what she actually needed. Each story chipped away at the shame I’d been carrying like a backpack full of bricks. “You are not broken,” he said, looking straight at me for a long second. “You’ve just been told a lie so many times you started to believe it.”

Broken in small ways. Mira with her abandonment issues. Lyanna with her identity crisis. Adrian with his nightmares. Kiera with her anxiety. We failed them. Despite our best efforts. Despite everything. "Stop blaming yourself," Damon says later. "They're alive. Loved. Safe. That's what matters." "They're traumatized. That matters too." "So are we. We're all broken. But we're broken together. That counts for something." "Does it?" "It has to." The foundation is thriving. Helping hundreds of people with broken bonds. Damaged connections. Lost mates.

Bruise on right hip. *July 3rd - Courtney "accidentally" spilled scalding coffee on my arm at the pack house breakfast. Third-degree burn. Brittany laughed and said I should be more careful.* *August 22nd - Found my locker broken into, all my belongings destroyed. Note left saying "omegas don't deserve nice things." Handwriting matches Brittany's from previous pack documents.* The list went on and on. Page after page of systematic abuse, documented with the kind of detail that spoke to desperation and determination in equal measure.

I had not cried when I was beaten and cursed after I returned to the past, but the kindness of a stranger broke me. There were people in this world who cared about me. I needed to be brave enough to move on. I finished the apple slowly, leaned back against the pillow, and unlocked my phone. The top trending story was about a top student brutally abused by her family. The video showed me covered in blood while Jane stood beside me in a spotless white dress. It was a sharp contrast. The reporters always admired talent. They attacked my so-called resurrected parents and described them as villains who sided with their adopted daughter to abuse their own child and steal her achievements.

She remembered the nights she had prayed, the way she smiled at other people’s children, hoping one day she’d have her own. She remembered how many times she thought it was her fault, her body failing her, punishing her. And all along, it was stolen. Stolen like it was nothing. Her knees nearly buckled, but she forced herself forward, chest heaving. “They took it from me,” she whispered into the empty street, her voice breaking. “They stole everything from me.” Her words echoed off the walls of the silent houses. She pressed a hand against her stomach as if she could feel the emptiness there, the life that was never allowed to begin. Her shoulders shook, and this time she didn’t fight it.

Having strangers treat you like you’re the scummiest thing on the planet is one thing, having a loved one, someone that is supposed to be dear to you, protect you from anything and everything, treating you like that is completely different. Your self-respect, your view, your comfortably, your everything, is gone, crushed beneath the hope of resurfacing, crushed beneath the weight of distrust, crushed beneath unwanted emotion and grief, crushed beneath fowl play of abuse and unbroken promises. I’m crushed, I’m broken, I’m crushed beneath the weight of distrust, I’m filled with unwanted emotion and grief, my body scattered with abuse and unbroken promises. But I’m okay. My cracked, bloody lips

With sexual violence and abuse triggers, it is for above 18 and especially for the readers who think that they can handle such a story. Disclaimer No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author. His Broken Princess © A. Gupta 2021.All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events andincidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living

Nobody looked at me with disgust. Nobody called me names. I stared blankly at the empty road. Was this how it ended? Not with betrayal. Not with blood. Not with death. Just... A misunderstanding. One sentence. One look. One accusation. And everything we had built collapsed. A weak laugh escaped my lips. It sounded hollow. Funny. I had survived hunger. Violence. Loss. Loneliness. Yet the one thing that truly broke me... ...was seeing disappointment in the eyes of the man I loved.

"Let's go, let's go. This place is so small and rundown, with barely any sunlight. I don't know how Sarah and the child have managed to live here." Conveniently, she had forgotten how they had praised this very apartment when they were trying to sell it to me. Watching Sarah walk away without even looking back, I laughed bitterly to myself. I had been such a fool. I never realized that Sarah had no feelings for me beyond using me, and she was becoming more and more obvious about it. Having never experienced a loving family while growing up, I foolishly tried to create the perfect family after marrying Sarah. As a result, I allowed this group of parasites to cling to me, draining me of everyt

"As something damaged and worthless. But tell me, who among you has faced what I have faced and survived? I was married to a man who never wanted me. I lived in a household that exploited me. I lost everything I had. And yet here I stand. Alive, whole, and unbroken." "Unbroken?" Marianne laughed. "You were divorced and cast out. That is the definition of broken." "No. Broken is staying where you are not wanted. Broken is accepting abuse because you are too afraid to leave. Broken is letting others define your worth. I did none of those things." Murmurs spread through the crowd. Some looked thoughtful, while others still sneered. Then a new voice cut through the noise. "How noble," the voice