I worked as an executive secretary at Grant Corporation for ten years, pulling in a $600,000 annual salary. However, the first thing Julian Grant's fiancée did after swooping into the company was make an example out of me. "What makes a secretary like you worth 600 grand? How did you manipulate Julian into paying you that much? Starting today, you're reassigned to the front desk. Salary drops to $3,600 a month. You only print documents. Nothing else." Julian sat in his CEO chair and said nothing, silently endorsing the whole spectacle. Instead of arguing, I smiled and signed the pay cut agreement. A few days later, Grant Corporation descended into total chaos. Julian's mother, Monica Grant, left without me running her private charitable foundation, saw her project implode and got mobbed by reporters. Julian's father, Harold Grant, with no one coordinating his overseas medical care, suffered a relapse and ended up in the ICU. Julian's international partnership deal, without me as chief translator and strategic advisor, collapsed. A $300 million project, gone just like that. His fiancée stormed up to me, seething. "Why aren't you doing your job?" I waved the signed agreement in front of her. "I'm just a $3,600-a-month receptionist. Why would I stay past clock-out? Waiting for the company to give me an Outstanding Employee medal or something?"

By the time I was 7, I still hadn't spoken a single word. Everyone in the Ashford family thought I was an idiot. My mom had cried in secret more times than I could count, convinced I would never be able to speak. My dad looked at me with disappointment written all over his face. But what could he do? I was his son. He had founded Ashford Group from scratch 20 years ago and built it into an empire. But his own brothers sat on the board, watching for a chance to seize control, while countless business rivals waited for an opening to take the company over. He never gave up on me. He simply stopped expecting anything from me. What none of them knew was that I had already lived once before. In my previous life, I had been the youngest financial prodigy in Crownbridge. I slept only 3 hours a day and spent nearly every waking hour analyzing investment trends aloud for elites from all over the world. That brutal pace killed me at 33. So in this life, I planned to lie low and enjoy being a loser. Then one day, a Valorian financial shark came after Ashford Group, cornering my dad in his own office and trying to force through an acquisition. The room was packed, yet no one dared say a word. I quietly rose to my feet and spoke the first words of my new life.

In the third year of our marriage, my husband took back control of our finances. "You get 3,000 dollars a month. Make it work. "If it isn't enough, figure something out yourself. "Once you've learned to manage this household, we can talk about anything else." That month's mortgage payment came to exactly 3,000 dollars. I pinched every penny. Even buying a pack of pads meant standing in front of the shelf, comparing prices forever. When I totaled the expenses at the end of the month, I was still 600 dollars over budget. Griffith: Why are you over budget again? Didn't I tell you to cover anything extra yourself? The messages from Griffith Renshaw were chillingly indifferent. I sent him the ledger and watched anxiously as the mortgage collection calls came in, one after another. He took his time. It was 3 hours before he finally transferred 0.3 dollars to me. Griffith: My assistant had my phone earlier. There was a mix-up. I'm transferring it now. I didn't argue. I simply accepted the money in silence. I was done paying the mortgage. I picked up my phone and called a divorce lawyer.

In our family, there was a rule: the older sister had to set an example for her younger brother.   So whenever my brother got into trouble, I had to pay for it.   Mom said that was the only way he'd learn.   Once, he smashed a window. Mom didn't say a word to him. Instead, she forced me onto my knees in the broken glass.   She didn't let go until my brother sobbed in terror and promised, "I'll never break things again."   For 16 long years, I was her so-called example.   Then, one summer, our family went to a mountain resort—and found ourselves caught in a violent rainstorm and landslides.   My brother insisted on going out of the resort with a friend he'd just met. He didn't sneak back until the middle of the night, covered in mud.   Mom hurried him onto the evacuation bus. Then she turned and stared at me, her voice ice-cold.   "You're not getting on. Once this landslide is over, your brother will know to come home on time."   Others had been evacuated.   A flash flood came roaring down the mountain, carrying mud, sand, and shattered rock.   Mom, once again, you were using my life to teach him a lesson. Once again, I was your demonstration.   Only this time, your "teaching aid" was going to die for real.   Happy now?

My sister Sienna Sinclair turned 22 that day, and she made a wish. "Thea, I want your engagement to Dominic." The room fell silent. Grandfather had arranged it before he died. In 22 years of watching Sienna take whatever she wanted from me, it was the one thing she had never managed to touch. My hand moved behind my back before I could stop myself. Mom caught my shoulder. Her voice left no room for argument. "Dominic has never even met you. What difference does it make if Sienna takes your place?" Dad wouldn't look at me. "Give her the ring. Don't make this harder than it needs to be." Sienna slid the ring off my finger and gave me a little wink. "Thea, you aren't upset, are you?" I remembered being 7 and watching her take my clothes, and then being 12 and watching her take my room. Every time, our parents would say the same thing. Sienna deserved the best things. I needed to be the bigger person. My phone buzzed. A message had just come in from Dominic. Dominic: I'll be there on time for our engagement. 'I'm not giving him up. Not this time. Not to her. Not to anyone.'

One week before I was supposed to pick up our marriage license, my fiancé, Ethan Lucien secretly changed his work transfer application.   His friend Ryan tried to talk some sense into him.   "Are you seriously switching your posting from Riverton City to Bellmere just because Claire Carter is there? Lydia Bennett already got an offer from Riverton City. Do you really think she'll just roll over and go along with this?   "You two went abroad together to study architecture, didn't you agree you'd move back home after graduation?"   Ethan shook his head gently.   "Lydia loves me. Once she finds out I changed the application, of course she'll come to Bellmere with me.   "Claire's all alone out there, struggling. The headquarters in Riverton City has plenty of designers, but Claire only has me."   I stood just outside the office door, taking in every word without making a sound. Then I turned on my heel and walked away.   If Ethan was dead set on choosing his longtime "first love" over the life we'd planned together, I'd go right back to what I did best: cranking out architectural designs.   A month later, my plane rumbled down the runway and touched down.   Ethan's call came the second I landed.   "Lydia, did you land in Bellmere?"   I stared at the flag of my home country fluttering in the wind outside the terminal, and hot, relieved tears burned my eyes.   "I got here a long time ago."

After I received notice that the organ match had failed, I came across a post online: What's your partner's get-out-of-jail-free card?   I thought about it for a moment and was just about to reply: When I was diagnosed with kidney disease, he cried and said he would give me one of his...   Then an anonymous comment caught my eye.   A: [My ex-boyfriend is an organ donation coordinator. He's handsome, kind, and completely devoted to me. His only flaw is that he's married. Later, his wife finally got a matching kidney. I jokingly said I wished that kidney could be mine. Want to know what happened? He forged a failed-match report and told his wife the kidney had been contaminated during transport and could no longer be used. She spent five years in a dialysis unit, praying every day for a healthy kidney. And just like that, with one sentence from me, all her efforts went to waste.]   After posting that, she uploaded a photo.   In a dimly lit hospital corridor, a hand held a medical chart.   A: [He stays by my side every day now, terrified that I'll leave him. He says when the time is right, he'll take me abroad and we'll settle there. I guess that's what true love is.]   When I saw the birthmark beneath the man's watch, a chill ran through my entire body.   The dark red, crescent-shaped mark was identical to the one on my husband Ethan Carter's wrist.

It had been three years since I was thrown out of the Shaw family.   I crossed paths with Landon Lancaster at St. Eleanor Monastery.   He had come there with his wife, Serena Shaw, hoping for a baby, while I was there to light a memorial candle for my late mother.   Landon froze the moment he saw me, his eyes turning red as if he was holding back tears. Serena was my father's daughter from an affair, and standing beside him, she didn't even try to hide the jealousy in her gaze as she glared at me.   I didn't lose control like I used to. I simply turned around and walked away.   My mind drifted back to the charity gala three years ago. Landon had personally handed me a glass of champagne, and I had taken a sip without a second thought. When I woke up, I was in a hotel suite with my clothes messed up and a stranger lying beside me.   Landon's mother had completely lost it. She pointed at me and called me a whore, threatening to have me sent to prison. The only person who saved me was my mother.   She had broken down in tears and apologized in front of everyone, and only then did the Lancaster family agree to let it go.   That same night, my mother suffered a sudden brain hemorrhage and passed away. But I never got the chance to see her for the last time.   And the drink that had been drugged was given to me by my own fiancé, Landon, the heir to the Lancaster Group...

