I picked up the top-tier agency contract the real heiress had thrown away. She lost her head over love, ran off with an underground rapper, quit the industry, and trampled her bright future into the mud.   Meanwhile, I endured the label of resource thief, worked my way from a stand-in to a three-time major award-winning actress, and even married the man she had long admired, Director David Mercer.   On the night of my victory celebration, I was crushed to death by a falling pillar and woke up right back on the day I signed that contract.   Crimson bullet comments drifted across my vision.   A: [The fake Elena Reed stole Lina Morgan's life!]   B: [In her last life, the real heiress was blind! She threw away Director Mercer and the top-tier deal for some trash rapper. What a fool!]   C: [But this time, the real heiress is reborn with all her memories! That little thief who stole her life will soon be an outcast!]   I looked at the words, then bowed my head and smiled softly.   'Sorry. In my last life, I earned every bit of my stardom on my own. Even if she knows how the story ends, she can never dim the light I carry within me.'

It was our wedding day. Sam slipped the ring onto my finger, his eyes red-rimmed, and said he'd finally gotten to marry me. But not a single spark of joy flickered in my chest. And sure enough, less than thirty seconds after that ring settled on my finger, his childhood sweetheart stepped out of the crowd and interrupted us to sneer out her "congrats". "Time's up! One minute's over. Happy divorce!" she crowed. The whole crowd froze dead in their tracks. We all watched in stunned silence as Sam reached for my hand and pulled the ring right off my finger. "Claire, I lost truth or dare to Princess again. You understand, don't you?" he said, casual as anything. "I'll just have a fake wedding with her today. Don't worry. I promise I'll give you a real, proper big wedding in two weeks." The words barely left his mouth before he marched straight over to Princess, ring in hand, and dropped to one knee right in front of her. He was so sure I'd just swallow this, just like I'd accepted the other ninety-nine times he'd pulled garbage like this before. But two weeks later? I walked right up to him and slapped a brand-new, still-warm marriage license smack down in front of his face. I was still the bride. But the groom? It wasn't him anymore. His eyes went red again, and he choked out, "Claire, how could you marry someone else?"

The poor girl my fiancé supported had a severe father fixation.   Every time I tried to be close to him, she always found a way to squeeze herself between us, usually claiming she just had a terrible nightmare.   When we announced our upcoming wedding, she drank several bottles of vodka until she was completely intoxicated and collapsed right into my fiancé's arms.   "Grant," she slurred, "once you are married… will you still be there for me?"   Grant Lowell went rigid all over, but he did not pull away.   Lila Corwin lifted her hazy eyes, pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then turned to look straight at me.   "There is nothing between us but pure, innocent affection between a guardian and the girl he helps," she said. "You really must not misunderstand anything, Sella."   Seeing how naturally their hands rested together, I suddenly felt completely drained and lost all interest.   I slipped the engagement ring off my finger and smiled calmly at Grant.   "Either we call off this wedding right now, or you send her far away and keep her out of our lives for good."

My husband, Lucian Knox, is a renowned top-tier detective. But he has a childhood friend, Margot Crowe, who is obsessed with kidnapping games.  Margot would stage abductions, and he would come to the rescue. The two of them had played this cat-and-mouse game for more than ten years. That all changed when my son and I became her targets. She cornered him and gave him an ultimatum: choose between us or her.  Without a moment's hesitation, Lucian chose me. "Don't be afraid. Margot knows what she's doing. I just checked the area below. Her people are standing by to help, so our son will be safe," he said. No sooner had he finished speaking than Margot, standing in the distance, clutched her chest, cried out in pain, and collapsed to the ground.  Lucian immediately let go of me. "Honey, I need to take Margot to the hospital right away."  He left in such a hurry that he never noticed he hadn't untied me yet. Worse still, the ropes binding me were slowly fraying and coming apart. For the next two months, he never once thought about checking on me or our son. Everything came to a head on the day of Thanksgiving. He brought Margot back to our home. "Honey, it's Thanksgiving today. Let's all sit down and have a family meal together," he called out. Silence filled the room for a long time. He began to sound impatient. "Stop being so difficult. I'll have Margot apologize to you, alright? If you keep this up, I won't try to make things right anymore." 'But Lucian... I've already been dead for a long time.'

There was a little unspoken ritual between my husband and me. Whenever I did something that angered him, all it took was three gentle strokes across his earlobe with my fingertips. The fury in his eyes would melt away, and he'd pull me into his arms instead. "Little troublemaker," he'd say with a sigh. "Trying to make peace again?" I always thought it was something unique to us—a private form of affection that belonged to no one else. Until the day I pushed open the door to his study. His newest girl was inside, crying her eyes out. He looked thoroughly annoyed. Then the girl hesitantly raised her hand and brushed her fingertips over his earlobe three times. I watched him freeze for a moment. Then he smiled. Pulling her into his arms, he said, "Alright. Looks like you've finally learned."

"You're Kieran's evil cousin, right? You kicked him out of his mansion, and you can't stand seeing girls younger than you. That's why you won't let him bring me to meet the family." "But I'm telling you, I'm pregnant with his baby. Sooner or later, I'll be the lady of the Hale house!" The college guy I've been sponsoring is the campus heartthrob. Plenty of girls chase him. I've had calls like this before. I've heard my share of ridiculous lies. But just as I was about to hang up, Kieran's message popped up. [Raven, I need to borrow 300 dollars! It's urgent!!!] Three thousand. The exact cost of an abortion at a top-tier hospital. I paused. Then I let out a soft laugh into the phone. "Starting now, I grant you permission to join the Hale family."

After enduring two years of agony from an impacted wisdom tooth, I finally decided to have it removed. But my dentist husband let his intern use me as practice. She made a mistake and pulled the wrong tooth. Terrified of getting caught, she shoved the broken tooth back into my gum. When the anesthesia wore off, the pain was unbearable. I was literally smashing my head against the floor, begging for relief, yet my husband accused me of being dramatic and refused to prescribe any pain medication. The constant agony blurred my mind and shattered my will. In the end, I threw myself from the eighth floor. The moment I felt myself falling, I jolted awake. Before I could even catch my breath, a hand clamped around my jaw and forced my mouth open. "Your tooth acting up again?" My husband said softly. "Don't worry. I'll take it out for you tomorrow..."

One month before the wedding, my fiancé suddenly became obsessed with losing weight and swore he'd get down to a hundred and twenty pounds. I called off the engagement without a second thought. His eyes went red as he demanded, hurt and indignant, "What's wrong with wanting to look good at our own wedding? Would you rather marry me out of shape?" I didn't say a word. I just pulled out my phone and played a video. In the six-figure car I'd bought him, two bodies were tangled together, whispering promises to each other. "I'm only with her for the money. You're the only one I actually want to marry. Hit your target weight, get your body right, and I'll marry you." I watched the color drain from my fiancé's face, and I smiled. "Two hours in the gym with you every single day. Every low-calorie meal. And the second you slimmed down, you wanted to marry someone else."

After Kaelen Vesper lost his sight unexpectedly, I took care of all his daily needs and trained the dog I had raised since it was a puppy to be his guide dog. But on the very first day he regained his vision, he took that old dog with him to climb a mountain on a snowy night, accompanied by his young assistant, who was also blind. When I stumbled my way up to the summit, I found the dog already barely breathing. The assistant felt around on the ground, then as if by accident, stepped down hard and broke the dog's front leg. After that, she leaned lightly and helplessly into Kaelen's arms. "Kaelen, if this dog dies, do you think Ms. Corvyn will give me trouble over it?" I watched as Kaelen held her tightly in his arms. Then he turned and kicked the dog's body several times, his movements showing clear disgust. "It's just a dumb animal. Seeing this creature and Seren makes me remember those ten shameful years when I couldn't see. It won't be long before I make Seren end up just like this animal... scrambling away in total defeat!" Hearing those words, I couldn't help but laugh.  Kaelen had probably forgotten that everything he had now was only because I had given it to him. If that was how he truly felt, then I would simply take it all back!

