After five long years of my trafficking, the police finally brought me back to the Nelson family. The moment I stepped through the door, a girl about my age peeked out from behind my mother. Her name was Amelia Nelson, the child my parents had adopted after I disappeared. My mother, Amanda Nelson, held Amelia tightly, her body trembling. Her teary eyes met mine, tears spilling over. Yet those tears held no joy—only panic and resistance. My father, Samuel Nelson, moved to shield Amanda. When he spoke to me for the first time, his voice was distant and cold. "From now on, your name is Jessica Nelson. Learn the house rules from Amy. The most important one is to do nothing that makes your mother remember the past," he said, his gaze stern. I clung to the police officer's hand, afraid to let go. A confusing ache settled in my chest. 'Am I "the past"? Was I brought back not to be remembered, but to be forgotten?'

A new bakery had just opened on the ground floor of my apartment building. The owner was stunning, the kind of woman who turned heads the moment she walked into a room. My husband Ethan Walker had never liked sweets. Yet somehow, in less than a week, he'd already been down there eight times. Then one day, he came home carrying a cake, his face flushed red and his excitement impossible to hide. I froze. Stuck to the back of his head was a pink silicone bra pad. Without saying a word, I turned around and tossed his medical report into the trash. The report that clearly stated he had diabetes. If he was that desperate for sugar, then by all means, he could keep eating.

Everyone thought I was just a poor college student juggling three part-time jobs. Then Preston Hawke—the campus heartthrob—actually said yes when I asked him to be my boyfriend. I felt like I'd won the lottery. Until the day Chloe Vance and I were trapped together, and a staff member yelled, "Preston, there's only one life vest—who gets it?" He didn't hesitate. "Chloe!" That was when it hit me: I was just a decoy to draw his enemies' attention. But he had no idea who I really was. And the truth was, I was far above his reach.

Nina Carter was the heiress of Southport's wealthiest family. Ever since she was a child, everyone who came into her life had wanted something from her, whether it was money, influence, or access to her family's fortune. Genuine affection was almost nonexistent. Tired of living that way, she chose to hide her identity and live like an ordinary person. She survived on cheap boxed meals, shared an apartment with roommates, and picked up part-time jobs during school breaks to earn spending money. For the first time in her life, people treated her like a regular young woman instead of the daughter of the city's richest man. One evening, she accepted a delivery order and headed to the most exclusive club in Port Victoria, Harbor City, carrying five boxes of ultra-thin condoms. On her way inside, she stumbled upon a female classmate being cornered by several men. The moment the girl saw Nina, tears filled her eyes. One look at her terrified expression was enough. Nina snatched up a wine bottle and smashed it at the men before grabbing her classmate's hand and running. They barely made it down the corridor before the men caught up with them. "You stupid bitch!" one of them snarled. "Can't you mind your own business? A damn delivery girl thinks she can ruin my night? Let's see how tough you are after I teach you a lesson." He raised his hand and swung at her. Nina instinctively tried to dodge. Instead, a sharp scream rang through the hallway. Then a deep voice cut through the chaos. Nina looked up and found herself staring into a pair of dark, unreadable eyes. "You barged into my private suite." The man's gaze lingered on her. "Nobody ever taught you manners?"

After I began to suspect that my husband, Wyatt Keyes, was cheating, I secretly investigated every young woman working at our company. He accused me of overreacting for no reason. "We've been together for fourteen years. Can't you trust me even a little?" We had a huge fight, then gave each other the silent treatment. Then our family doctor told me, "Your husband has cancer. He needs treatment as soon as possible." I hurried straight home, only for the maid, Ronda Kessler, to answer the door wearing my pajamas. She said, "I'm pregnant, and the baby is your husband's."

The delivery room clock read 1:15 a.m. I had just been born. In just a little while, a nurse named Gemma Fox would slip into this room, steal me away, and swap me with someone else's baby. Last time, nobody stopped her. I spent twenty grueling years trapped in a cramped, rundown apartment. By the time I found my real family, the fake heiress had already beaten me to it. One poisoned drink later, I was dead. But this lifetime would be different. I'd spent ten years clawing my way through the underworld, earning enough redemption points for one impossible reward, a second chance. Staring at the clock on the wall, I silently counted down the minutes. Gemma would make her move in exactly one hour and forty-five minutes.