My mother had survived on one skill her entire life: imitation. She copied whoever was popular and whoever was most adored. If a woman knew how to wrap a man around her finger, Mom could break down her technique to its core and practice until she did it even better than the original. Even the famously intimidating property manager in our neighborhood only had to scold someone twice before Mom could reproduce her act almost perfectly. That talent took her from nightclub dancer to the mistress of a publicly traded company's CEO—and landed her an apartment along the way. I was her daughter, known in certain circles as her "little prodigy". From the moment I could walk, I followed her around, learning how to pout, play sweet, and make a man feel happy about opening his wallet. The day I was sent away, she patted my hand with an expression that said, "I've passed on everything I know." She added, "Once you get to the Whitaker residence, do exactly what I taught you. Learn fast, and no man will ever get away." I couldn't have agreed more. Given where I came from, how else could I possibly get close to a man like Gideon Whitaker unless I became his kept woman? But before I could even start seducing him after being delivered to his bed, he left me completely dumbfounded. He slapped a ring of keys and a black credit card down in front of me. "You're my wife. From now on, every decision in this household is yours to make." I looked down at the keys, then at the card. No spending limit. I nearly dropped to my knees on the spot. Hold on... I only learned how to be a kept woman. Nobody taught me how to be a proper wife! This wasn't how the story was supposed to go at all!

Vivian Xavier was the most drama-obsessed, troublemaking woman you'd ever see.   A month earlier, she'd registered her marriage with Julian Lennox, her boyfriend of 5 years. They hadn't held the wedding yet.   It should've been the happiest news of her life. Instead, she'd gone after every female employee at Julian's company, one by one. Then she'd turned her sights on me.   That day, she kicked my office door open with a deafening bang and flipped my desk over without saying a word.   Tools, blueprints, and half-finished pieces went clattering across the floor, piling into a chaotic mess.   "Julian keeps coming in here every other day for no damn reason. Do you think I'm blind? You're just jealous because I'm marrying into the Lennox Family, aren't you? You wanna sneak in and steal him before we even have the wedding, right?"   I meant to explain, but her eyes had already landed on the diamond wedding ring set inside the safe in the back room.   "Nora, the evidence is right there for everyone to see. What's the point of pretending you're innocent now? You even had a ring set made for yourself. You're that desperate to take my place? Fine. I'll knock some sense into you today."   Vivian grabbed the hammer from the table and swung it straight at the diamond rings with all her strength.   I lunged forward to shield them, but she shoved me hard to the floor. Her stiletto came down on my wrist, grinding into it.   Shattered diamonds flew everywhere, glittering like handfuls of salt scattered across the floor.   My assistant, Sadie, stood frozen to the side, her face white as a sheet.   "Nora, we were commissioned by Mr. Lennox to make that custom ring set for Vivian. He paid 3 million for it! Now it's completely ruined. What are we supposed to give him?"

Mia Parker, the salon owner, was hell-bent on hitting her sales numbers, so she tried to make me inject a batch of unlicensed, unapproved hyaluronic acid fillers into her clients. I said no. Right there in front of every staffer in the place, she jabbed a finger into my forehead and snarled, "Do the damn job or get out. Don't forget, you signed a five-year non-compete. You walk out on me, nobody in this whole industry will touch you. Got it?" I was desperate to scrape together $200,000 for my little sister Sophie's surgery, so I gritted my teeth and used that shady batch on the last client of the day. After my shift, I went to get paid. Mia didn't just dock half my commission. She grabbed what little I was still owed and threw it right at my uniform. "Who do you think you are? Some nobody injector trying to haggle with me?" she spat. "Docking your pay is me doing you a favor, for God's sake." I didn't even bother looking at the crumpled bills on the floor. Calm as anything, I pulled out my phone and filed a report with the FDA under my own name, admitting I'd used unapproved medical devices on a client. Mia lunged at me, finger stabbing so close to my nose it almost touched skin. "Are you out of your mind?" she shrieked. "You reported yourself? You don't care if they pull your license?" I just smiled. I knew they'd pull my license. I knew I'd be investigated for what I'd done. But there was one thing Mia had missed. That afternoon, she'd run a livestreamed injection demo and dropped a fortune flying in more than 30 influencers to watch. Every second of it was on camera. And by now, the whole internet had already seen it. I'd handed over my $200,000 commission just to hit her with a $3 million fine. That was one hell of a trade.

During a glacier field practicum in my sophomore year, I collapsed on the ice from acute mountain sickness. My boyfriend, Ethan Hale, the expedition leader hired for the trip, didn't help me. Instead, he handed the only portable oxygen cylinder to his childhood friend, Madeline Mercer.   "Maddie has congenital heart disease. She can't handle high altitude. You don't have that problem. Get up and rejoin the group!"   Madeline clutched my water bottle. "Ethan, I just heard her telling someone on the satellite phone that she was going to fake a collapse today so she could get out of the five-mile glacier hike."   Disappointment flashed in Ethan's eyes. He yanked me upright and dragged me to an abandoned supply tent in the lee of a nearby slope.   "If you've got this much energy to spare, go count all the research gear inside and log every item. I've let you get away with too much. That's why you think you can treat a field practicum like a joke!"   Outside, a -22°F gale shrieked across the ice, flinging frozen grit against the tent. I collapsed and pounded desperately on the flap, tied shut from the outside.   "Ethan, I'm really not faking it... Please, help me..."   "Come out when the cold has knocked some sense into that empty head of yours!"   He walked off without looking back.   But he had forgotten the medical report I'd shown him the night before. It clearly diagnosed acute mountain sickness (AMS) with high-altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE). He had treated it like a joke, convinced I had made it up to get out of the practicum.   The pulmonary edema worsened fast. With severe oxygen deprivation and hypothermia setting in, my breathing slowed, then stopped.   When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in midair, staring at the entrance of the tent.   Not far away, Ethan was draping a down jacket over Madeline's shoulders.   "Leave her in there for half the day. We'll see if she ever fakes another collapse."

8 years ago, a poisoning incident at my restaurant killed several people.   My parents called me a murderer and cut all ties with me.   The victims' families pinned me to the ground and forced poison down my throat, saying they wanted me to know what it felt like to be poisoned to death.   I was sentenced to 8 years in prison because of the case.   After I got out, I changed my name, started over with a new identity, and took a job washing dishes at a small-town diner. Life was quiet and uneventful, and that was enough for me.   I had thought I would spend the rest of my life that way, but my ex-husband, Adrian Lawson, tracked me down.   His catering company had gone public and was at the height of its success.   The reporters all turned their cameras and microphones toward me.   "Ms. Bennett, Mr. Lawson has been engaged for 8 years but has never married. So he's been waiting for you all along!"   I couldn't help letting out a cold laugh.   What they didn't know was that the person who had allowed his schoolmate to switch my suppliers 8 years ago, then made me take the blame when disaster struck was—Adrian Lawson!

Lucian Vaughn and I hated each other with a vengeance. He blamed me for the death of my stepsister, Victoria Sullivan. I hated him for crawling into bed with her while I was eight months pregnant.   The first thing he did after taking control of the company was rip my two children away from me and force them to call the dead Victoria "Mommy." He displayed her photo in the most eye-catching spot in the house and brought the children to her grave for every holiday.   I was shattered and furious. I signed the divorce papers and cursed him never to end up with the person he loved, not in this life or the next.   He ripped the papers to pieces on the spot. His eyes burned red as he roared, "Nora, you owe Victoria. You can never repay that debt in this lifetime!"   Then he imprisoned me in a villa outside the city, humiliating and tormenting me day after day for 10 years.   Later, I escaped to a small town near the border and was caught in a landslide. The whole house vanished beneath the mud and debris. The rescue team searched for three days.   I heard Lucian flew in from Empire City and tore at the dirt with his bare hands like a man possessed. When they finally pulled me from the rubble, I was already dead.   He held me in his arms and sat beside the ruins all night, refusing to let anyone come near me.   Before I died, I heard his voice, ragged and hoarse. "Nora, I failed you. If there is another life, I will let you go."   When I opened my eyes again, I was somehow back on the day Lucian proposed to Victoria. This time, he slipped the ring onto Victoria's finger in front of all the guests.   I smiled, rose to my feet, and applauded. "Congratulations, Mr. Vaughn. Congratulations, Victoria. I hope you two grow old together." In this life, I would finally give him what he wanted and turn the page on us for good.