I accidentally found purchase records from three years ago on my husband's phone. Every single item listed was meant for his ex-girlfriend. There were countless small novelty gifts, as well as box after box of condoms. Just looking at the dates and the variety of items, I could see how eager and attentive he had been back then. It was nothing like how he was with me. Ever since we got married, he acted as if he had no interest in intimacy at all, always calm and distant. We had been married for three years, and we were intimate exactly once every month. It would always last ten minutes, never longer, never shorter. It felt like a routine task, the same way every time. There was no warmth, no playfulness, no spark between us at all. It was completely dull. "All of this happened when I was young and wild," he said. "Do you really think it is worth your time to dig up old things like this?" I did not argue or raise my voice. I simply spoke in a quiet, steady tone. "It is not worth my time at all. We might as well get a divorce." His expression turned sharp and annoyed. Right in front of me, he tapped at his phone screen and placed orders for several more boxes of condoms. "I am buying some for you too," he said. "Are you happy now?" After that, he did not glance at me even once. He turned around and walked away. I stood there calmly and pulled out my phone to call my closest friend, who was also a lawyer. "Could you draft a divorce agreement for me? And also, I wanted to ask... That younger cousin you told me about before, the one who can go all night... is he still available?"

On my birthday, my husband took me to a prenatal checkup. But on our way home, we were ambushed by his enemies. I threw myself in front of him to save him, only to get snatched by the attackers and dragged into the deep mountains. They brutalized me so badly I almost lost the baby. I was curled up in agony, convinced I'd miscarry, when my husband tracked me down that same night, but I didn't feel a single spark of happiness. Because his childhood best friend, the one he'd had a messy, love-hate dynamic with for years, had come along too. She ripped my collar open with one sharp yank, the fabric tearing loud as she grinned and jammed her camera lens right up against my body. "Jonathan, those tiny scrapes on her aren't gonna cut it! Let her stay locked up for a few more days, beat her up worse. Then the news story will be way more explosive, way more eye-catching!" My husband looked over at me, his face full of frustration like he was the one being inconvenienced. "Queenie, Jasmine has always dreamed of being a great journalist. This story will land her a full-time spot at her news job. Just put up with the misery for three more days, then I'll come pick you up and take you home, okay?" He assumed I'd cave and swallow my pride for the sake of our relationship, just like I always had before. But this time, I stared back at him, my gaze completely steady. "I'm due to give birth in a month. I'll ask you one last time. Her, or me? If you choose her, we're done."

Seven years ago, I rescued Adrian Blackwell from the underground combat arena and turned him from a slave fighting wild beasts into the most powerful crime boss in the city. But power breeds ambition.  And ambitious men eventually betray the hands that raised them. The mistress he kept on the side even dared to show up with their newborn son, mocking me for being unable to bear him another child. So I sent the baby away to a remote foreign country, leaving his fate unknown. Enraged, Adrian surrounded my estate with armed men. "Seraphina," he growled. "You'd better return my son. Otherwise, I'll make you wish you were dead." I glanced at the freshly dug grave before me, large enough to bury my body, and smiled without the slightest hint of fear. "Adrian..." I said calmly. "Has being king for a few years made you forget what it was like to kneel at my feet like a dog?"

I built the fame of superstar Ashton White, yet the whole internet claims I am just his obsessive stalker fan.   When he wanted extra scenes added to his filming schedule, I stayed up all night writing detailed character profiles and backstories for him. When his name trended on social media over rumors and gossip, I coordinated with his public relations team to help shape the narrative and manage public comments.   For three years, I managed his official fan support platform. I poured my heart and soul into helping him earn the Best Actor award. But on the very night of his victory celebration, I was removed and banned from the official fan club.   He appeared on a live broadcast with a weary, helpless expression.   "The actions of certain overzealous fans have seriously disrupted my personal life. I hope they know when to stop and respect boundaries."   Within minutes, social media erupted. The hashtag #TopStarSpeaksOutAgainstObsessiveFans shot straight to the number one trending spot.   The entire internet waited for me to turn bitter and drag his name through the mud. But I simply glanced at my bank account, where fifty million dollars had just been deposited, and left a calm, polite statement, "Understood. Wishing you a long and successful career ahead."   No one knew the truth. I only ran his fan support page because his management team paid me more than enough to make it worth my while.   Now that the final payment has cleared, it is time for me to step away from this world for good.

My fiancé was dead set on salvaging the reputation of his sweetheart, the woman who'd voluntarily traded sexual favors to advance her career. So he booked her as a guest on his own talk show. Worse, to draw heat away from her, he dropped the story of my childhood abuse at the hands of my stepfather for all the world to hear. As the on-air sign language host for the program, I had to stand there and translate the most agonizing trauma of my childhood for the whole world to see, gesture by gesture, my hands barely shaking, my face a frozen mask of professional neutrality. All the while, he was dabbing gently at his sweetheart's tears, his tone so warm and gentle you'd think he was comforting a kicked puppy. "Cutting someone else slack means cutting yourself slack too. Everyone deserves a chance to be forgiven. "Everyone deserves grace if they own up to their mistakes and turn over a new leaf."  The second I finished my last sign, I tore off my headset with a sharp click and strode straight toward the stage, past the control room director, who was staring at me like I'd grown a second head, his face white with terror.  "Sebastian," my voice was cold and sharp enough to cut glass. "I've got one question for you."

At the party, my husband's so-called "close female friend" suddenly had an episode. Right there in front of every guest, she pulled open the front of his shirt and pressed her entire body tightly against his chest.   "Don't take this the wrong way, Leah," she said, her voice trembling as if she were freezing. "When my cryophobia flares up, I get this overwhelming fear and feeling of cold. I absolutely have to hold onto Vincent to warm up and calm down."   My husband let out a long, helpless sigh, but he did nothing to push her away.   "Leah, please try to understand," he said gently. "She can't control it when this happens."   A ripple of awkward laughter and knowing glances swept through the room. I stood frozen in place, feeling like nothing more than a fool.   'This is exactly how it started last time,' I thought. 'The same act, the same excuse, and the same result.'   But Aria only grew bolder after that. Before long, she even moved into our home.   She would burst into the bathroom while Vincent was showering, or walk straight into our bedroom late at night, just to throw her arms around him and cling to him.  Each time, Vincent would act surprised, yet he would only scold her briefly before letting it go.   When I finally confronted her, furious and fed up, she just smirked coldly.   "Of course, I want your place," she sneered. "I've been putting something in your food every single day, just waiting for you to drop dead."   The words hit me like a blast of ice.  Before I could even process what she meant, her expression shifted instantly back to that fake, innocent look.   "Just joking, Leah," she said lightly. "Vincent and I have been nothing but platonic friends for twenty years. If there was ever anything more between us, do you really think you'd have ended up as his wife?"   I could not take it anymore. I made up my mind to file for divorce, but before I could even call my lawyer, a sharp, burning pain exploded in my chest, and my vision turned black.  The poison had finally done its work.   When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back in the crowded ballroom, standing exactly where I had been that terrible night. The air felt cool, about 68°F, and the room was filled with the same music and chatter.   'I am really back,' I realized. 'Back to the moment it all began.'   This time, I would not be the victim. I would teach this manipulative woman exactly what it means to play with fire and how to burn herself to the ground.

After pulling several all-nighters, I finally clinched a million-dollar deal. I thought that hundred-thousand-dollar commission was in the bag. But my boss, who also happened to be my boyfriend, handed my entire commission over to an intern who could barely meet her targets. He said the intern had it rough, drowning in debt, with a bedridden mother and a kid brother still in school. Then, with a straight face, he told me that as my boyfriend, I had to back him up and be his rock. 'Hah!' So he wanted to play the hero, spreading his warmth on my dime? I broke up with him on the spot, and slapped my resignation letter right across his face. Mind you, I love money like life itself. Men? I can do without. Money? I can't live without it!