During our romantic relationship of five years, Joshua Ford had always anticipated my every desire. Everyone in our circle often remarked with envy about how fortunate I was to have found a man so remarkable. However, everything changed that morning when his perpetually buzzing phone, left behind, caught my attention. Without giving it much thought, I unlocked the screen. The first thing I saw was a message from the hospital. St. Elara's Hospital: Dear Mr. Ford, your wife's 4D ultrasound is booked for 9 AM. I was struck dumb. My hands shaking, I delved into his medical appointments, only to uncover that alongside his name, there was another patient listed: Sofia Stone. The most recent document was a pregnancy report dated three months ago.

I got into a car accident while Declan Whitmore was calling to tell me where he was. "She's getting married today. I have to go." Pain twisted through my lower abdomen as I clutched my stomach, my voice trembling. "Please... take me to the hospital first. Someone rear-ended me, and the car—" Before I could finish, Declan cut me off, impatience already creeping into his tone. "Enough. I told you I'd come back to this marriage, and I meant it. I'm just seeing her one last time. She's getting married too, so what exactly are you afraid of? Stop pulling cheap stunts just to keep me around." Then he hung up. By the time the ambulance brought me to the hospital, blood had already soaked through the stretcher beneath me. The miscarriage surgery required a family member's signature, but no matter how many times I called, Declan never answered. Seventeen calls. Not a single response. That same night, the man who had never once posted on Instagram suddenly updated his account. Declan: Not being with you will always be the greatest regret of my life. I only want you to be happy. In the photo, Serena Delacourt stood beside him in her wedding dress, smiling softly as she leaned against his shoulder. They looked far more like the bride and groom than Serena and the man she had actually married. After the surgery, I forced myself out of bed and personally delivered the divorce papers I had signed four years ago to the county clerk's office.

After my mother Magnolia Westbrook remarried, I sent her a hundred thousand dollars every month for living expenses. I even arranged a job for her late-life partner Richard Dalton's daughter as my husband's secretary. One weekend, my mother came to visit wearing a sweater riddled with holes. At first, I thought she was simply being frugal, but when I checked her bank account, the balance was just three dollars and eighty cents. I pressed her. "Mom, did someone scam you into buying health supplements? Or did you invest it somewhere?" She hemmed and hawed, refusing to answer. I was about to call Richard's daughter to find out what was going on when my mother suddenly grabbed my hand, her eyes reddening. "Don't call Chloe. It's me. I'm old and useless now. I just can't figure out that going-Dutch thing..."

In the third year since Felix Sterling returned to the family fold, Sasha Shaw was pregnant again. While packing a maternity bag at the mall, they encountered Yvonne West, who had once come between them. She wasn't doing well; the bravado she once flaunted, claiming that she and Felix were true love, had long since disappeared. She was half-kneeling on the ground, changing shoes for a customer, with her eyes downcast, meek and obedient. Felix stared at her, unconsciously releasing Sasha's hand and taking two steps toward Yvonne. Sasha quickly wrapped her arm around his. "I'm tired. Let's rest at the café next door." Felix looked as if snapping out of a trance. He turned to look at her, his eyes filled with guilt and unease. He still harbored a hint of lingering, unhidden pain for Yvonne. He quickly took her hand and led her toward the café. "Okay."

"In the morning, I arrived at the flower shop for my shift and found my ex-husband sitting inside. He was dressed in a tailored suit, sharp as always, and he pointed at me with that cold smile. ""The flowers I bought yesterday are already dead. My wife is very upset. I want you to fire this employee."" I stood still, my hands clenched. ""Mr. Blake, we've been divorced for a long time. What will it take for you to leave me alone?"" His voice dropped low. ""Let me see the child."" A sharp pain stabbed through my heart. How dare he mention our child? Our child had been murdered — by his new wife."

When firefighter Noah was killed during a cross-state wildfire deployment, one of his teammates returned with the only thing they had managed to recover: a firefighter helmet warped and blackened by flames. His voice was hoarse with grief. "Ivy... Captain Blake didn't make it." The words shattered Ivy on the spot. She collapsed before anyone could catch her, crying until no tears remained, her throat so raw she could no longer make a sound. When she regained consciousness, she fought like a madwoman to get back into the fire zone and search for him herself. Her family had to physically restrain her. After that came sleeping pills, a speeding car, and a rooftop ledge. Three times she tried to end her life, and three times she was dragged back. Everyone who heard about it could only sigh. "Dr. Lynn and Captain Blake truly loved each other more than life itself." And for a long time, Ivy had believed that too. And yet, six months after Noah's "death," Ivy finally learned the truth. The man who died in that fire had never been Noah at all.