Upon learning that nurses earned a $5‑per‑hour night‑shift differential for working overnight shifts, the patients' families banded together to write a complaint letter demanding the cancellation of the night shift allowance. In my past life, as the head nurse of the emergency department, I led the opposition against this unreasonable demand. The night shift was never about sitting at the nurse's station killing time. It meant making rounds all night long, responding to emergencies at a moment's notice, and staying awake through the entire night when a patient's condition kept fluctuating. That night shift differential was earned through wrecked sleep cycles and frayed nerves. But a new nurse who loved to show off stabbed us in the back. "Studying medicine is about saving lives. It's not like anyone becomes a nurse for money, right?" My arguments were maliciously edited by the patients' families. Countless complaint letters flooded the State Board of Nursing's inbox. I tried to plead my case to my director, but she just told me it takes two to tango. My permanent position was revoked. My nursing license was wasted. Hopeless and broken, I jumped off the rooftop. Now, reborn, I was back at the mobilization meeting where the night-shift differential was being debated. Faced with the proposal put forward by the family representatives to eliminate the night‑shift differential, I took a deep breath and nodded. "Fine. I studied medicine to save lives. It's not like anyone becomes a nurse for money, right?"

I was eighteen, and I still didn't have the guts to hop on a motorcycle. The whole team wrote me off as a useless heir. Even my older sister cried in secret, convinced the Clayton family's god-given knack for taking home motorcycle racing championships had gone completely dead in my generation. When my dad looked at me, his gaze held nothing but quiet, swallowed disappointment. He was the founder of the Blazing Flame Team. He'd built the team from nothing over twenty years, carving out half the entire Southern Circuit for himself. But in recent years, the team's performance has gotten worse and worse with every passing season. Half the sponsors had bailed, and every single skilled racer worth their salt had left. He never fully wrote me off, but he'd quit holding out any hope for me a long time back. That day, the sponsors and board members teamed up to corner him in his office, demanding he hand over full control of the team. Not a single soul in that packed room opened their mouths to defend him. That's when I shoved open the door to the break room next door—it creaked loud enough to cut through the noise—and marched straight in.  For the first time in my entire eighteen years of life, I hopped onto the seat of a racing bike right then and there.

I'd dropped 5 million to secure the rights to a top-hit project, planning to give it to a rookie production crew as their big break in the industry.   At the welcome event, the rookie representative they'd shoved to the front spat a bold declaration straight into the livestream camera. "We don't want some hand-me-down script, and we sure as hell aren't taking whatever scraps the big shots toss our way!"   The entire studio fell dead silent.   The director's face darkened, and the comment section exploded.   I was the first one to clap and cheer.   "Now that's what I call backbone! Girl's got guts. I like her!"   The rookie held her head high and stormed out. Soon she'd uploaded a short video from the makeup room.   "Reject their handouts. Talent is all that matters."   Her comment section was flooded with praise.   I tossed and turned all night, still trying to wrap my head around the whole thing. My assistant calmly sipped his tea. "Don't get worked up. If these kids don't know a good deal when it lands in their laps, there are plenty of other rookies who'd kill for this project."   Those rookies had been acting tough online, but they had no idea they weren't the only ones watching the drama unfold.   Right next door was a veteran crew, a ragtag group of washed-up stars desperate for one last shot at a comeback. They'd been glued to every second of the spectacle, too.   In the end, I signed over the entire project and the planned funding to that crew next door.   Did the rookies think they could come crawling back and beg me to sign them later?   Not a chance!

After our wedding, Felix Vaughan didn't invest in Rourke Group as he had promised. Instead, he ordered his men to haul in 20 boxes of neatly stacked papers. A mocking smirk stretched across his face as he looked at me. "You had quite the temper yesterday," he said. "Once you find the single piece of paper with the word 'help' written on it, I'll fund your company immediately. Olivia, you have to learn how to behave if you want to save your family's business." He was deliberately punishing me for slapping his first love across the face in public the very moment I arrived at the Vaughan family estate. This time, I didn't cry or make a scene. I just quietly unfolded the pieces of paper, one by one. I kept going until my hands cramped, refusing to stop for even a second. Felix smiled in satisfaction. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his warm breath brushing intimately against my ear. "Wouldn't it have been better if you acted like this sooner?" he whispered. "I'll have Finance transfer the funds shortly, and I'll make sure Rourke Group doesn't go bankrupt." The color drained from my face, and I simply shook my head. He didn't know Rourke Group had already gone under 3 days ago. He didn't know my father had died from a massive heart attack after doctors couldn't save him, or that my mother had jumped off a building right after. Even my grandmother, the only person keeping me going, had taken her last breath right in front of me this morning. Stripped of every reason to keep going, I had already made up my mind to end my own life.

After my husband faked his death and ran off with my stepsister, I didn't listen to my bestie's advice to remarry. Instead, I stayed in the Clark family, held a grand memorial service for him, and raised his illegitimate son as my own. On the son's eighteenth birthday, my husband, who had faked his death for years, appeared before me holding my stepsister's hand. Seeing me calmly accept that he was alive, he said with a smile, "Charlotte, you did a good job raising the child that Evelyn and I had together. "I only faked my death back then because you were so overbearing. You flat‑out refused to let me keep Evelyn by my side. "Now, the son that Evelyn and I have has come of age. You've been Mrs. Clark for eighteen years. It's time to step aside and let Evelyn take her place." The buzz of voices around me drowned out my cold laugh. Anthony Clark seemed dead sure I would meekly step down as Mrs. Clark. He smiled and stepped forward, trying to take my arm. "If you'd just behave, sign the divorce agreement, and step aside for Evelyn. For old times' sake, I can still set aside some alimony for you." But seeing that smug, entitled look on his face, I slapped him hard. "Where did this con artist come from? Anthony died in a car accident eighteen years ago, and everyone knows that. How dare you show up here and try to scam me?"

On the day I was supposed to tie the knot with Thayer Sandler, my best friend Althea Vane absolutely insisted on staking every single asset she owned in a wild bet against him. "Let's have a bet. You'll put two things in each of your hands, and I have to guess what you're holding… whether it's a mint or a salted plum candy," she said with a dangerous smile. "If I guess wrong, everything I own becomes your wedding gift. Every last penny. But if I guess right, you'll do whatever I demand." After Thayer placed the objects in his hands, Althea answered immediately, "I guess... salted plum candy." I saw with my own eyes: he was holding a mint in his right hand. But the very next second... "You win," Thayer told her, his right hand snapping shut into a fist, while his left palm unfurled. Sure enough, two salted plum candies lay in the center. Althea stared at him, her eyes instantly rimmed with red, her voice trembling. "Then don't blame me for being ruthless. A random guess, and it hit the mark... it must be fate," she said, before adding: "Put the wedding on hold... for ten years."

I was the exclusive personal assistant to Adrian Grant, CEO of the Grant Group.   My annual salary was ten million dollars, with a company car, housing, and a generous year-end bonus.   My job was sleeping with him.   That was until a new intern joined the company. When she heard about my compensation, her eyes widened on the spot in the break room.   "Just sleeping with him gets you over ten million dollars a year? And you get all kinds of luxury handbags and custom-made clothes too?   "Ms. Vivian Reed is way too lucky. It's practically like she got a trial pass to being Mrs. Grant!"   The next day, she went over my head and approached Adrian's mother, Eleanor Grant, directly.   "Mrs. Eleanor Grant, I'm willing to serve as Mr. Grant's personal assistant around the clock.   "I only want an annual salary of two million dollars. And I graduated from a prestigious university. I'll definitely be more professional and attentive than Ms. Reed."   That afternoon, she clicked her way over to my desk in high heels, unable to hide the smugness in her eyes.   "Vivian, Mrs. Eleanor Grant has already signed off on my transfer.   "She also thinks you're getting older and that your body can't handle Mr. Grant anymore. In two days, you can pack up your things and leave the Grant Group."   She crossed her arms and stepped closer, deliberately lowering her voice so only the two of us could hear her taunt.   "Vivian, I heard Mr. Grant always makes quite a commotion whenever he's in the office lounge. With that little body of yours, you probably haven't been able to keep up for a long time, have you? From now on, you can leave this kind of 'physical work' to me."   She raised an eyebrow, apparently waiting for me to become angry, resentful, or even hysterical.   But I only gripped the pen in my hand so tightly that my eyes reddened with excitement, even my fingertips trembling slightly.   Finally...   I was going to be free!   All outsiders saw was Adrian—young, handsome, and in control of a vast corporate empire, the ultimate bachelor countless socialites were desperate to have.   What they didn't know was that he wasn't entirely human.