To save me, my fiancé became a vegetative patient. For eight whole years, his family kept him overseas for medical care, and for those same eight years, I was consumed by endless remorse. But today, they were finally returning. Nathan had told me, "Agnes, wait for me. We'll get married as soon as I return." Full of joy, I waited at the airport, only to watch a woman in a vivid red dress beat me to it, throwing herself directly into his embrace. "If you dare to marry Agnes, I will get rid of our baby!" Nathan furrowed his brows. "Stop messing around. She has waited for me for eight years; I have to give her a wedding." "Then what about me? Who stayed by your side during these eight years? Let's not forget, you were injured back then because you saved me. Yet you let Agnes feel guilty for eight years... you are truly heartless." Clutching a nearby billboard, I could barely stand. So, the guilt that had tormented me for eight years was nothing but a farce from start to finish.

It all started because my husband Martin Collins's first love had a thing for freak shows. So he secretly kidnapped and locked up an orphan just to entertain her. After I'd begged and pleaded with him for ages, he finally gave in and set the poor kid free. Martin was still shaking from the fear. He pulled me and Kyle—our autistic son—tight against his chest. "If it weren't for you, I would've been ruined forever," he whispered. "Starting today, I'm right here with you. We'll help Kyle get better together." I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I thought he'd finally come to his senses, shaken off his madness. But the next second, everything went black, and I blacked out. When I finally pried my eyes open, I stared in horror. My little boy's feet had been shattered, and he was stuffed into a vase. A cold, calm voice drifted from right behind my shoulder. It was Martin. "You couldn't even carry a normal child to term. How dare you screw up my plans?" he said, his voice flat as ice. "My gift for Aria was missing a piece. Your useless son fills the spot perfectly." I watched my son writhe in pain, his cries crushing my chest. I pulled out my phone and dialed my brothers, who were all commanders at the military base. "My nine brothers, your little sister and nephew are about to be turned into living trophies. Help!"

I am Adelaide Carteret, matriarch and head of the powerful Carteret lineage. In an underground fight club abroad, I took notice of Benjamin Kensington, who was five years younger than me.   He was locked inside a steel cage, forced to fight a ferocious tiger. There was a ruthless, do‑or‑die fierceness in his eyes, as if he had nothing left to lose.   After he claimed victory, he knelt before me and pressed a kiss to my toe, begging me to get him out of there.   I was drawn to his unbroken spirit and his robust, youthful physique, so I decided he would be the one to father my child.   Seven years later, Benjamin had risen from being little more than a captive to become one of the most brilliant and sought‑after innovators in the tech industry.   I was very satisfied with the bloodline he had given me and believed this to be the wisest decision I had ever made. That was until one day, a woman arrived at my estate with a child, just to provoke me.   "Old hen, do you really think Benjamin ever truly loved you? All these years, everything he did was nothing but an act!   "Every time he touched you, he felt nothing but disgust! If you know what is good for you, step aside and make way now!"   I kicked hard into her stomach and pressed down firmly. Amid her sharp, agonized screams, I smiled coldly.   Benjamin had grown far too comfortable in his new position and started thinking himself my equal. He'd forgotten what he'd always been: a dog on my leash.

Five years into our marriage, I had already told Robert Carter thirty-three times how I lost the hearing in my left ear while saving his life. Yet every time I tilted my head to catch what someone was saying, he would grow impatient. "Why do you always tilt your head and act cute? Can't you behave normally?" He even complained to his friends about it. "My wife is always trying to be adorable. No matter how many times I tell her, she never listens." Everything changed at the company's National Day gala. I watched him personally remove his young assistant's earring before gently reminding her, "Your piercing was infected a few days ago. Try not to wear earrings for a while." He remembered every detail of another woman's inflamed ear-piercing. But the habit I had developed after losing my hearing while saving his life was something he had chosen to forget. Only then did I realize that, in his eyes, my sacrifice had never been a sacrifice at all. To him, I was merely "acting cute."

For five years straight, Dylan Larc did the exact same thing every single time after he finished bedding a new fling: he sent them straight to my tattoo parlor. No exceptions. Not once. I bit my tongue and looked the other way every time. My older sister was a quadriplegic, and I relied on the Larc family to cover her sky-high medical bills. That day, he led his newest fling, a young model, right in front of me at the shop. It was the 99th time he'd done this. She teased me, "It's been five years since he married you. Has he really never once touched you?" She hitched up her top, baring the curve of her lower back. Faint, red marks bloomed across the skin, heated and unashamed. "Tattoo it right here," she purred. "This is Mr. Larc's favorite spot... Oh, never mind. You wouldn't understand that kind of private fun anyway." I didn't let a single flicker of emotion cross my face as I pushed the needle in. But right then, Dylan called. His voice came through the line, soft and coddling. "She's delicate, and she just found out she's pregnant. Go easy on her." My hand jerked. A bead of blood welled up instantly on her skin. The girl fainted at the sight of blood. Dylan babied her like she was made of glass, and ordered the medical team treating my sister to drain every last drop of my sister's matching blood for the model. I spent the whole night on my knees, begging him. But all I got in the end was word that my sister had pulled out her own ventilator and died. Her last words echoed in my head, "Margaux, I won't be a burden to you anymore." With that sentence, I no longer owed Dylan Larc anything. But he seemed to have forgotten one thing—when the five-year term ended, we would never meet again...

Ethan Warner and I were what everyone called the perfect couple. But no one knew that we had spent half our lives resenting each other. He resented me for bringing him back after he lost his memory, believing that my actions had driven the love of his life, Farrah, into depression and ultimately to suicide. I resented him for promising that we would spend our lives together, only to fall in love with someone else in the end. Then an earthquake struck, and I found myself trapped beneath the rubble of a collapsed building, hovering on the brink of death. Ethan rushed into the ruins like a man possessed. Ignoring the danger of aftershocks, he dragged my battered body to safety. As he held me in his arms, he deliberately turned his face away. "Don't overthink it," he said hoarsely. "Saving you is my duty as your husband." Then, after a long silence, he added, "Sophie, if there is a next life, don't marry me. I can never love you." Only then did I finally understand. I had trapped him with a sense of obligation, and in doing so, I had trapped myself as well. If there is a next life, I won't stand in the way of his happiness anymore. My eyes were dry and empty, as though I had already shed every tear I possessed. When I opened them again, I discovered that I had somehow returned to the day I first went to find Ethan.  

On our fifth wedding anniversary, Shawn Quinn brought home a pregnant young mistress, Julia Rowe. Julia gloated, "Heard you married him by getting pregnant back in the day, huh? But yours is a bastard. As for my baby, he locked me in the villa for two whole months, never left my side, and only stopped chasing me until I got pregnant with this child!" I listened to her brag with perfect calm. This was nothing new. Over the five years of our marriage, Shawn had brought different women home again and again, each one more openly humiliating than the last. I had my hysterics over this before, too. Once I stormed up to him, screaming and crying, our newborn—only a month old—tucked in my arms. Shawn just smiled with contempt and said, "I was away on a two-day business trip back then. That's a difference of three minutes and twenty-one seconds from your calculated conception date. You're sure this child is mine?" "You should be grateful I still love you enough to put up with your betrayal." Just then, the new mistress stroked her belly and headed for the master bedroom. Shawn smiled softly and stuffed a bank card into my arms. "Take good care of her. She's the most obedient. This is for your trouble." This time, I did not fly into a rage. I simply tucked the card away safely. He had forgotten—the divorce date we agreed on in the prenuptial agreement was only three days away now. This rotten marriage, this suspicious, cheating husband—I was done with them for good.