After I, Loretta Flood, finished my Redemption Quest, Mario Farrell grew tired of our mundane life. He developed a crush on the new assistant, Lynne Gale. The second time he took Lynne abroad behind my back, I summoned the system. I said, "I want to go home." The system's voice was flat and emotionless. "It's been thirteen years. You even have a child together. Can you really bring yourself to leave him?" I tilted my head and smiled. "No one is that irreplaceable." Still, he was the man I'd saved with my own hands—I was going to destroy him myself before I left.

After seven years together, Jeffery Shepherd and I broke up for good. After we called off our engagement, I unexpectedly found out that I was three months pregnant. This day, I went to the hospital for a prenatal checkup. With a cold expression, Jeffery stopped me. "Bold move. Trying to use a baby to claw your way back up?" Then I pulled my marriage certificate out of my bag and said calmly, "Look closely. I'm married. This isn't your child."

My husband, Daniel Scott, had a stunning and exceptionally competent director by his side, Sofia York. From the inception of our company to its triumphant debut on the Pearl Bay Stock Exchange, Sofia was always in the spotlight during Daniel's milestones. Meanwhile, I stayed at home, managing our daughter, helping her with her homework, and handling household chores. My knowledge of Daniel's triumphs came solely from television and media reports. My best friend, unable to hold back any longer, chastised me for my lack of outrage. "I can't believe you tolerate it! Sofia even acts like Mrs. Scott in front of journalists. Ten years have passed. Even if you've been blinded by love, it's time to snap out of it." As my friend fumed with indignation, I calmly ran my finger around the edge of my wine glass. Right, ten years had indeed slipped by. I hadn't noticed time flying, but the result was worth it. Finally, those two had taken my company public. Now, with everything set, I could stage my coup at the upcoming shareholders' meeting, eliminating Daniel from his chairperson role and Sofia from her impending promotion to executive general manager.

The same year the doctors gave me a terminal cancer diagnosis, my daughter, Julia White, entered a prestigious society by marrying Charlie Grant, a powerful, wealthy man. I believed Julia's future would be filled with joy and fulfillment. But just a year later, the ghost of Charlie's past, his first love Vivian Scott, returned. Julia was plunged into despair, and despite being seven months pregnant, Vivian forced her to drink strong liquor, pushing her further into the depths of depression. My heart couldn't take the injustice, and I passed away in a fit of rage. When I awoke, I found myself possessing the form of Charlie's mother. Filled with resolve, I stormed into the luxurious VIP room. Vivian met me with a sugary, deceitful grin. "Isabella, what brings you here?"

The day I went to try on my wedding dress, my fiancé suddenly pushed away the suit the clerk handed him. "No need." I turned around, stunned. "What do you mean?" Jacob Hyde casually stubbed out his cigarette and smiled. "I'm not going to the wedding. You can do the fitting yourself." The absurdity of it hit me all at once. My voice came out hoarse. "You're the groom. You're not going? Jacob, you've already called off this wedding seven times. What's the excuse this time?" He gave a lazy shrug. "Been chasing this girl lately. She's different from other women. There'll be too much media coverage at the wedding. If she finds out I'm married, she'll get hurt." He said it so lightly, like we were discussing dinner plans. "A wedding can still happen without the groom, right? That's basically what happened at the engagement party. If not, we can always do it another time, yeah?" I froze in place. Jacob didn't notice a thing. He simply turned and walked away with those long, effortless strides of his. The staff exchanged awkward glances. I took a deep breath and gave them a set of measurements. "Alter the suit to this size." A wedding without a groom can't happen. So I'll just change the groom instead.

When my husband Simon Reid returned from his business trip, he brought me a pair of high heels. Only minutes earlier, I had scrolled past an Instagram photo of his ex-wife Megan Porter wearing the exact same pair of red-soled heels beneath the caption: Megan: Divorced for five years, and my ex-husband still hasn't broken the habit of bringing me gifts from his trips~ For once, I stayed silent, swallowing the questions and resentment that used to rise in my chest whenever he brought home another gift so obviously chosen with another woman in mind. After thanking him softly, I carried the shoes to the cabinet by the hallway, where six other pairs of heels already sat lined up in perfect order. Every single pair was size 6, even though I had always worn size 5. That was Megan's size. In the living room, Tessa sat on the rug eating the snacks Simon had picked up at the airport, while he lounged on the couch, smiling into a video call with the son he shared with his ex-wife. On the screen, Tommy Reid excitedly held up a limited-edition Transformers figure. "Thanks, Dad! You waited in line three hours just to get this for me? I love it!" Simon's eyes softened instantly, the warmth in his expression almost unfamiliar. "Then it was worth the wait," he said with a smile. "I'll get you another one next time." It was only after the room suddenly fell silent that unease twisted through my chest. I turned around so quickly my slippers nearly slipped off my feet and saw Tessa collapsed beside the coffee table, her tiny face flushed a frightening shade of red as she clawed weakly at her throat, struggling for air. "Daddy..." Tears streamed down her cheeks as she whimpered helplessly. "It hurts..." Yet Simon noticed nothing. Still sprawled on the couch with his attention fixed entirely on the phone screen, he laughed at something Tommy had said, completely oblivious as Tessa choked only a few feet away.