I spent 6 months pretending to be a mute car washer. Then, after a disastrous race, the owner announced in despair that the team was shutting down. As everyone began leaving in tears, I pushed through the crowd with a pressure washer in hand and said, "Why are you crying? I won a world championship on this circuit back in 2021." Everyone stared at me in shock. Wasn't she just the car washer?

My brother, Ethan Carter, and his best friend, Ryan Hayes, both fell hopelessly in love with Chloe Seth, a volunteer teacher. Chloe chose Ethan, but she felt guilty about hurting Ryan. Determined to ease her guilt, she did everything she could to push Ryan and me together. At the time, I knew nothing about the complicated relationship between the three of them. I married Ryan with my heart full of hope. The marriage became a nightmare almost immediately. Whenever Ethan and Chloe fought, Ryan took all his anger out on me. When Ethan met with a female business partner during a trip and Chloe became jealous, Ryan brought a beautiful influencer home for the night just to hurt me. When Ethan took Chloe to a gala and people mocked her unfashionable appearance, Ryan dragged me to a nightclub. He dressed me in the most humiliating outfit he could find and paraded me in front of a crowd of men. Later, Chloe suffered a miscarriage and was told she would never be able to have children. Ryan went mad with rage. He pushed me, seven months pregnant, out of a second-floor window. "Your brother stole the woman I loved most. If Chloe hadn't wanted peace of mind, I never would have looked at you twice." When I opened my eyes again, I traveled back to the day Chloe tried to set me up with him.

Everyone called me a business prodigy. I had built a restaurant empire from a tiny diner and taken the company public. Before I could celebrate, my fiancé stormed into my office with my parents. My mom's eyes immediately filled with tears. She did not even bother to greet me. "Evelyn, your sister's degree isn't worth much. She's applied everywhere, but no one will hire her. Your company is doing so well. Can you give her some shares?" I refused. Grant walked over and seized my hand. He forced my fingers around a pen and made me sign the equity transfer agreement. "You're her older sister," he said. "Stop being so selfish." Just like that, they took my entire company from me. They threw me out. I wandered the streets penniless and homeless while my younger sister became the city's youngest restaurant mogul overnight. Over the next five years, I started again from nothing. I fought my way back and eventually built an investment firm worth 100 billion dollars. One afternoon, my assistant placed a thick stack of IPO applications on my desk. I flipped through them until one name caught my attention. It looked painfully familiar. I smiled, picked up my pen, and drew an X beside the name "Clara Hart." "This company will not be going public."

Everyone in Bellmont's elite circles knew that Adrian Bennett, the eldest son of the Bennett family, owned an heirloom jade whistle.   Legend had it that if he wore it around his neck, it would ring with a clear note when he met the person destined for him.   But in front of me, that whistle had remained silent for 3 whole years.   Adrian's grandmother laid down an ultimatum. She demanded that he end our engagement and marry the daughter of a family friend instead.   He refused and held out against his entire family for another year.   In the fifth year, Bellmont's most eligible young women gathered for his grandmother's birthday banquet. Adrian was surrounded as he exchanged pleasantries with one heiress after another, but the jade whistle on his chest never made a sound.   Finally, the Bennett family relented and agreed to let me marry him.   Our engagement party was held at a revolving restaurant downtown. That day, my stepsister, who had been recuperating in the South, rushed back after hearing the news.   The instant she pushed open the door, the jade whistle on Adrian's chest rang without warning.   His fingers merely tightened. In front of everyone, he still slid the ring onto my finger.   We spent many years together after that, affectionate in public and unfailingly courteous in private.   On his deathbed, he clutched the whistle and stared at me as he forced out each word.   "Your stepsister never married, and you never gave me a child. You made sure my family line died with me. If there is another life, Chloe is the woman I will marry!"   Then karma turned the wheel. He and I opened our eyes at the same time and found ourselves back in the summer when we were 22.   What he did not know was this...   In our first life, I had not been infertile.   He had been born sterile.   I had taken every sneer and every vicious rumor for him so that he could inherit the Bennett Group with his dignity intact.

Halfway through the MotoGP race, a thick fog suddenly rolled onto the track.   Nearly every rider speeding down the track could barely see the road ahead.   I pressed a hand to my earpiece and soon heard the steady voice of my fiancé, Adrian Carter.   "Don't panic. 'Soulreaper' is six hundred meters ahead. Go full throttle now. You can gain 0.8 seconds on the rider to your left. Next comes a left hairpin, followed by a high-speed right-hander."   The air reeked of motor oil, mixed with the dampness of the fog.   Everything in front of me was a wall of white. I could barely see a thing.   But without the slightest hesitation, I twisted the throttle all the way open and kept going, following Adrian's instructions exactly.   Because Adrian was my navigator.   And the person I trusted most.   But eight seconds later, a low chuckle suddenly came through my earpiece.   "Sophie Miller, the correct line through 'Soulreaper' is actually a high-speed left first, followed by a right hairpin. If Claire Bennett loses to you again this year, she'll definitely cry again. You've already won the championship three years in a row anyway. What's the harm in letting her win once? Don't worry. I already had a gravel trap and an emergency medical team stationed outside the corner. Your life won't be in danger."   With that, Adrian cut off the comms.   He didn't want to hear the sound of my motorcycle flying off the track and crashing with his own ears.   But he had forgotten one thing.   I had been racing on this track for four whole years.   Over those four years, I had completed four thousand seven hundred laps here.   Every rise and dip in the track, every crack in the asphalt, even the position of every single corner had long since become part of my muscle memory.   Even with my eyes closed, there was no way I could ever mistake the direction of a single turn.

My husband spent most of the year overseas managing his family's criminal business. After 11 months apart, I ran into one of his trusted lieutenants at a private underworld banquet held alongside the Highcrest Underground Auction.   He greeted me with a grin. "Ma'am, congratulations on the baby girl."   My mind went blank.   He didn't notice anything was wrong and continued, "I wouldn't miss the baby's christening this weekend."   As he spoke, he pulled out an invitation stamped in gold.   "Boss really put thought into this invitation. You can tell how much he cares about you."   I quietly memorized the address of St. Maren's Church on Valedoro Isle, forced a smile, and handed his phone back.   "Thank you. See you this weekend."   That weekend, I flew to the old Baroque church on Valedoro Isle.   Flowers covered the stone steps. Women in couture gowns chatted in small groups as the scent of gardenias filled the air, while armed bodyguards patrolled the perimeter.   A striking woman with honey-toned skin stood at the entrance holding a baby. Her white lace gown trailed along the ground, a pearl necklace glowed at her throat, and two men in black suits remained close behind her.   She smiled at me. "You're one of Andrea's friends, right? Please come in. The ceremony is about to begin."

When I came to Bayhaven to see my fiancé, I was forced to sleep with another man. Damian Hayes had been drugged and desperately needed a woman to work it out of his system. His subordinate tied me up and delivered me straight to Damian's room. I fought with everything I had, telling him I already had a fiancé, but he ignored me completely. There was even amusement in his voice, and something about it sounded strangely familiar. "If you can hook up with Mr. Hayes, why would you need a fiancé? "Be good and cooperate. Don't make this difficult." After he locked me inside, I was forced to spend the entire night beneath Damian. Afterward, I knew things were over between my fiancé and me. I planned to bury the ring that symbolized our love, only for the same subordinate to catch me in the act. But the instant he saw the ring, all the color drained from his face. He broke down and demanded, "That ring... Where did you get it?!"

My husband worked deep-sea routes and hadn't made port in two whole years. One day, while buying seafood at the harbor market, I ran into one of his coworkers. He greeted me with a smile. "Congratulations, Mrs. Carter, on your new baby girl!" A loud buzz filled my head, and I stood rooted to the spot. He didn't notice the color drain from my face and continued excitedly, "I'll definitely be at the baby's one-month celebration next week. I even swapped shifts just for it." As he spoke, he pulled an invitation from his canvas bag. It had a red background, gold lettering, and an embossed wave pattern around the edges. He waved it in front of me. "Mrs. Carter, you really put a lot of thought into these invitations." I forced a smile and took it from him. The father's name was listed as Ryan Carter, my husband. The mother's name was one I didn't recognize: Ruby Morgan. I had never met her. After staring at the invitation for two seconds, I closed it, handed it back to him, and said, "Thanks. See you there." On the day of the baby's one-month celebration, I went to the Seaview Hotel. A woman with her hair pinned up stood at the entrance greeting the guests. In her arms was a baby girl wrapped in a pink swaddle. Her skin had been tanned a light honey color by the southern sun. Smiling, she asked in a soft, gentle voice, "You're one of my husband's coworkers, aren't you? Please, come in."