At my daughter's funeral, my husband's childhood best friend, Lilian Graham, had the audacity to dress my little girl like a pet dog. ​ A surge of rage exploded in my chest, and without thinking, I stepped forward and slapped Lilian hard across the face. ​ That night, my husband, Warren Monroe, never came home, but early the next morning, he finally appeared in front of me. ​ Instead of mourning our daughter, the first thing he did was point a finger at me and accuse me of nearly ruining Lilian's face. ​ I stared at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend how our daughter was dead, yet he didn't seem to care at all. ​ Instead, he rushed over to defend his precious childhood best friend and demand justice on her behalf. ​ My anger boiled over, and I raised my hand, slapping him just as hard across the face. ​ Late that night, Warren approached me again, his voice gentle and his expression seemingly full of remorse. ​ "I'm sorry," he said softly as he handed me a glass of warm milk. ​ Believing him, I drank it, and within moments, a crushing wave of exhaustion swept over me, and I fell into a deep sleep. ​ When I opened my eyes again, I found myself tied to a tree inside Greenhaven Memorial Park, and panic shot through me. ​ Not far away, Warren and Lilian were directing several workers as they dug up my daughter's grave. ​ I fought desperately against the ropes, screaming for them to stop, but Warren merely looked at me with disgust and sneered coldly. ​ "You're so jealous it's pathetic," he spat. "You even used your own daughter to stir up trouble and build a fake grave here. You're disgusting." ​ The moment I realized they had no intention of stopping, my heart turned cold. With trembling fingers, I activated the voice dial on my phone and called a saved number. ​ "You once promised me that if anyone ever hurt my daughter or me, you'd kill them." ​ My grip tightened around the phone. ​ "Now," I said quietly, "it's time for you to keep that promise."

Our climbing expedition had just entered the high-altitude zone near the summit of Mount Everest when a brutal blizzard tore through the mountain. Temperatures plummeted in an instant. ​ The sudden drop nearly sent me into hypothermic shock. ​ My fingers trembled as I desperately searched through my backpack for the insulated gear I had carefully packed before the expedition. But when I finally reached the bottom, my heart sank. ​ The only thing left inside was a flimsy, sheer nightgown—a piece of lingerie clearly meant for my husband and his childhood sweetheart's private games. ​ Anger surged through me. ​ I was about to confront him when I looked up and froze. ​ There he was, standing only a few feet away, helping his childhood sweetheart into the thermal gear that had originally belonged to me. ​ "Beatrice is delicate," he said dismissively as he adjusted her jacket. "There's no way she can handle temperatures like this." ​ Then he glanced at me and added impatiently, "You grew up in the countryside. You're as strong as an ox. This gear should go to Beatrice first. ​ "Besides, I left you a nightgown, didn't I? Stop being so dramatic." ​ The freezing wind cut through me like a blade. ​ My entire body shook uncontrollably as I gripped the thin fabric in my hands. The sheer material was practically useless against the deadly cold. ​ The biting wind made me shiver all over. Clutching my thin, flimsy nightgown, I was burning with rage. Before I lost consciousness, I sent a message to my father—someone I hadn't contacted in a long time. ​ Ava: Dad, please come save me. And I want Callahan Global Holdings erased from this world!

The heir of the city's most powerful families was obsessed with tiny waists, and he was expected to marry my younger sister, whose waist measured barely twenty-one inches.   Their wedding date was set for the exact same day as mine.   When my fiancé found out, he came to me with a shocking request: he wanted me to switch brides with my sister on our wedding day.   "Blythe," he said, "the person I've always loved is Heidi. If your family hadn't found you and brought you back home, Heidi never would've lost her place in the family, and our engagement never would've ended up being yours."   When I didn't respond, he continued.   "Don't worry. My brother won't touch you. Once everything is settled, I'll bring you back and take care of you privately."   As I stared at his hypocritical, disgusting face, I felt momentarily dazed.   In my previous life, I refused his proposal.   After we married, he abused me for years until I eventually died.   When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the very day he asked me to switch brides.   This time, I decided to give him exactly what he wanted.   "Fine," I said. "I'll do it."   My fiancé immediately broke into a relieved smile.   But not long afterward, he was kneeling in the rain, crying uncontrollably and begging me to divorce his brother and marry him instead.

After a C-section, I suffered severe postpartum hemorrhage, leaving my body completely depleted. My family spent heavily on hiring a professional nutritionist to prepare a customized postpartum confinement meal plan for me. However, my husband, Jack, instructed the nutritionist to split my meal plan in half and give one portion to his secretary. Then he turned to me and said, "Chloe has been working hard on the project. Give her half of it to help her recover. Consider it a company benefit. It's just shared resources. Don't be so stingy. Be more considerate." Before I could respond, Chloe smiled and said, "Sis, aren't you afraid you'll get too fat to ever get your figure back? Half is just right for me." I clenched my fists and looked up at Jack. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He met Chloe's expectant gaze and nodded without hesitation. "Of course. It's just a small matter. Don't make a fuss. Be sensible. "As a reward for giving birth, you've already contributed enough. You can keep the remaining half." I had been cut open layer by layer during the C-section, seven layers deep, and had nearly died. Yet what I received in return was a so-called "shared" postpartum confinement meal plan.

The new, naive young nurse increased the dosage without permission, and it cost my son his life.   When I tried to call the police, she dropped to her knees before me, sobbing.  "I just love children so much. I was afraid the dose was too small to work. How about I sleep with your husband? Then I can give you another baby to make up for it."   My husband, who worked as legal counsel for the hospital, signed a letter of forgiveness.   "It was just an honest mistake. No one blames you."   I felt completely broken, yet forced myself to stay upright just to arrange my son's funeral.   At the burial, the nurse knocked over and shattered the urn holding my son's ashes.   "Children should be free. I could not bear to see him trapped inside a container."   I looked at my husband in disbelief, the man who had allowed all of this to happen.   He only gave a helpless shrug and a faint smile.   "Let it go. He is gone now. The ashes mean nothing anyway."   Not long after, I fell into a deep state of confusion and despair. I died in a car accident.   The nurse cried as if she were consumed by guilt, throwing herself into my husband's arms.   "If I had not broken the urn, she would not have grieved so much. But I only ever meant well!"   My body lay alone and cold in the hospital morgue, unclaimed and forgotten.   Meanwhile, they happily went to get their marriage license.   When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the very day my son first fell ill.

To marry the city's most powerful heir, I reinvented my beggar foster parents as respected academics. As a financial anchor, I used my platform to build influence for my mute husband, Lance Sterling, and help him secure control. On our wedding day, Lance pressed the villa's deed into my hands and kissed me over and over. Then I went on a business trip, and overheard him talking to his first love, Eliza Hayes. Fluent. Clear. Perfect speech. "Eliza, you're finally back. I only went through with this marriage to convince my parents. Once I expose her fake background, you can take her place." My blood ran cold. He'd never been mute. He'd known from the start that I was lying. And he'd married me for one reason: to pave the way for her.

On the day my ex-husband Jason Payne remarried, I stood by the roadside holding my five-year-old son's hand, selling antique trinkets from a small street stall. That was when his new wife noticed me and sneered. "Look at you, Vanessa. Life's gotten pretty rough, huh?" My ex-husband didn't even bother hiding the contempt in his eyes. "If you're short on money, just come beg me for it. What's the point of setting up a pathetic stall like this? You're embarrassing me." I ignored them both and continued arranging those "cheap antiques" they looked down on. A month later, Jason's company was on the brink of bankruptcy. Desperate, he knelt in front of the mysterious investor, begging for a meeting. But when he finally walked into the reception room, he froze. My five-year-old son was sitting on a chair, gently swinging his little legs. He looked up at Jason and said in a sweet, innocent voice, "Mister. If you want my mommy to invest in your company, you need to say sorry first."