Ever since I turned eighteen, I've fallen into a dead sleep for exactly twenty four hours on my birthday every single year. My parents said I had a rare neurological sleep disorder that flared up on specific dates. I believed it for ten whole years. Ten years of medication, ten years of doctor visits, ten years of endless medical tests. Every time I woke up, my family would be gathered around my bed. A half-eaten birthday cake would still be sitting on the table, and Mom, eyes red from crying, would softly say, "You fell asleep again." I cried over it before too. Thought life was just unfair. But this year was different. Because three days ago, while sorting through my grandmother's belongings after her death, I found an envelope. Inside was a trust document and a photograph from ten years ago. The photo showed my eighteenth birthday party.

I had been engaged to my brother's best friend, Donovan Hayes, for years, yet he never brought up marriage. Not until I overheard him joking with a friend, "The daughter of a mistress is meant to stay a mistress. After I go through with this marriage alliance, I'll just stash her somewhere outside the family." I didn't barge in to confront him. Instead, I turned and went to the cemetery. There lay my older brother's ashes. Later, the day after Donovan left for another city for training, I went to the Hayes estate to break off the engagement. Donovan called me on the phone when he found out I wasn't at home.  "Where are you?" I glanced at the man beside me and answered truthfully, "I'm in the courthouse, and I'm getting my marriage license."

On the day of the grand homecoming gala for Emily Spencer—the biological daughter of my adoptive parents—I was hiding in the lounge, scrolling through my phone, when I stumbled upon her livestream. Emily was on camera, her eyes swollen from crying and her lips bruised and battered. She was sobbing to her audience, claiming she was a victim of relentless bullying. The comment section exploded in a frenzy of righteous indignation. "This person is pure evil! Not only did she steal someone else's life, but she's a bully, too? She deserves to rot!" "I feel so sick for her parents. They literally raised a cold-blooded snake." "Just look at that girl's face. You can tell she's a total bitch just by looking at her!" Emily choked back a sob, her voice trembling. "She told me I wasn't allowed to come home. She said if she ever caught me here, she'd beat me again." I scrolled down to see the "bully" photos Emily had posted. My heart stopped. The person she was accusing was me. But I was the one she had been tormenting! It was the exact opposite!

My new college dorm mate was Sally Benton, a girl who acted like a wealthy heiress with money to burn. She arrived with a flourish, handing out a mountain of high-end skincare products to everyone, though none of them had their original packaging. In exchange, she expected us to pour out her foot-washing water every day, pick up her packages, wash her underwear and socks, stand in line at the cafeteria to bring her meals, and handle countless other small tasks. I recognized those bottles instantly. They were all the empty containers I had tossed away at home. Someone had fished them out and refilled them with some mysterious, unknown liquid. The moment I looked at her face, the mystery vanished. She looked exactly like our family maid, Martha Benton. I knew exactly where those "luxury" goods had come from. In my past life, out of respect for Martha's years of service to my family, I had tried to save Sally from herself. I pretended to accidentally break all those fake products and then had my butler deliver brand-new, authentic replacements to the dorm. That was how she found out who I really was. I thought she would have the sense to back down after being exposed. Instead, she grew to loathe me with a burning passion. One night, after planning it for weeks, she pretended to be drunk and pushed me off our dormitory balcony. I remember her screaming as I fell, "You were just lucky to be born into the right family! Let's see if your luck holds up in the next life!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the first day of freshman year. I watched as the maid's daughter stood there, basking in the starstruck gazes of my other roommates. She dumped a pile of expensive-looking bottles onto our desks with an arrogant smirk. "My family is incredibly rich," she bragged. "As long as you do exactly what I say, you'll be well taken care of. Do you understand?" While my other two roommates were busy pledging their undying loyalty to her, I grabbed the pile of trashy, refilled bottles on my desk and hurled them straight back at her. "There's a luxury villa district right next to the campus," I snapped. "If you have this many ridiculous demands, go rent a mansion. Nobody here is going to be your servant!"