I had worked for the police department for 5 years, but because my exceptionally sharp hearing had to be kept secret, my husband had always believed I worked in customer service. On our second wedding anniversary, however, I found the husband who had claimed he was leaving on a business trip in a bank's VIP lounge. He was helping his ex-girlfriend, Chloe Bennett, who had just returned from abroad, transfer 2.8 million dollars into an unfamiliar account. When he saw me, his fingers paused, and he instinctively stepped in front of Chloe. "Mia Clarke, it's just an anniversary. I'm helping a friend with something. Did you really have to follow me all the way here? "Go on, then. What do you want this time? A purse? A necklace? Or wasn't the spending money I sent you last month enough?" The teller and the other customers glanced in my direction. I immediately suppressed the urge to tell him I was pregnant and merely clenched my hands. "I didn't follow you." "Ryan, thank you for coming all this way for me, but Mia is more important. You should spend your anniversary with her. "And be gentler with her. Apologize." "Fine. I'm sorry," Ryan said stiffly. I froze. At work, Ryan's word was law, and at home, he never backed down. Since when had he ever done exactly what someone else told him? Chloe patted Ryan's arm, took back her bank card, and gave me a nod before turning to have the teller confirm the transfer. The teller picked up the transfer form and performed the routine verification. "Ms. Bennett, can you confirm that 'Derek Morris' is the name on the recipient's account?" "Yes. Derek Morris." Chloe nodded. The moment I heard that name, a jolt shot through my entire body. I reached out and pressed my hand over the keypad on the counter. "I'm sorry, but this transfer can't go through. There's a problem with the recipient's account."

After nine thugs took turns assaulting me for 3 days and 3 nights, I finally miscarried.   I agreed to let Adrian Prescott bring his first love, Sabrina Hale, home, and I placed the papers confirming I'd lost the baby in front of him.   "I'm filthy from head to toe. I'm no longer worthy to bear your child."   Adrian Prescott's eyes instantly reddened as he broke down and confronted me.   "Evelyn Brooks! I told those men to only put on an act—they were never supposed to lay a hand on you!   "You killed your own flesh and blood in your womb just to spite me? Are you deliberately trying to make me regret this?"   I hung my head, no longer throwing myself into his arms without inhibition as I once had.   "The Prescott family heir must have a clear status. This is the last thing I can do for you.   "It's also... one last gift from my heart. Congratulations on finally bringing your beloved back home."   Adrian was stunned for a long while. When he came back to his senses, he kicked over the coffee table.   "Very well, since you're so sensible. Once Sabrina moves in, you can teach her how to be a proper lady of the house, just like you!"   From that day on, I became a tool he used to educate Sabrina.   Whenever she caused trouble, he would take it out on me tenfold. I never argued.   But the more meek and submissive I became, the more uneasy he grew.   "Evelyn, don't be like this. You used to turn the house upside down if I so much as spoke a few extra words to another woman. Make a fuss with me one more time, and we'll pretend none of this ever happened, alright?"   Sure enough, past midnight that same night, Sabrina snuck off to a brothel again.   He was frantic with anger and blurted out,"Since she never learns, let Evelyn take her place and spend the night in a brothel! Let her see what happens to whores."

At the award ceremony, Derek Vaughn, the newly crowned Best Actor, ran straight to his first love in front of the entire world—who was also my fiancé.   "I'd like to thank my muse for coming home. I'm sharing this award with her, and I hope she'll be by my side for the rest of my life!"   The hall erupted. Every spotlight swung toward me, his actual fiancée, as everyone waited for me to make a fool of myself.   I took off my ring, grabbed a random man from the audience, and pulled him onto the stage.   "Since we're all making announcements tonight, let me introduce my fiancé."   The man I had dragged up there was Julian Cross. Everyone thought he was just a nobody in the film crew, but no one knew he was the true power behind Sterling Capital—and half the entertainment industry.   3 years passed.   My directorial debut, Homeward, finally premiered.   To promote the film, Julian booked the most luxurious ballroom in Ashford and threw a charity auction gala. Every major figure in the industry attended.   Derek came too. He wore a custom suit and still spoke with the same insufferable arrogance.   "You married some grunt to spite me. You've had 3 years to cool off. It's not too late to beg me to take you back. I might consider it."   Beg him? Not too late?   My son could say "Daddy" now.

I was with Vincent Russo, a crime syndicate boss, for 10 years. For more than 3,600 days, I stood by him from the days when he was a penniless nobody sleeping in an underground parking garage to the day he became Solmere's most feared crime boss. I took bullets and knife wounds for him. The scars on my hands ran deeper than the lines in my palms.   But on the day he announced he was leaving the syndicate, his men called another woman "Madam".   The same hands that had held guns and been stained with blood draped a coat around her shoulders.   "Cheryl, she's not like you. You could follow me into hell without a title. She can't."   That day, I turned around and walked away.   Vincent had no idea my family had already chosen a man for me. All they were waiting for was my return so we could have a grand wedding.

I heard that my husband charged 800 bucks an hour for private training—and one female client always booked only him. In my past life, I saw how frail she looked and thought she really needed it. So I said yes. A week later, the whole internet was flooded with claims that my husband had assaulted her during a session. After it blew up, he was forced to shut down his gym. My daughter got cornered at school by kids asking, "Is your dad a perv?" She stopped going to class and locked herself in her room, crying all day. My mother-in-law went to the community center to play bridge, but her friends walked the other way when they saw her. Some even whispered behind her back. And that girl? She sold the so-called video evidence to a YouTuber with a million followers and pocketed 30,000 for her "exclusive scoop". The internet crowd praised her. Called her a "brave girl who stood up for herself." The day I saw her waiting for me at the curb, she curved her lips into a smile. "Mrs. Shaw, no matter what, thanks for giving me that spot back then." Now I had a second chance. And she just pushed open my office door again. "Mrs. Shaw, please—I really want to train with your husband and get in shape..."

On my wedding night, my stepmother got me so drunk I blacked out. While I was unconscious, my stepsister took my place as the bride, married Caleb Lawson in front of our guests, and spent the night with him. Then she claimed credit for the connections and client relationships I had worked so hard to build for Lawson Group. Overnight, she became the woman everyone envied.   They turned the story against me and branded me a shameless mistress. My mother and I ended up in a crumbling rental apartment, barely surviving by collecting recyclables.   After three years, Lawson Group held its IPO bell-ringing ceremony. Sienna Grant was midway through a tearful speech when I cut her off with a sharp laugh.   I stepped onto the stage as a founding shareholder.   The color drained from Sienna's face, and her lips trembled.   "Nora, you were the one who ran out on the wedding and gave up both Caleb and the company. You can't blame me for what happened."   Caleb Lawson stepped in front of her, glaring at me as he frantically signaled security behind his back to throw me out.   I let out a quiet laugh.   "Relax. I'm not here to ruin your marriage. I'm here to give the happy couple a gift."

Whispers spread through Riverveil General Hospital, claiming that I had slept with more than a dozen male staff members, from senior surgeons to interns. The source of every single lie was none other than my husband, Beckett Ward, the Chief of the Emergency Department. The hospital administration summoned me to their office and slammed a stack of witness statements onto the desk. Each page was filled with accusations, bearing the fingerprints of more than a dozen men. No matter how fiercely I defended myself, they dismissed my words as nothing but excuses. In the end, the hospital decided to terminate my employment. The moment I stepped out of the office, the crowd erupted. People pointed at me, hurling insults and accusing me of disgracing the medical profession. Some even screamed that I deserved to die. I pushed through the crowd in a panic and rushed to find Beckett. "I'm your wife. How could you spread such filthy lies about me? The entire hospital knows about this now. Doesn't any of this shame you?" He locked the door behind him and spoke in a calm, almost gentle voice, "One of those men assaulted Sloane. She's young and unmarried. If this gets out, her entire life will be ruined. Just do her a favor and take the blame for her. "Don't worry. I won't divorce you. Once this blows over, I'll make them all come forward, clear your name, and apologize." A chill ran through me. I stared at the familiar yet unfamiliar face before me, unable to believe what I was hearing. "Aren't you afraid I might lose hope and jump from the roof of the hospital?" His eyes held absolute certainty, without the slightest hint of concern. "You won't. You've always been strong. But Sloane is different. She's fragile. She might collapse at any moment." Only then did I finally understand. To him, I was nothing more than a scapegoat he could sacrifice whenever trouble arose.