We were deep-sea diving when both my son's oxygen tank and mine crapped out without warning. The rescue team could only pull one person to safety at a time. My husband looked at me, eyes wild with panic.  "Honey, I'll get our boy to shore first, then I'll hightail it right back with the rescue team to get you, I swear!" Last time around, I didn't even think twice. I handed that shot at survival straight to my son. But I hung onto that life preserver for twenty-four long, freezing hours, bobbing in the open ocean, and not a single rescue boat ever showed up. Until finally, I couldn't hold my breath any longer. Seawater rushed down my throat, and I drowned slowly, my lungs burning the whole time. The same day they lowered my casket onto the ground, my husband was grinning from ear to ear, walking down the wedding aisle with that fake rich girl he'd been hiding. And the son I'd doted on for years? He held her hand, grinning from ear to ear as he gave them his blessing. "Aunt Abby, that bitch is finally gone! Now you can be my real mom! You and Dad are gonna have the perfect life together, I just know it!" The next thing I knew, my eyes snapped open. I was right back in the deep ocean, my son treading water right next to me, our oxygen tanks dead. Hot tears stung my eyes, but I just nodded at the rescue crew and told them to get my son out first. I was going to find out who ended up on the winning side this time.   Let the game begin.

I wanted to experience what regular frontline work was really like, so I signed on as a waitress at the hotel my family owned. Of course, my very first shift couldn't just be smooth and boring. I ended up running straight into a raging top-tier VIP throwing a fit for no reason. "I already told you, it's my grandson's birthday. The least you can do is put a smile on your face and make him feel special." The little boy was quick to copy his grandma, Emma's bad attitude. Before I could even move out of the way, a whole bowl of steaming hot soup landed with a loud splat onto my uniform. "You're blocking my cartoon! Get on the floor right now and give me a piggy-back ride! I'm gonna keep riding until my dad gets here!" he screamed. I was two seconds away from calling security to throw these two out on their asses, but that little brat just got even more cocky and bold. "My dad is Silas Hayes! All of you work for him! I dare any of you to mess with me!" he bragged. I froze for a split second, then I found it hilarious. I thought, 'Wait a minute,' wondering when my husband had gotten this so-called 'precious son' of his. I didn't hesitate for a single second. I pulled out my phone and called the legal department immediately. I said, "Freeze all accounts belonging to my husband within fifteen minutes. And one more thing, tell him I'm divorcing him."

My name is Raven Hazelwood. Damian Cole and I were the capital's most infamous "Toxic Entanglement"—eight solid years of loving and destroying each other. Year one, I confessed. He called me shameless and locked me in a psychiatric ward. Year two, I got out and broke his leg. He sent me straight to prison. Year three, I kidnapped his prized songbird and forced him to bend over ninety-nine times. The next day, my mother fell into a vegetative state. Year four, I teamed up with his competitors, drove his company to bankruptcy, and sent him to jail. Year five, he was released, rebuilt his empire, and upon hearing I was engaged, held me captive in his bedroom and tormented me for three days and nights. Then, under the accusation that I had drugged him, he threw me right back into prison. Everyone thought we'd stay tangled forever. Until his first love returned. A friend asked him: the one who stayed, or the one who left? He smiled faintly. "She was never the one who stayed. Just a passing itch. I've humored Raven for eight years. It's time to set my heart at rest. From now on, Nora Bennett is the only one who matters." The marriage certificate tucked against my chest still burned. What a coincidence. I was thinking the exact same thing.

My coworker went from flat-chested to a full C cup in just one week. I urged her to go to the hospital for a scan. The results showed two tumors growing inside her, and they were still getting bigger by the day. I said, "Lucia, you really should get surgery to remove them. If you wait any longer, those tumors could spread and it could cost you your life." After my other coworkers and I convinced her, she went through with the surgery. But later, she found out that the guy she had a crush on only liked girls with big breasts. She shouted, "Felicity! This is all your fault! If it weren't for you, he would have been with me by now!" She started a fight with me right there in the office. I accidentally lost my footing, fell, and cracked my skull open on my desk. I died on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the exact moment my coworker went from an A to a C. She looked at me and asked, "Felicity, look. Don't you think my figure looks better now?" I smiled and replied, "Mm. It can get even better."

It was Monday, and I had a fever, so I stayed home from preschool. Mom told Dad that he had to take good care of me. But Dad just holed up in the bedroom, sleeping the entire day. My whole body felt wobbly, but I forced myself to shuffle over to the bedroom door and rapped on it. "Daddy, I'm hungry," I called. Dad stumbled out wearing nothing but his underwear, looking totally annoyed. He crumpled a hundred-dollar bill into my hand and told me to go buy myself something to eat. He added that on the way back, I had to pick him up a box of ultra-thin condoms. I had no idea what a condom even looked like, so when I got to the supermarket, I went and asked the cashier who worked there. Her face kept changing expression, over and over. Then she told me it was a really good thing and that I should bring it home to my mom. When Mom finally got home that evening, I was waiting. I immediately grabbed her hand and pulled her over, holding the box out like I was showing off a really cool treasure. "Mommy!" I exclaimed. "The cashier said this is a really good thing! Daddy told me to buy a box for him, and I saved it for you!" But instead of lighting up with joy, every bit of color drained from Mom's face, leaving her deathly pale.

My mother-in-law got in a sudden car crash out of nowhere while she was on her way to the hospital to drop off a meal. Her son, my husband—the hospital's attending physician—was nowhere to be found, no matter where I looked. He didn't show his face until the day of her burial, sauntering in late with his beloved first love clinging to his arm. When he laid eyes on me, his voice held this jarring mix of ice-cold indifference and unhinged excitement. "Mira just opened her new museum. Give your mom's body to her to use as a cadaver for medical students. It counts as a contribution to society, after all." The second the words left his mouth, he ordered his men to go in and pry the already sealed coffin right out of the grave by force. It turned out he'd thought the person who died was my mom. I made no move to stop him; I just kept my face icy cold and let him haul my mother-in-law's body off to use as a medical cadaver for training.

My son's birthday was supposed to be a special day. Instead, he gave me a gift I would never forget. He told me he was taking me to a Michelin-starred restaurant to celebrate, saying it was time for me to "see how the real world works." Before leaving, I did what I had done for years. I slipped my old thermos into my bag. The moment my son saw it, his face darkened. Without warning, he snatched the thermos from my bag and slammed it onto the floor. "What the hell are you bringing this junk for?" he snapped. "Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my friends? Do you want them to think my mom collects trash for a living?" Even then, he wasn't satisfied.  Pointing a finger at my face, he continued, "Honestly, how did I end up with a mother like you? You're so embarrassing. I regret bringing you with me." As he stood there glaring at me, I took advantage of the distraction to lock the company's inheritance papers inside my desk drawer. He had landed a high-paying job straight out of college and thought it was all because of his own talent. He had no idea that the woman he dismissed as nothing more than a sanitation worker had been quietly clearing the path for him all along.

My husband and I adopted a little girl from the slums. I taught her everything I knew: how to handle a gun, how to take down a man in hand-to-hand combat, and how to read people like an open book. I turned her into the queenpin of the criminal underworld. My husband always said she carried the same fierce, untamed spirit I had had back in my day, and he spoiled her rotten. But that night at our victory banquet, she knew full well I was deathly allergic to seafood. Still, she reached out with her fork and with a plop dropped a whole shrimp right onto my plate. "Mom," she smirked, "if you eat it enough times, the allergy will go away. It's just that my dog copies everything I do. If you won't eat it, he'll learn not to eat it either, and I'm so sick of him being such a picky little thing. " The whole table burst out snickering. And what did my husband do? He just tweaked her nose. "Same reckless, overbearing swagger you had back in the day, honey," he said, turning to me. "Come on, eat the shrimp. Do it for the dog, set a good example for him." I snorted coldly. I had been way too nice to this girl for far too long. How dared she say something like that to me?