I tricked an innocent school heartthrob, slept with him, and then dumped him. Six years later, I ran into him again in the hospital hallway. He was now the younger General Manager James, the man everyone wanted to curry favor with, exuding an air of nobility and wearing an impeccably tailored suit. I was disheveled, holding a child with an IV in one hand and biting a pancake with the other. He asked, "How old is the child?" "Four." He raised his hand and snatched Lucas's medical test sheet, glancing at the age. "Olivia, you're still as full of lies as ever!"

Over Memorial Day weekend, I took my out-of-town roommate home to stay over. I never expected that very night she would get my brother drunk and spend the night with him. Afterward, she upset my sister-in-law so badly that she miscarried, then went around claiming she was ruined because my brother had gotten her pregnant and she was too ashamed to go on living. Rumors exploded across campus. My brother didn't want me dragged down by it, so he had no choice but to marry her. After she married into our family, my roommate made everyone's life hell. She used the child as leverage, forcing my parents to transfer the house into her name. All that stress was too much for my parents. They were already in poor health, but the drama my roommate caused made them so furious that they ended up in the hospital. My brother, caught in the middle, broke his leg and lost his job from all the pressure. My whole family was a mess. Then I woke up again, back to the day before the holiday. The roommate's fake distressed voice echoed in my head, "So annoying, Lindy. You're all going home, and I'm the only one stuck in the dorm for the holiday."

After starting college, our club held a welcome dinner. The campus heartthrob, Julian Cole, asked for my number.   His childhood best friend, Selene Hart, gave me a nudge and a wink.   "Hey gorgeous, just give him your number. Don't worry, he's single."   The rest of the table started chiming in.   "Ooh, single, huh?"   "Then why are those two always joined at the hip?"   Selene pretended to be annoyed.   "Oh, stop it! Julian and I are just bros!"   I was about to turn him down when a wall of comments suddenly appeared before my eyes.   A: [Here it comes! The iconic scene! Once the second lead gets the guy's number, the main girl gets drunk from heartbreak, and the guy force-kisses her!]   B: [They're literally one confession away from dating. This homewrecker is disgusting. She deserves getting stabbed to death!]   C: [She'll get what's coming to her anyway. What matters now is getting those two to kiss!]   I swallowed my refusal.   "Sure, go ahead and add me."   I caught the flash of jealousy and resentment in Selene's eyes, and I smiled.   They wanted me to play my part in their little love story?   Let's see who's really playing who.

The call from Ethan Brooks jolted me from sleep at two in the morning. His voice was hoarse and tense, edged with panic. "Aria, it's an emergency." I stiffened. "Aren't you supposed to be on a business trip? What's wrong?" A heavy pause followed. He was scrambling for words. "Iris Hale... she's eight months pregnant." My thoughts shattered. "The two of you—?" "No," he snapped, too quick. "Nothing like that ever happened between us." My relief was cut short as he continued, his voice strained. "The doctors just called," he said. "She fainted and listed me as her emergency contact. She's still in the ER." When I arrived, the physician had just stepped out. The situation turned out less critical than I had feared. "The baby is stable," the doctor said. "We suspect malnutrition caused the collapse." Ethan slumped against the wall, his voice choked. "She made a reckless choice." I turned to him. "What choice?" "She used my donated sperm." I spun around. "What?" "Remember that genetic research project I joined in Aurelia years ago? We all submitted samples. She... used mine." He swallowed hard. "She claims she is not after status or money. She just wanted to give me a child." "She knew about your infertility," I said slowly. "She knew how badly I wanted one." Her words hit me like a slap. My mind raced, caught between rage and absurdity. Our marriage's best-kept secret was a chasm we had never dared to name. And now, unbelievably, some stranger had torn open our marriage in this twisted, heart-wrenching way.

On the day of our engagement party, I could not reach Leo Gray, my boyfriend of ten years. I waited at the restaurant for eight agonizing hours, watching the sunlight fade from the windows. When night finally fell, his call came through, and his voice carried only a faint trace of apology. "Nova, sorry, something came up," he said. "I hope your parents didn't have to wait too long?" I rubbed my sore legs and answered in a quiet voice. "No." His own voice sounded exhausted as he continued, "Let's postpone the engagement until next week. How does that sound? I'll explain everything to your parents myself." Then my phone buzzed with a notification, and there it was again on my feed: another candid shot of Leo and Ella, their faces close together in a way that left no room for doubt. Our mutual friends had flooded the comments with congratulations for Ella, who had just received twenty-five carefully chosen gifts from Leo for her birthday. The final present had been him showing up at her door without any warning. That meant during the eight hours he had left me waiting at the restaurant, he had flown to another city to celebrate the birthday of his so-called childhood sweetheart. Before I could even process the betrayal, my phone pinged again with a direct message from Ella Vance. Ella: Nova Reed, Leo only cares about me. Are you really sure you still want to marry him? I gripped my phone so hard that my knuckles turned white, but this time I did not bombard him with frantic questions or desperate pleas. Instead, I typed my reply to Leo with a steady hand, letting each word land like a final stroke. "No need," I wrote. "Let's just end things here." I no longer wanted to marry Leo.

