The web drama adapted from my wife's novel, which she based on herself, became a viral sensation fueled by hate. To protect her true love, I was thrust into the line of fire, serving as a shield against the relentless onslaught of negativity. The constant attacks from her haters left me disfigured, a lifeless husk, trapped in a vegetative state. And she? She sought solace and rekindled her romance with her beloved in the very home we once shared. My heart felt like it was crumbling, and my will to live was extinguished. Yet there she was, kneeling before me, her forehead bloodied from incessant kowtowing, begging for my return.

The day before the wedding, Owen's childhood sweetheart, Ella, had a depressive episode. She threatened to destroy the wedding dress my grandmother had made for me before she passed away. To appease her, Owen locked me in a room and watched as Ella destroyed my dress. Facing the mess, he said indifferently, "Be understanding. It's just a wedding dress. Would you rather see her die?" Later, Owen's uncle, Avery, asked me to marry him and continue the family line. I agreed. But Owen, with red eyes, asked me, "You're really going to have his child? Don't you want me anymore?" I covered my slightly bulging belly. "Be understanding. It's just a child. He's your uncle. Would you rather see the family line end?"

Despised by Dylan for three years, I finally did what he wanted. The day I died, only Knox was with me. And he was there for the girl he loved. They were surrounded by brilliant fireworks, celebrating her birthday. And me? I begged him to save me, but he remained indifferent. He said, "If you want to die, do it sooner. You deserve it." Finally, I was torn apart, discarded like a rag doll. My body went unclaimed. When they found me, he lost his mind.

I always felt there was a misunderstanding between Daniel Patel and me. He mistook me for a gentle, kind-hearted girl. I mistook him for a handsome, rich man ruled by his heart. After we got together, he was caring and attentive, a model boyfriend. He drove me to and from work every day.

After the car accident, our daughter was severely injured, barely clinging to life. Yet, my wife didn't show a shred of concern, even forcing me to sign a letter of understanding for the perpetrator because he was her first love. After our daughter's death, I lost my memory. She cried and begged me not to forget her, but I could only look at her in confusion. "Are you mistaken? How could I have a wife like you?"

The earthquake hit, and I helped my girlfriend save her first love, only to be pushed by her into the ruins. She kept saying she would find someone to save me, but she never returned. "James is an engineer; he knows the building structure best. We're just trying to save more people." But how could she forget that I was the top cardiac surgeon in the country? Later, I luckily escaped, but my right hand was crippled. When I finally let go of the past, she knelt before me, begging me to operate on her. I smiled bitterly and raised my hand. "Thanks to you, I can no longer hold a scalpel."

My mood had been low for the past two months. My pregnant wife had suddenly miscarried. And it was because of me. If I hadn't been so focused on making deliveries, she wouldn't have had to leave the house in the middle of the night after having a nightmare and not being able to reach me. She wouldn't have been hit by a car and miscarried.