Spencer Laurier tells me I am too striking to ever be the marrying kind, and even after three years of dating, he has never once mentioned marriage, much less actually proposed, and he even makes me wear a hat when I attend his birthday party. For his thirtieth birthday, he books out the entire top-floor restaurant and invites all his close friends, but when someone accidentally knocks my hat off, the whole room goes silent for a few seconds, and every eye in the place is drawn to my face, and everyone looks completely stunned. Spencer sets down his glass with a visible frown, and that seems to snap everyone out of it. Everyone quickly jumps in to smooth things over, offering remarks like, "Mr. Laurier is right. That kind of look is fine for a bit of fun, but taking her out in public just invites gossip," and "If he actually married her, people would assume she used her face to get him, and that would hurt Laurier Corporation's image." Spencer, convinced I took my hat off on purpose, looks at me with barely contained anger and says, "You hear that? Do not get any ideas about using that face to seduce men or climb the social ladder. With your background, even as some man's mistress, nobody would ever take you seriously." Then, he slips off the matching ring we both wear and tosses it onto the table, clearly meaning to humiliate me and drive home the point that no one will ever want to marry me. I am so mortified that I dig my nails into my palms. But then, out of nowhere, a young man sitting in the corner reaches over, picks up the ring, and holds it as if he has just found something precious, his eyes lighting up as he says, "I'll take it."

Everyone wished they had my life because my dad never turned down a single request. A brand-new phone, luxury outfits, the latest handbags, all it took was one mention, and he made it happen.   My grandmother always reminded me, "Your dad has been scraping by with odd jobs. He's suffered more than you know, and every cent he saved went to you. His greatest wish was to see you get accepted into a top university."   The day I received my college admission, I cashed out every scholarship check I had saved over the past three years and bought a train ticket to Avermont City. Throughout the four-hour ride, I pictured reunion after reunion with my dad. I couldn't wait to tell him I had grown up and could finally help shoulder the weight he had carried alone.   The moment I walked out of the station, I called the number I had memorized long ago.   My dad didn't say a word for what felt like forever before his calm voice finally came through. "You shouldn't have come. I've remarried. My new wife is the heiress to the Carter Group. My son is about to start at Kingsley University. We love him very much. My wife and son don't know I have a daughter."

Everyone said Quinn Rhodes never vied for anything. But on my third day running a fever, she walked off with that cashmere cardigan my mother had sent me. The housekeeper said it had gotten cold last night, and her window hadn't been shut properly, and she'd coughed a couple of times. Reign Voss heard this and immediately told her to go to my closet and grab something to throw on. I was wrapped in a blanket, curled up on the sofa. A cooling patch was still on my forehead. I asked, "Can a cashmere sweater stop a cough?" My maid Emily said, "No." I asked, "Is it medicine?" She said, "It's not that either." I said, "Then tell her to take it off and give it back." I swallowed the fever reducer. The bitterness lingered at the back of my throat. I added, "If she's cold, tell Reign to go downstairs and buy her one. My clothes. I don't lend them."

I was born an heiress. Growing up as the daughter of a wealthy family, I had loved the spotlight for as long as I could remember. A single compliment from a senior at a family gathering could make my day.   Unfortunately, fate had saddled me with an older brother who was almost offensively perfect. Dominic Sterling attended Kingsley University at 10 and became a vice president at Sterling Group at 18. He beat me at everything and reduced me to a supporting character in the story of his success.   Then one day, he brought home some poor, innocent girl and turned into a total simp.   At a family banquet, several distant cousins hid in a corner and snickered about me.   "What's the point of Camille trying so hard? Dominic will be the head of the family anyway. Does she really think she can beat him?"   Later, as I crossed the garden, I heard Dominic coaxing the same woman. "Bella, once I take over the family business, I'll give you Sterling Group as a gift."   My nails dug into my palms as I stared at Dominic, wondering how he could be such an idiot.   'So he plans to use the family empire as a proposal gift? Fine. Then I'll take his place as heir.'

Grandma's birthday was approaching. I went to the mall to buy her a gift. But as I passed a vintage consignment shop, something on display caught my eye. It was one of my mother's old brooches. When I asked the clerk about it, she said a young man about my age had brought it in to sell. My heart sank. That brooch had always been locked inside the safe in my father's study. And my mother was the sole heiress to Haleworth Holdings. Who would dare take her personal belongings and sell them off? Later, I had someone trace the seller's address. Outside the villa, parked by the gate, was my father's rarely used black Mercedes G-Wagon. I took a deep breath, raised my hand, and rang the doorbell.

The moment the flash flood tore through the resort, I shoved my best friend onto the only rooftop the water had not reached. After I dragged myself out of the mudslide, I heard Richard Leroy in the distance, down on his knees in the mud, screaming for help. Just as I was about to walk over, a rescue helicopter lowered a rope ladder, and a voice blared through the loudspeaker. "The helicopter can't carry too much weight. We can only take one of the two girls first!" My boyfriend snatched the rescue line and shouted in a hoarse voice, "Save Nina! Please! Her health is fragile. She won't last much longer!" Hearing that, I quietly closed my mouth before I could say a word. Nina Moran jumped down, ran right past me, and rushed toward him. "Richard!" she cried. "I'm here! I'm okay!" Richard spun around and pulled Nina tightly into his arms. "Thank God! I thought I'd never see you again..." From beginning to end, his eyes never once landed on me standing behind Nina. It was not until one of the search and rescue workers walked over, handed me a tissue, and gently asked, "Miss, is there any family here to pick you up?" I looked at the two of them holding each other as if no one else existed, then forced a faint smile. "No," I replied softly. "I came here by myself."

There was one week left until prom, and the class group chat had been blowing up from morning till night. The class belle, Serene Warren, even called me directly. "Lindsay," she said brightly, "doesn't your mom collect antique clothing? We all want to take some memorable photos at prom. How about this? I'll pay you 300 bucks to borrow those Chanel evening gowns from the 1930s for one night. We've been classmates for four years. We're giving your family's old dresses a chance to shine again. I'd say we're doing you a favor." Those antique gowns had been passed down from my mother's grandmother. Every single sequin had been sewn on by hand. They were genuine museum-quality pieces. The last time the insurance company came to appraise them, the report clearly listed their value at 600,000 dollars. Yet she had the nerve to offer 300 bucks. That wasn't even enough to cover a single day's preservation fees. I held my phone and just froze for two seconds. "Serene," I asked slowly, "how much did you just offer?" She answered without missing a beat. "300. Come on, we're practically sisters. Besides, your mom isn't hurting for money. And think about it. Those dresses would get so much exposure. When your mom holds her private exhibition next year, all that buzz will already be there." Buzz? If those gowns got passed around and abused by that crowd for one night, my mom would probably wake up in the middle of the night so mad she'd break the bed. I didn't bother beating around the bush. "The gowns aren't for loan. Our antique dresses are for looking, not wearing. If you think 300 bucks can buy you a dress, go hit a flea market and pick one out."

My older sister, Yvette Ormsby, had come down with a strange illness. When an episode hit, she would burn up and couldn't stop moaning. Fortunately, my fiancé, Wendell Yount, was a highly skilled doctor. Every time he treated her, Yvette's symptoms eased right up. But there was one rule: the treatment had to happen in a private room, with no onlookers allowed. In my past life, Yvette had a sudden episode on my wedding day. In front of every last guest, Wendell scooped her up and strode straight for the lounge. I, Violet Ormsby, peered through the crack in the door—and finally saw the truth for myself. Yvette's so-called illness was sex addiction. After that, if I so much as looked the slightest bit upset, Wendell would turn cold and lecture me. "A doctor only sees his patients. You're the one with a dirty mind. Yvette's going through hell right now, and you're here nitpicking over this? You're so cold." Yvette's episodes kept getting more frequent. Before long, Wendell was staying by her side day and night. Up until the day I died, Wendell never had intimacy with me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the past. It was the day my mom, Sandra Ormsby, told me to fetch Wendell for Yvette's treatment. I finally said what I'd been holding back. "If Wendell's the only one who can help Yvette, why doesn't she just marry him?"