My boyfriend's childhood sweetheart had a strange illness. Whenever it acted up, she needed him to caress her entire body, or else she would strip naked in public. On the night of Ryan Foster's ninety-ninth proposal to me, her illness flared up again. He had just slipped the ring onto my finger when he turned and walked away without looking back. We met again at his birthday banquet, where he publicly announced that Ivy Sterling was carrying his child. After he stepped down from the stage, he coldly told me, "Ivy has to keep this baby. My proposal still stands, but you will treat this child as your own." The crowd immediately started mocking me. They called me an infertile woman, which was why Ryan dared to be so brazen. I did not say a word. I pulled off the ring and handed it back to him. "I gave you a chance. You threw it away."

My husband and I had built a remarried household, each of us bringing a daughter from our previous marriages. Right before the school year started, a viral interview called #ThePainofStepfamilies set the internet on fire. The day my stepdaughter moved in, I deliberately removed my own daughter’s desk from the spare bedroom and gave her the smaller one in the living room instead. Terrified that my stepdaughter would feel unloved without her biological mother around, I smothered her with the exact same attention I gave my biological child. I even bought double sets of notebooks and highlighters in her favorite colors, brushing off my own daughter’s muttered complaints about favoritism. A week before classes began, a local news crew arrived to film a feature on Growing Pains. My stepdaughter jumped at the opportunity, raising her hand with a performative grin. On camera, she clutched the microphone, and her eyes welled up with crocodile tears. "I’m stuck doing homework in the spare bedroom because Ms. Moore says the living room is only for my stepsister, Nina. She buys Nina fancy imported supplies, but she hides mine and claims the old ones are 'still good.'" The second the segment dropped, the hashtag #EvilStepmom exploded. Internet trolls dug up our address and swarmed our apartment block to scream insults like “Wicked stepmonster!” Even my biological daughter got dirty looks in class. Then came the day I went to pick Nina up after school. A pack of strangers cornered me, shoving me until I tumbled down the stairs. As I hit the concrete steps, I heard my stepdaughter’s faux innocent whisper. “Don’t be mad, Ms. Moore. They’re just standing up for me.” When I opened my eyes again, I watched my husband dump her bags carelessly by the door. He was always meticulous, except when it came to his biological daughter. She kept her head down as she slipped off her shoes, but the glint of manipulation in her eyes was unmistakable. I could not help but smirk. So this was her "painful family" story. This time, I would make her choke on what real suffocation felt like.

Three months after I married Ethan Hayes, I ended my own life with a blade across my wrists. My soul drifted through the air, and I pictured him as a broken, desperate wreck who sobbed uncontrollably while tearing the world apart to find me. I at least expected him to cradle my lifeless body and kneel beside my grave night and day, choking on his guilt. It was the kind of scene from those cheesy tragic romance novels where the ruthless CEO at the top of the corporate ladder lost his mind after his wife died. His hair turned gray overnight, his empire crumbled, and he ended up throwing himself into her grave as one grand, final act of love. None of that happened. Ethan just stared at my corpse and spat out a single word. "Disgusting." There was no remorse, no dramatic downfall, and no fiery redemption arc. Instead, my death gave his precious little orphan, Chloe Hayes, the perfect opening. In one swift move, she seized my place and became the next Mrs. Hayes. I looked down at the knife in my hand, and time flashed back to the day I tried to end everything. Why the hell was I the one dying? The real monster had never been me. The knife hit the floor with a clatter, and I stormed out. Before Ethan could bring that woman Chloe into our home, I scrawled my name across the divorce papers.