When my kid first started kindergarten, the teacher asked us to turn in a family photo. My husband's always away on business trips, so I just photoshopped him into the picture. But my little one came home crying after the very first day.   "The dad in Liam's photo looks exactly like my dad! He says his dad is real and mine is fake!" A bad feeling hit me right away. I checked Liam's dad profile in the class group chat—his personal info was totally blank.   The only thing I could see was his Facebook background image. It was a piece by this photographer my husband was absolutely obsessed with.   What he never knew, though, was that I was that photographer. And on top of that, I'd only ever sent that photo to him.

After three years of marriage, I still hadn't gotten pregnant. My husband, the only heir to a wealthy family, put me through his so-called "Ten Levels of Tests." I passed the first nine levels. But when it came to the tenth, he strolled right into our home, openly flaunting his pregnant mistress in his arms. "Since you can't have a kid, you can raise mine instead. This is my final test for you." The whole family piled on the pressure, telling me to accept this "test." But right in front of everyone, I slapped a copy of his infertility report and his mistress's fake pregnancy certificate down on the table. Under his terrified gaze, I rested my hand on my own belly and smiled softly. "Honey, your test is over. Just because you're shooting blanks doesn't mean I am. Go on, take a guess. Who's the real daddy of the baby in my belly?"

On the day I announced that my daughter was inheriting the company, my stepdaughter burst into the office with a crowd in tow. Facing the live-streaming cameras, she pointed at me and made her grand declaration. "Today, I will publicly expose this woman's hideous true face and take back everything that belongs to me!" "Her first crime: she never treated me as her own. From meals to schooling, she discriminated against me at every turn!" "Her second crime: my father's body isn't even cold yet, but she refused to claim his ashes or hold a funeral. The very first thing she did was seize his company for herself!" In the face of her accusations, I merely smiled, meeting her furious glare. Gritting her teeth, she let out a piercing shriek. "Her third crime: she murdered my father! And I have the evidence!" Instead of getting angry, I smiled. Her father doesn't even have a body left—where on earth did she find evidence?

Leo Lawson used to be the most forgettable foot soldier in my family. Then he threw himself in front of a knife for me, just a centimeter away from having his heart split open. I defied my entire family and married him anyway. Everyone said the spoiled, reckless mob princess had finally fallen in love. Two years later, a woman came looking for me. "You're Vera Quinn?" She lifted her wrist, flashing a gold bracelet engraved with "Leo & Lily." "Leo's been done with you for ages. He said the sight of your face makes him sick. If you're smart, you'll get out of the Quinn family on your own." I blew on the steam rising from my coffee. The woman's screaming didn't make me blink. But when Leo came himself, demanding to know why I had ruined Lily's face, something finally shifted in my expression. "Leo. We're done."

Leo Lawson used to be the most forgettable foot soldier in my family. Then he threw himself in front of a knife for me, one centimeter away from having his heart split open. I defied my entire family and married him anyway. Everyone said the spoiled, reckless mob princess had finally fallen in love. Two years later, a woman came looking for me. "You're Vera Quinn?" She lifted her wrist, flashing a gold bracelet engraved with "Leo & Lily." "Leo's been done with you for ages. He said the sight of your face makes him sick. If you're smart, you'll get out of the Quinn family on your own." I blew on the steam rising from my coffee. The woman's screaming didn't make me blink. But when Leo came himself, demanding to know why I had ruined Lily's face, something finally shifted in my expression. "Leo. We're done."

I was one of the world's top female race car drivers. Racing was as sacred and inviolable to me as my own body. Yet my husband, Lucas Harrington, dragged his child bride into my race car and had one passionate fling after another. When I became completely numb inside, I filed for divorce—and he finally stopped pretending. The face I once knew so well no longer held a trace of warmth; it was terrifyingly sinister and cold, "Emma, I will never let you leave me. But I will not let Vivian go either." To avoid fighting over such cheap love, I had no choice but to fake my death and escape. Lucas, who believed I was truly dead, finally bowed his noble head. He knelt at my grave, repeating his apologies to me over and over...

Boasting an unrivaled winning streak across the legal industry, Orion Frost stood as the most prestigious lead counsel in the city. A single case undertaken by him would easily earn eight-figure legal fees. When fabricated charges sent my father to prison, however, not an ounce of sympathy lingered in his cold reply. "Sylvia, your father's troubles stem from corporate power struggles. Taking this case would tarnish my reputation." Months followed in a blur of desperate running. I sold every family asset I owned, scraping together every penny to fight the unjust verdict, yet Orion never offered a single cent to help. On the night my father received a twenty-year sentence in the first trial, a new social media post appeared on the feed of Juliet Graves, his newly recruited junior paralegal. In the photograph, Orion stood amid a glittering charity gala. Thirty million dollars had been spent on a pink diamond, a lavish purchase made solely to draw a smile from Juliet. Her caption: [Thank you, Mr. Frost, for helping me win the first case of my career.] The opposing party in that very lawsuit? My father's company. In an instant, the whole world I had held dear crumbled to pieces beneath my feet. I tapped into the comment section and typed a sharp retort. Sylvia: [He bought that fancy stone with my father's blood, sweat, and tears. Are you pleased with your gift?] The phone rang seconds later, Orion's name lighting up the screen. Disgust laced every word he spoke. "She is fresh out of law school. Comments like this will ruin her career before it even starts. Delete it at once, or I will see to it that your father's sentence is extended to life imprisonment." I ended the call without hesitation. Fingers flying across the screen, I sent out an anonymous message to someone.

My life had always been a story written by others' devotion. From birth, I had been the undisputed center of their universe, surrounded by three pillars who built my gilded cage. Alexander Summers, my husband, wore the crown of Aerio City's most formidable attorney. Courtrooms bowed to his unbeatable record. At home, he ducked his head at the slightest sharpness in my tone. Bruce Wayne, my childhood friend, now clad in a detective's shield, led the city's major crimes unit. His vow hung in the air between us—a promise to scrub every potential threat from my path. Then there was Sebastian Quinn, my foster brother. He was a business prodigy who seized the Quinn family empire without breaking a sweat. To him, numbers on a screen meant nothing. My whims were his only ledger. Today should have stitched another perfect thread into this tapestry. Our seventh wedding anniversary coincided with my birthday. Perched at the best table in the rooftop restaurant, I clutched a secret close—a single positive pregnancy test folded in my clutch. I waited for a long time. However, what arrived was the news that my five-year-old daughter had drowned. My husband? He defended the killer. I screamed in agony, yet Bruce snapped handcuffs around my wrists. Sebastian took back every single thing he once gave me. "Elara, it was just kids messing around, a terrible accident. Amelia's gone, but you still have us. Rebecca's had it so rough. Her son is all she's got left in this world."

On our third wedding anniversary, my husband gave me a humanoid robot as a present. "Wifey, you've worked too hard. I designed this robot specially to take care of you." But whenever my husband wasn't home, the robot would go haywire. It nearly stabs my scalp with a pair of sharp scissors. Another time, while my husband took our son out for a walk, it removed the ladder from the pool, trapping me in the water for three whole days. I told my husband we needed to get rid of it. Yet he flatly refused. Then one day, our son brought a bowl of cooled soup to feed the robot for fun. The robot responded by hurling a pot of scalding hot soup at him. Desperate, I threw my arm in the way to block it. The boiling liquid splashed all over the robot, and left my entire arm burned. The next day, my husband dragged our son to give the robot a skin graft. I knelt down, clutching our child, begging him to let us go. "Sophia, this robot is something I've poured my heart into, day and night, for you. Are you really going to throw all my hard work away? On the other hand, you've spoiled Lucas too much. Otherwise, he wouldn't have provoked the robot in the first place. Making him donate skin is a lesson he needs to learn. And if he makes the same mistake again, next time it won't just be a simple graft." I didn't argue. I picked up the phone and called the project's investor. "Withdraw the funding. Now." Let's see how much he keeps loving that over-the-top robot without my money behind it.