On the day the recommendation letters were due, I was walking out of the library when it hit me that I'd left my computer on. I rushed back and found my girlfriend's neighbor boy sitting in my seat. He gave me this awkward little smile when he saw me. "Leo, looks like you're not going abroad after all. I deleted your recommendation letter." Grace stood up and blocked the screen, her face dead serious. "Hugo didn't mean it. He's never been abroad. Don't blame him. Can't you see how bad he's feeling already?" I glanced at the time on the bottom right of the monitor. Less than nine hours until the school's unified submission deadline. I turned to her. "You're seriously letting this slide?" Grace's expression went cold. "What else am I supposed to do? So you wait another year. You'll have an extra year to get ready. What exactly are you so upset about?" A few people studying nearby had already looked up. She noticed and dropped her voice. "Hugo's been in a really bad place emotionally. The doctor says he's showing signs of depression. He can't take any stress right now. Look, after you get your application sorted next year, we'll get married. Does that work for you?" Hugo peeked out from behind her shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. At that moment, I really wanted to laugh. Grace had apparently forgotten. Two days earlier, she'd asked me to help her organize her recommendation letter. When I finished, I saved it right on the desktop. The file was named "Grace Rowan Recommendation Letter." And that little weasel deleted it without even glancing at the name. My own letter had already been submitted three days before. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to see the look on Grace's face when she realized it was her own letter that got trashed.

Half a minute before the dive started, Mila Larson shot Sebastian Graves a look. He got the message immediately. At the exact same moment, they both let go of my safety line and swam back toward shore, leaving me alone in the freezing water. Sebastian stood at the edge of the beach with that easy smile of his. "Mila says you're scared to get in the water. The only way to get over a fear is to face it. So this time, you're doing it on your own." The seawater rose past my chin. The fear inside me swelled with it, bigger and bigger, until all I could do was thrash and fight to keep myself above the surface. Mila stood there with her phone up, filming every second of it. She was laughing so hard she could barely stay upright. Sebastian leaned down and murmured something in her ear. I was too far away to hear him, but I knew exactly what it had to be. "Okay, stop laughing at her. Tessa's scared to get in the water."

Someone gifts Ruth Sterling, the matriarch of the Sterling family, a sapphire necklace worth tens of millions of dollars. My sister, Chloe Sue, desperately wants it but doesn't have the nerve to ask. Instead, she shoots a pitiful glance at Julian Vance, who knows the Sterling family owes me a favor. So, he gently coaxes me into cashing in that favor to get the million-dollar jewel for my sister. In my previous life, I did exactly what they wanted, playing right into their hands and getting the necklace for Chloe. But less than a month after wearing it, Chloe dies. That is when everyone discovers the sapphire is highly radioactive. But death is final. Unable to change the past, Julian fulfills the strategic engagement and marries me anyway. On our wedding night, just as I am unbuttoning my dress to consummate our marriage, he suddenly fixes me with a freezing, indifferent stare. "If you hadn't asked for that necklace, Chloe wouldn't have died," he sneers. "Hannah Sue, I will make you pay for this." He tortures me for the rest of my life. When I open my eyes again, I am right back at the private banquet where Ruth is showing off the jewel. Julian coaxes me with a charming smile. "Hannah, go ask Mrs. Sterling to give that necklace to your sister, okay?"

I was eagerly waiting for the play to end so I could celebrate my one-year anniversary with my boyfriend, Gavin Sterling. But then the troupe director sent out the annual actor evaluations to our work group chat. The message was retracted quickly, but I still saw it. Gavin, the lead actor, had given me the lowest score. The girls around me noticed my expression and quickly gathered to comfort me. "Senior Gavin is always strict. Who in the troupe hasn't gotten a low score from him? Nina, don't take it to heart." "Exactly. Last time I messed up my monologue, he told the whole group I should 'find another career.' I cried so hard my voice gave out that night." "You're lucky. Last time I was half a beat late on my blocking, he had the director replace me on the spot. Three months of rehearsals, gone just like that." Was that really true? But I clearly saw him give Rachel the highest score. In Rachel's scene, she had made three mistakes in her lines. Not only did he not show any displeasure, but he also stayed behind to practice with her all night. I was lost in thought, staring at the script in my hands, when Gavin pushed open the side door and walked in. He wore an all-black stage costume. His face was cold, like that of an unapproachable CEO. His gaze swept across the room, and all the hushed murmurs of comfort instantly vanished. Everyone quickly scattered back to their positions. As they left, they reminded me, "Nina, whatever you do, don't argue with Chief Gavin. Not even the director can save you if you do." Gavin had always been strict with himself and everyone else, and he hated mixing personal feelings with work. That was why our relationship had never been made public. Everyone in the troupe only saw us as an ordinary senior and junior. Their advice came from a place of good intentions. They weren't exaggerating either. Gavin had that kind of power. As the director's star disciple, he had won the Golden Voice Award three times during his student years. With just a few major productions, he had turned our once-obscure troupe into one whose tickets sold out within minutes. Now he was both the lead actor and the one every major theater was vying to recruit. The director treated him more warmly than his own son. Everyone knew that crossing Gavin in this troupe meant digging your own grave. The last person who had openly challenged him had lost their role entirely. I said, "Don't worry. I'm not going to fight."

For ten years, my parents were stationed abroad. I was sent to live with my uncle in the village. I grew up rough around the edges, quick-tempered. Whoever crossed me, I'd snap back on the spot. I was nothing like Jenna Reed, who had stayed by my parents' side, gentle and sophisticated. She played the piano beautifully, spoke softly and sweetly, and never made anyone feel awkward. She was the daughter of my parents' friends. After her parents passed away, she lived abroad with my parents. In every photo in the family group chat, my mother was always hugging her and sighing, "Not my own flesh and blood, yet closer than flesh and blood." I hated her. I hated her for taking my parents from me, for not sharing them with me for a single day in those ten years. So I finally stood my ground and snatched away her engagement with the Chase family. Joseph Chase, the only son of the Chase family of Fairport, was exceptionally handsome and came from a wealthy family. But Jenna later married poorly. Her husband cheated on her and beat her daily. Joseph felt guilty and often helped her in secret. When I found out, I fell out with him. I stood my ground once more, never speaking to him again until my dying day. He knelt by my sickbed, gripping my hand and refusing to let go. "Nina, I beg you, don't leave me alone. When you get better, we'll be just like before, traveling everywhere with you..." But I didn't want that anymore. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother was arranging a blind date for Jenna.

In four years of marriage, my husband transferred a set amount from my account every month like clockwork. The memo always read: car maintenance. I never thought twice about it. I assumed it was just a normal household expense. Until I worked seven straight days and nights at the office and finally came home. On our wedding anniversary, I found that he'd prepared not only a table full of food, but also a box of condoms. To support my career, Ethan Calloway had voluntarily gotten a vasectomy the year we got married. The odds of a condom appearing during sex had always been zero. He came up behind me, wrapped his arms around me gently, and rested his chin on my shoulder. "I read online that even after a vasectomy, there's a tiny chance of pregnancy. You just secured your second round of funding. We can't afford any surprises." I nodded without letting anything show on my face. Late that night, after he fell asleep, I picked up his phone. A contact saved as "auto mechanic." The transaction history went on and on. I scrolled until my thumb ached. Then I stopped on a transfer from a year ago. The memo read: first birthday gift. He'd already had the vasectomy reversed. He'd even had a child with someone else. The earliest suspicious transfer dated back two years. That was the year I'd gone overseas for work. Chasing a project deadline, I didn't come home for eight straight months. Ethan and I had been newlyweds, separated by an ocean. He video-called every night without fail, never complained, just reminded me over and over to eat on time and not push myself too hard. I'd look at the empty living room behind him on the screen and feel nothing but guilt. His birthday, our anniversary, work had swallowed them all. It never occurred to me that he'd had a child with another woman. The cold glow of the phone screen lit up my face, catching my frozen expression. Ethan shifted in his sleep and cracked his eyes open.

On Simon Scott's birthday, my mom picked up a lucky charm for him from a roadside night-market stand. It was three dollars, a small copper-colored four-leaf clover dangling from a piece of string. She even wrapped it carefully in the cloth, saying, "The vendor told me it had been blessed by the church and would keep its wearer safe." When Simon received the gift, my dad used his hands that had lost two fingers to an accident to fasten it around Simon's neck, his movements unsteady. Simon claimed his family had gone under. He had no parents, no home, and nowhere to belong. For years, my parents had treated him like their own son. But I learned the truth one night. I brought Simon dinner. The office door was cracked open, and the sound of laughter drifted out as his friends lounged around inside. "A three-dollar lucky charm?" "Simon, your fiancée's family is really scraping the bottom of the barrel." Another guy laughed nastily, "I've seen her dad. Missing two fingers, his hands looked like chicken feet. If I ran into that at midnight, I wouldn't sleep for a week." Simon sat in the middle of the couch, silent. Curled against his shoulder, Vivian York scooped up her dog. "This piece of junk would work great as a dog collar." Before anyone could respond, she looped the lucky charm around the dog's neck. Tilting her head, she looked at Simon. "Feeling better now?" Simon gave a quiet laugh and lit a cigarette, "A little. Her dad made such a fuss over a scholarship slot back then that you got written up by the school. He has spent his whole life preaching fairness. Guess that righteous attitude got his fingers crushed off." I stood outside the door for a long time. Long enough for the meal in my hands to lose all its warmth. The laughter inside carried on.