At the peak of my wealth, I spent three million dollars to buy Luke Reed's dignity. I paid him to be the stand-in for the person I could never have, and he met every one of my demands with the eagerness of a kicked puppy. Back then, I truly believed our arrangement was a win-win situation for both of us. Then I stumbled upon his diary by accident. It turned out that he loathed being someone else's reflection with a white-hot hatred that seared his bones. And as for me, he despised me just as fiercely as he despised the role I forced him to play. Years later, my life took a nosedive that left me breathless. My family's fortune evaporated overnight, reducing me to a junior stagehand on film sets. Meanwhile, Luke clawed his way to the top of the industry and became the youngest Best Actor winner. Then he strutted into my world again with his arm slung around his new flame, who looked eerily like me. He ground my spilled stomach pills into the dirt with the heel of his designer loafers. "Now you know how it feels to be a stand-in," he said. "Pathetic. You are not even a good fake."

The day before the transfer application deadline at the company, I stumbled upon an application that was already signed and sealed to ship me off to a branch office a thousand miles away. The name on the application hit me like a punch: Landon Wells, my workplace mentor and the guy I had been dating. Goosebumps prickled my skin as I fumbled to call him, and my hands shook so badly that I nearly dropped the phone. He brushed it off like it was nothing and said, "Oh, Lily filed that for me. Just a joke, apparently. Cancel it yourself if you don't like it." Lily was that clingy intern who had latched onto him like a leech and insisted on calling him "boss." A creak came from the phone in my white-knuckled grip, and then sixty seconds of silence passed while I realized how little it all meant. Five years of grinding day and night, and my career could be tossed aside for a prank? I did not scream or even cry, but I methodically packed my desk with movements that felt eerily calm as I walked out right on schedule. But guess who suddenly lost his cool? Landon. "Didn't I tell you to cancel that transfer request?" he said. "You just went ahead with it anyway?" A heavy pause followed, and I simply replied, "Mm."

Three years after I dumped James, his socialite mother tracked me down. She claimed her son had become a complete waste of space and begged me to go back and save him. I barely got through the door before some thug started running his mouth. "Who the fuck are you? This is a private room, bitch! Get out!" I didn't bother with the lapdog. I scanned the VIP room instead. The place was packed with James's deadbeat crew. Every guy had a girl draped over him, all low-cut tops and micro-skirts. The table was loaded with top-shelf booze and overpriced food. Pure, rotten decadence. My gaze landed on James, slouched in the corner with his legs crossed, smoking a cigarette. He'd dyed his hair gray and kept his head low. A girl sat next to him who looked about sixty percent like me. I was icier. She was sweeter. James's childhood friend Brody recognized me first. His jaw hit the floor. "Holy shit! Isn't that the legendary Mia..." He slapped a hand over his own mouth, but it was too late. The instant James caught even the first syllable of my name, his head snapped up. Our eyes locked, and he went completely still. The shifting club lights went dark for a beat, hiding his expression. When they flickered back on, all I saw on his face was disgust and contempt. James leaned back and threw his arm around the girl beside him. She turned bright red and nestled into his chest like a little bird. Too bad James didn't notice her blushing. He was too busy sneering at me. "Well, well, if it isn't the gold-digger who dumped me for cash." He looked me up and down, noticed I wasn't wearing a single designer label, and smirked with satisfaction. "Mia Fairfax, still broke as ever. What's this, you want me back? Get on your knees and bow three times, then we'll talk." His crew burst out laughing. Aside from Brody, nobody in the room knew who I was. They ripped into me without mercy. "Bro, what kind of idiot dumps a guy like James for money? If I were a chick, I'd worship him 24/7. He could smack me around and I'd thank him. I'd call him daddy!" "She's gotta be clout-chasing, right? She kinda looks like Olivia. Bet she got surgery. Pathetic. She's not worth a fraction of Olivia. Olivia's the only one who deserves James!" 'Olivia Winslet. So that was the girl glued to James's side.' Olivia glanced at me from the safety of James's arms, her eyes dripping with pity. Underneath it, I caught smugness and quiet contempt. She probably figured I'd gone under the knife to look like her, just to get close to James. And that I still didn't qualify to sit next to him. Brody was the only one who hadn't said a word. He kept glancing between James and me, visibly anxious. He opened his mouth to say something, but the others shouted right over him. That was when the comments appeared in front of me again. A: [The villainess finally showed up. She's supposed to be some legendary first love? Doesn't look like much. Way worse than our baby girl.] B: [Relax, the villainess never lasts long anyway. The male lead already forgot all about her. He won't give her the time of day.] C: [This scene kills me lmao. The villainess tries to politely convince the male lead to get his act together, and he won't even look at her. Self-humiliation at its finest!] I'd actually planned to go easy on James. First time seeing each other in three years, after all. But after reading those comments, I changed my mind. We'd been apart too long. Someone had forgotten the rules, and he needed a reminder. James was still basking in his crew's trash talk, turning to praise whoever had roasted me best, when my shadow fell over him. I stood right in front of him, raised my arm high, and backhanded him across the face. The room went dead silent. "Aw, what's this? Want me back? Get on your knees and bow three times first!" I walked right up to him and backhanded him across the face. Viewer comments flooded my vision out of nowhere. A: [Has the villainess lost her mind?? She actually SLAPPED the rich male lead?? Our sweet baby heroine is sitting RIGHT THERE!] B: [This moron is supposed to be his soulmate? She's a bloodstain at best! With his temper, he's gonna wreck her face!] C: [Our baby girl is so much better. Sweet, gentle, the perfect little wifey. Never talks back to the male lead, docile as a kitten. Anyone with eyes knows who to pick.] D: [No wonder she's the wicked villainess! Vain women who defy the male lead are the worst! Catering to men is a woman's highest calling! Just die already! Waiting for the male lead to snap!] 'James, snap at me?' I almost laughed. I stared him down in front of every last person in that room. "Apologize." The bright red outline of my handprint blazed across James's face. His eyes burned crimson with fury. But he ground the words through clenched teeth. "...Sorry." The room erupted. Terrified whispers rippled through the crowd. The demon who could bring James to heel was back. I gave a satisfied nod. And here I'd thought they'd all forgotten. The Harrison family's golden boy had been trained into my most obedient dog three full years ago.