To save her young son's life, Elara Ashford agreed to her ex-husband's outrageous demand. He wanted her to impersonate his dead first love and deceive the elderly billionaire grandfather suffering from Alzheimer's, all to steal the family fortune. He had her face surgically altered until she looked identical to the dead woman. He taught her every habit, every smile, every mannerism. "Do exactly as you're told. When it's over, you'll get the money, and you'll get your son back." Desperate, Elara agrees. The plan works better than anyone expected. The old man embraces her as his granddaughter and even announces in front of everyone that she will inherit everything he owns. But just as her ex-husband celebrates his victory and prepares to cast her aside, a lawyer arrives with the old man's final handwritten will. It contains only one message: [I leave my entire estate to Elara Ashford, the ex-wife of Corvin Thorne and my true granddaughter. Also, I request that the police be notified. Someone previously impersonated my granddaughter with the intent to murder me.]

My husband's twin brother died in an accident. I went to get the death certificate for my sister-in-law, just trying to help. But when I sent a photo of the certificate to the family group chat, she exploded. "Are you insane? Your husband is the one who died. Why would you get a death certificate for my husband?" Before I could say a word, she posted a video of herself kissing my husband, as if trying to prove something. On her wrist was my bracelet. "See that? The one who died was your stupid husband!" Then my husband messaged me. "Claire, just put my name on Evan's death certificate." "Lena and I grew up together. Now that Evan's gone, she's emotional. She needs someone to look after her. So I'll be her Evan." I sneered. Fine. Since you wanted to take care of your widowed sister-in-law so badly, you could take care of Evan's gambling debt too.

I'm Ella Phillips. To improve the quality of life, my artist boyfriend, Jacob Martinez, sold the life drawings he did of my body online. In an instant, I transformed from a respected teacher to a despised woman. Students protested, parents reported me, the college expelled me, and netizens attacked me online. Just as I am walking home in the scorching heat to save money, I collapse on the roadside from heatstroke. I saw Jacob surrounded by several bodyguards carrying luxury goods, with his childhood friend Olivia Nelson wrapping around his arm as they walked toward a Rolls-Royce. Olivia mocked. "When will your pretentious poor artist act end? Are you really okay with making that woman suffer?" Jacob sneered. "What's the rush? I haven't found my creative inspiration yet. Besides, this is a good way to test her." I nearly fainted, remembering my mom's words when I left home: "If you insist on being with that useless guy, you're giving up your spot as the Phillips family heir." I had never expected that the man I chose after giving up a fortune worth hundreds of billions would put my feelings to the test with poverty.

After a lengthy business trip, I arrived home, only to find my usual bed linens were gone, swapped out for loud pink sheets covered in Hello Kitty prints. A glaring red stain blotted the fabric. Samuel Lewis, my husband, parted his lips to offer an explanation. Darting out of the kitchen before he could get a single sentence out, his female buddy, Sally Jefferson, cut in with forced, over-bright energy. "Alice! You're finally home! I whipped up a pot of creamy clam chowder for Samuel in your place." A flush of embarrassment washed over Samuel's features. He hurried to fill in the awkward pause. "Sally's upstairs neighbors are renovating their place. She's just staying with us temporarily for a few days." "I'm the one who changed the sheets, so don't let it bother you," Sally added quickly. A hand flew to her mouth in fluster, and she playfully nudged Samuel's chest with her fist. "Ugh, my period made a mess on the bed. Why haven't you washed those sheets yet? Don't worry a bit, Alice. I'll make him tackle that laundry right away."

The campus belle, Hattie Vines, thought the school tech fair was boring—she wanted real, lively interaction instead. My childhood friend Lane Dewitt rounded up all the boys in the class. They tricked me into heading out to a wind farm in the countryside. They tied me tight to a wind turbine. The blade rose to roughly 160 feet off the ground. I was stuck high up in the air. I spun round and round for over two hours in 100-degree heat. Lane stood directly beneath the wind turbine. He taught Hattie how to fly a drone and filmed my awkward moments from every angle. He did not untie the ropes and let me go until Hattie nodded with satisfaction. A wide grin spread across his face as he spoke. "We were just messing with you!" he said. "You're not really upset, right? We grew up together. You know me better than anyone." I stared at him in silence—he felt like a total stranger now. I looked over at my classmates, too, and they were all hooting and jeering. It hit me hard in that moment. My life and my dignity were nothing more than a source of amusement for others. I was crushed inside. I decided to transfer to another school. But I never saw what was coming. Soon after I left, Lane jumped straight into the school's pond. "You said you knew me inside out!" he snapped. "Why did you leave?"

I was eight weeks pregnant when Randal Roper and I got married—we tied the knot because of the baby. At the wedding banquet, Queenie Lyles, Randal's childhood friend, pulled me over and spoke with a mischievous expression. "I've got a secret about Randal," she said. Her voice rang out just loud enough for everyone to hear clearly. She continued, "Randal's left leg twitches when he's nervous or stirred up. I'm the only person who knows how to make it stop." The room fell completely quiet in a second. I fixed my gaze on Randal. His left leg was twitching softly without him noticing. Queenie sensed the awkward atmosphere at once. She gave Randal a playful punch on the chest. "The day he proposed, I just figured I'd size him up for his future wife."

While I was doing laundry for my fiancé, Vito Rooker, I caught a whiff of dog odor out of nowhere. I had never kept a dog at home. Besides, I was allergic to dog hair. I called Vito—he was out for his evening run. "Where have you been? Why do your clothes smell like a dog?" Vito sounded puzzled. "Dog smell? You're allergic to dog hair, and I've never touched a dog at all! Oh, honey, don't eat too much for dinner. I bought some sausages for you." I hung up the phone. Soon after, I spotted a post from my female neighbor, Tiffany Wampler, on Instagram. It read, "What an amazing man! He ran into me while I was walking my dog, and he buys sausages for my pup every day. He even takes home the leftovers to eat. Ample says thank you, Vito!" The attached picture showed her fluffy little golden retriever—Ample. I stared at the golden dog hair stuck on Vito's clothes. I picked up the phone right away and dialed Ramona Atherton, my mother. "Mom, I agree to take over the company. Cancel all investments for Vito, and pass this message to everyone—I'm calling off the wedding in seven days!"

I was wiping a coffee cup when my husband slammed a copy of the AI Loyalty Agreement down in front of me. He told me this was the most advanced AI system across the internet. He built it himself, and it would monitor me 24 hours a day. If it ever detected that I'd been unfaithful, I would not only have to walk away from the marriage with nothing, but also have to pay him ten million dollars in damages. He scoffed, "Isn't the whole reason you opened this lousy coffee shop to find your next man?" I looked at his twisted face, smiled coldly, and signed my name. The moment he pressed his fingerprint to activate the agreement, I grabbed his hand and pressed his thumb onto the Party B scan zone too. I shot back, "If this is supposed to be a loyalty agreement, it should be mutual, shouldn't it?" The agreement went into effect, and the next second, a shrill alarm blared through the coffee shop. A blood-red warning beam shone precisely onto my husband's face. "ALERT! Long-term emotional cheating and large improper illicit financial transactions were detected between Howard Richardson and the contact Moonlight Drinker!"

On my wedding day, my husband's female friend dressed up as a flower girl and volunteered to bring our wedding rings out to us. When I opened the box, I found that the real rings had been replaced with 99 sex permission slips. Giggling, she wrapped her arm around my husband's neck. "Hey, look how thoughtful I am. I know you're not in good health, and doing the deed would wear your body out. I specially got you 99 of these—one a year is just perfect. "The extra twenty or so are my bonus reward for you." Seeing that my husband didn't say a word, she turned to me with a smile and said, "Don't mind this, Mia. Luis and I made a deal ages ago: no matter who he marries, he has to get my approval before doing the deed. "And he's so good in bed. If you did it too much, I'm worried you wouldn't be able to handle it. Once a year is more than enough."