My name is Joanna Ashford. The night I went to the yacht banquet with my sister-in-law Vivienne Shaw,Dominic Hale,the man at the top of the business world fell for me at first sight. I turned him down right away,telling him I was married. He smiled warmly and said my husband and I must be very much in love. Then he turned around and destroyed the Shaw family. Their partners pulled out overnight,severing every deal without warning.The company collapsed the same day. Vivienne blamed me for everything.My husband Cedric Shaw moved out of our bedroom. Drowning in guilt,I threw myself into holding together what was left of the wreckage. I went with him to every meeting,every dinner,taking drink after drink on his behalf so he wouldn't have to. Slowly,he began to soften.He even talked about starting over together in a new city. But on his deathbed,he touched my face and whispered,"Jo,I keep thinking—was all of this because of you?Maybe if you'd gone with Mr.Hale that night,I wouldn't have spent my whole life like this." When I opened my eyes again,I was back on the day of the yacht banquet. I took my time with my makeup,light foundation,a careful swipe of lip gloss. Then I turned to Vivienne and said,"Vivi,let's go." Her car was already waiting downstairs.I opened the back door and slid in. She heard the door and looked up.Her eyes lit up instantly. "Jo?You actually changed your mind!And you look so pretty today!" "We're going out for once.It'd be a shame to waste a beautiful night."

Ethan Whitmore and Lila Hayes spent an entire afternoon arguing in a caféover where to apply,Kingsley or Westbridge. One was my boyfriend.The other was my best friend. I sat beside them with a cold latte in my hands,unable to get a word in. It had always been like this,even during group projects.Their names were always listed together.One aced the presentation,while the other earned an A on the paper.I stayed up all night digging through sources and polishing our scripts,only to end up as"Team Member C"at the bottom of the report they submitted. When they finally got tired of arguing,they went to our teachers for advice. No one noticed that my own application form was still blank. Three days before the deadline,Ethan called me on video and said,"Babe,Lila and I talked it over.We're both applying to Kingsley.You should apply to St.Arden.It's right next to Kingsley,so I'll still be close.I can come see you on weekends." He and Lila would be at the same school. I would be next door. But this time,I did not want to be the girl left"next door"anymore. I ended the call and chose a school I had never mentioned to either of them. It was in Asterbridge,five thousand miles away on the other side of the Meridian Ocean.

When internship season arrived, our academic advisor asked everyone to fill out a family background form. Under "Parents' Occupations," I stared at the blank line for a long time before writing three words: seafood market vendors. Vanessa Whitmore, a senior Evan Clarke knew, glanced at my form and burst out laughing right there in the classroom. "Seafood market vendors?" she said, turning toward Evan with a mocking smile. "Your girlfriend's family guts fish at the public market?" I let out a quiet breath. "What's wrong with selling seafood?" The classroom erupted the moment I said it. "Everyone in Fairbridge University's Department of Business and Economics is headed into finance. How did some fish-market girl even get in here?" "No wonder she always smells a little fishy." "I heard her parents wake up at three in the morning to buy stock. Their hands are always cracked and bleeding, and they still barely scrape together her tuition. Why is she even studying business? She might as well go home and sell fish. Maybe she can help them upgrade to a bigger stall." Even the academic advisor Mark Ellis chuckled. "Alright, alright," he said, waving a hand as if he were being generous. "Nora, if you really can't find an internship, I can introduce you to the grocery store near my place. They're looking for a cashier." That same night, Evan, my boyfriend of two years, broke up with me. I could not understand why. His voice was calm, so calm it sent a chill through me. "Nora, we're not right for each other," he said. "Dating is one thing, but the future is different. Vanessa is right. You and I don't belong in the same world." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Her father is a vice president at Rivergate Capital Group. He can get me an employee referral directly. What can you give me? Another fish on my family's dinner table?" I held the phone in my hand and said nothing. To be honest, I did not know exactly how much money my family had. But I did know one thing. Half of the seafood wholesale business in the entire Eastshore region was supplied by my family. Even the seafood served in the Fairbridge University dining hall came from our so-called market stall.

Stanley Lawson had been an architect for seven years. I was there for every step of it, from the days he was just a junior drafter to becoming the lead on major projects. He was born colorblind, red and green blending into one another. During his busiest year, I put my own oil painting career on hold and became his personal color consultant. One day, I casually asked, "When are you going to design a home for us?" Without looking up from his screen, he clicked away with his mouse. "I'm swamped. Knock it off." I nodded and never brought it up again. Until the night he came home drunk and passed out on the couch. While hanging up his jacket, I found a sketchbook tucked inside. Between the pages were more than a dozen design drafts. Every single one was for Faith Hall's future home. Each sketch was carefully labeled with its measurements and materials. In the corner of every page, the same words were written: For Faith. Then his phone lit up. A text from Faith. Faith: Stanley, I absolutely love your design! Once it's finished, you're the first person I'm inviting to stay over!" I quietly set the phone down and closed my eyes. Then poured the hangover soup I'd made for him straight into the sink. After that, I opened my laptop and submitted my resignation. Then I replied to the acceptance email from the Florence Academy of Fine Arts. After seven years, I finally decided to stop being his eyes. To stop trailing behind him, waiting for him to turn around. There wasn't a single color in his drawings that belonged to me. So I'd go find my own colors instead.

Everyone at the Shaw Group knew I was Sean Shaw's personal assistant. I handled his schedule, took his drinks at business dinners, followed him to business dinners, and made one hundred and fifty grand a year doing it. Then a new hire showed up. Her name was Lena Ross. One day in the break room, someone casually mentioned my salary. Lena nearly spit out her coffee. "Wait, seriously? She just manages a calendar and makes one-fifty a year? "Boss even gave her a Patek Philippe?" Lena raised an eyebrow. "So is this a job, or is she basically being kept?" The very next morning, she marched straight into Sean's father, Richard Shaw's office. "Mr. Richard Shaw, I'd like a shot at being Mr. Sean Shaw's personal assistant." Lena stood there with her back perfectly straight, looking confident as hell. "I only need forty thousand. I guarantee I'll do better than Louise Ford." Then she came looking for me. Arms crossed, head tilted slightly, eyes sizing me up from head to toe. "Mr. Richard Shaw has already approved it. He also thinks you're overpaid. If you're smart, you'll quit now before this gets embarrassing." Lena expected me to be furious. But all I could do was bite the inside of my cheek, so afraid that I'd laugh. 'Finally, I could break free!' Sean was the kind of man who could act like an angel one minute and the devil the next. When he was in a good mood, he'd casually toss me luxury items fresh from auction houses like they were candy. When he wasn't, even answering a call two rings too late could get me locked in a fire stairwell by his bodyguards for a whole night. Too many people wanted a piece of him. Working beside him wasn't just pouring drinks at business dinners. Sometimes it could be one bad night away from taking a gunshot for him too.

I'd just stopped short in the mall to glance at the wedding dress glowing in the store window. When I spun back around, my fiancé Daniel and my stepsister Lily were already so far ahead of me. I quickened my steps to catch up with them, but when I was just a few paces away, I noticed my stepsister Lily had somehow slipped her arm through Daniel's. And Daniel? He didn't pull away. They laughed and chatted easily, stepping in perfect sync, like a pair of dance partners who'd practiced their routine together a hundred times over. I glanced down at my own empty palm. These hands had drawn hundreds of design blueprints, yet somehow I'd never even learned how to hook my arm through a man's and hold on. The two of them never noticed I'd fallen behind the entire time. It was like I'd never even been there with them at all. I stepped off to the side beside a pillar, pulled the pair of matching couple's rings I'd handmade myself, meant to give him today, out of my pocket. I stared at them for two long seconds, then flicked them into the trash can right beside me with a soft clink. I don't need them anymore. I don't need anything anymore. I'm never going to be their invisible third wheel ever again.