During a break from drill practice, my boyfriend treated the entire class to popsicles. He miscounted and came up one short. When it got down to me and the campus queen, he handed her the last one. I watched him tear open the wrapper for her with care. "We're done," I said. He looked amused. "Over a popsicle? Really?" "Yep." "Fine. Just don't come crawling back to me." Five years together, and he was dead certain I was bluffing. What he didn't know was that I'd already accepted a spot in the school's exchange program. The moment drill training ended, I'd be on a plane overseas.

I had spent my previous life climbing from the very bottom to a position of real power in the state government. Banquets, gambling tables, honey traps—there was nothing I hadn't seen. I never expected that in this life, I would wake up as the long-lost daughter of a wealthy family, missing for eighteen years. The day I was brought back to the Hawthorne family happened to be Wendy Hawthorne's birthday party. Wendy stood beneath the lights in a couture gown, delicate and tearful like the perfect princess of the evening. Meanwhile, I wore a faded old dress that looked completely out of place in the lavish banquet hall. Before I could even settle in, they had already cornered me like investigators questioning a suspect. My biological mother frowned openly at me. "If I'd known you were this embarrassing," she said coldly, "I never should've brought you back. You're ruining this family's image." My brother, Samuel Hawthorne, looked at me with unconcealed disdain. "This family only has one sister," he said. "Wendy." "You'd better understand your position and stop thinking about things you shouldn't." Wendy stepped forward in her designer gown, her eyes glistening with tears. "Evelyn, don't blame Mom and Dad," she said softly. "They're just not used to this yet..." She hesitated for a moment before adding carefully, "Maybe you should apologize first? You scared my friends." I smiled and picked up the glass of red wine in front of me. In my previous life, this was called an obedience test. In this life, it was just the family's way of breaking in the new girl. I looked at the family standing before me. Too many people, too little structure. Nobody seemed clear on their role. The whole family operated like a dysfunctional company. Interesting. If this family was hopeless, then I would fix it myself. My goal was simple: Turn this household into a model unit.

Seven years ago, Lucien Mercer loved me enough to throw everything away for me. He cut ties with his powerful family, grabbed my hand, and fled overseas without looking back. Back then, we were so broke we could barely survive. Lucien worked himself to the bone washing dishes at a restaurant. One night, after standing in freezing water all day and scrubbing over a thousand plates, he came home coughing blood up from exhaustion. That same night, I took the three million his parents offered me. Then I stood there and watched as their men forced him onto a helicopter bound for home. He clung desperately to the cabin door, his fingers splitting open one by one from the strain, blood smearing across the metal. Even then, he was still begging me. Begging me not to leave him. And I? I dumped all the money he'd earned into the sink right in front of him. Then I smiled and told him coldly that it wasn't enough to buy me a decent set of paints. "A broke loser like you has no future to offer me." That was the last thing I said before walking away. ... Seven years later, I saw him again at a high-profile charity gala packed with billionaires and social elites. This time, I was the one begging him for money. And Lucien agreed. But only if I became the live wedding painter for his ceremony. He wanted me there in person—to stand beside him and watch him marry another woman. I accepted immediately. He didn't know the truth. The money wasn't for me. It was for a little girl. A girl connected to him by blood... a daughter he didn't even know existed.