My sister and I were both orphans sponsored by Henry Wilson. And it was me, not her, who stayed by his side for ten whole years. Right there, in front of everyone, on Valentine's Day, he got down on one knee and proposed to my sister, fresh off her PhD graduation, just back in the country. I had to ask him why. Henry just sneered, "Your sister is pure and virtuous. Her education, her insight, her skills, what doesn't? She had that's better than you? She’s the perfect woman to be my wife! "You? You're different. You're a total slut in bed, cheap as they come, but at least you're cleaner than some random hooker I'd pay for. Weren't you always just here to scratch my itch?" Everyone watching expected me to break down screaming, to crash the whole proposal and make a huge scene. But I just wiped the tears off my cheeks and offered a faint smile. "Congratulations, sister. Congratulations to you too, brother-in-law. Wishing you both a lifetime of wedded bliss." What Henry didn't know was that my biological parents had just found me, and we'd already reconnected as a family. They're one of the richest, most powerful families in Contra Costa, and they need to pick one of us, me or my sister, to marry Arthur Bailey, the richest man in all of Contra Costa. Since Henry picked my sister to be his bride, fine by me. I'll just take that spot as the wife of Contra Costa's richest billionaire instead. I'm gonna show him exactly what I'm really capable of.

I didn't learn the truth until after my daughter died: she was actually my husband's biological child with his first love. Years ago, his first love and I went into labor on the exact same day. The hospital mixed our babies up, and she ended up in my arms. I never even got a chance to reveal the truth before my husband threatened me, using my dead adoptive daughter's body as leverage. "Agree to donate your daughter's heart to Trixie's girl, nice and obedient. Cross me, and I'll make sure she doesn't even get buried with an intact corpse!" I signed that consent form through tears, desperate to give my adoptive daughter a whole body to rest in... and to save the biological daughter that was rightfully mine. After the surgery was declared a success, I went to the morgue to bring my girl home for burial. I swung the lid of her ice casket open with a creak, and my stomach dropped. Her arms and legs had been ripped clean off. Whoever did this had tortured her so badly she was barely recognizable as human. Just then, a video popped up on my phone from his first love. It showed my husband right there beside her, celebrating her daughter's recovery. "Thank you so much for generously donating your daughter's heart to save our little girl," she cooed in the clip. "As a token of my gratitude, I specially prepared a little gift for you right here in the morgue. I do hope you like it." I stared at her smug, over-the-moon gleeful face, and I laughed, laughing through the white-hot rage that was tearing me apart inside. We'll just see if she can still grin from ear to ear when the truth about the swapped identities of our two daughters comes out, that my dead girl was actually her and my husband's biological child, and they were switched at birth!

When sophomore year started, and we moved back onto campus, a new roommate transferred into our dorm from another major. This girl was extremely hypersensitive. All I did was hug my old roommates first thing when I walked through the door, and that was all it took to set her off. She immediately teared up, dragged her suitcase over, and accused me of not welcoming her as the new girl. Later, she sneaked a few of my snacks when I wasn't around. When I caught her, she burst into tears and whined to our other roommates. "Sharing is a virtue, you know? Can't we cut me some slack and be a little nicer around here?" What happened next? The very next day, her older brother came barreling straight into my lecture hall, and he smashed a whole bag of dog poop right on top of my head. "If I ever hear you're isolating my sister again, I'll fight you tooth and nail!" he roared. Chloe clung to her brother's arm, sobbing piteously. "Bro, stop sticking up for me. It's fine… it's all my fault anyway…" All the surrounding students were already fuming mad, and they jumped all over me.   "Chloe's only this sensitive because she had a bad childhood from a dysfunctional family! Sheena, can't you stop bullying her already?" I leaned back and watched these two siblings clinging to each other, then quietly fished my phone out of my pocket, under their radar, and dialed the school security hotline. And that's when the real show got started!

It was my wedding day. As my maid of honor stepped up to give her speech, she dragged a huge duffel bag behind her. The guests watched in confusion as she pulled out pair after a pair of men's underwear, ninety-nine in total. She held them up for everyone to see, proudly displaying the embroidered name on each one. Then she turned to me with a playful smile. "I stitched every one of these myself," she declared. "From now on, I'll be helping you keep Jeremy in check." Dead silence fell over the entire wedding hall.  I squeezed the ill-fitting wedding dress in my clenched fists so hard my knuckles turned white, and my heart ached so bad it felt like it was being twisted apart. Then she reached out and grabbed Jeremy’s hand, her voice sweet and flirty but edged with a sharp warning, "If you ever treat Wenna badly, you'll never get to wear another pair of these hand-stitched underwear I made again! If that happens, you'll come see me bare-assed to apologize to me!"

I took a brutal beating from the kidnappers to save Jasper, and the blow left me with a severe brain hemorrhage. I kept my life, but my mind never grew up, it stayed stuck at thirteen forever. Wracked with guilt, he looked me in the eye and promised, "Ella, I'll protect you for the rest of your life." And he kept that promise. He watched over me as I grew up. When a fire broke out, he shielded me with his own body, even when the blaze left terrible, deep burns across his entire back. That all changed when his childhood friend came back from another country and asked to live with us. That's when he turned to me and said, "Monica doesn't like being around people with intellectual disabilities. You should move next door." Even my own son, who I'd nearly died pushing out in a traumatic and difficult labor, despised me. "You're just a stupid idiot!" he shouted. "You embarrass Dad and me all the time! Monica is pretty and smart, nothing like you. It's all your fault for stealing her spot! She should be my mom, not you. I wish you were dead!" It didn't take long for the worst to come. To save Monica, my own son shoved me straight into the path of a speeding truck. My body was torn apart on the asphalt. When I opened my eyes again… I was back. Back to the day that Jasper got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. This time around? I don't want his pity, and I definitely don't want to marry him.

The day Liam and I got engaged, he threw my whole life off balance just to suck up to an investor with a dog hair allergy. He got rid of my seven-year-old golden retriever, Charlie, behind my back, my sweet boy that I'd raised for seven whole years. He brushed it off like it was nothing, and said, "A hundred-million-dollar contract or a dog. Which do you pick?" I ripped my engagement ring right off my finger and slapped it straight into his face. "I pick Charlie." That very night, I tracked Charlie down and brought him home, then blocked every single one of Liam's contacts for good. To give Charlie the comfortable, happy life he deserved, I started a pet influencer account called 'Charlie's Blind Date Diary'. Every day, I posted content of the different guys I dated, with Charlie right there beside me to score each one with his barks. When we met that sweet, gentle vet, Charlie barked three woofs and gave the guy a full score. Then, much later, Liam showed up too. He came bearing expensive doggie treats and a genuine Hermès dog bed, then dropped to his knees right in front of Charlie. However, Charlie flicked a glance at him, then turned away. He angled himself right toward the tire of Liam's limited-edition sports car and lifted his hind leg... And peed right on it.

Twenty-four years I'd lived as the Henderson family’s fake heiress. And in the end, the real daughter was still found. Sobs wracking her whole body, tears streaming down her pretty face, she threw herself straight into Mom's arms, sobbing her heart out about every cruel hardship she'd suffered through all those years. When she finished, she turned to me with a pleading look and whispered, "Can you… give back everything that belongs to me?" Every single person in the whole family nodded along like she'd said the most reasonable thing in the world. "Lily, you're not our biological daughter after all. You've occupied her rightful place for all these years. It's time to give everything back to Rachel.” They fully expected me to throw a screaming fit, to burst into tears, to fall apart completely. But I just smiled and agreed without a fight. I handed over all my work responsibilities, packed my bags, and moved straight out of the Henderson family mansion. Three days hadn't even passed before all of Henderson Group's business partnerships fell through. The entire company ground to a dead halt, completely paralyzed. With nowhere else to turn, Dad had to swallow every scrap of his pride and beg me to come home.  I twirled a strand of hair around my finger, click-click as it wrapped around, a lazy, unbothered smile playing on my lips. "Tell that real daughter of yours to come here herself and beg me, the hired hand, to come back."