Category: English

I was diagnosed with cancer, and my son’s gold-digging girlfriend immediately took everything from my family. She had the audacity to claim it was all her “engagement fund” and told my son that even if I died in a ditch, I wasn’t worth a single penny of her money. Because of her, I missed the best time to seek treatment, and my condition worsened. With my life dwindling, I finally snapped and dragged her down with me in a fatal fall. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back to the first time I met her. And this time, I could hear her thoughts. It turned out she wasn’t the gold-digger after all. Content “Travis told me that Clara won’t even look at a bracelet worth less than five thousand dollars. But the one I bought was only eight hundred dollars, even though it took me a whole semester of work-study to save up for it. I already gave it to her days ago. I haven’t seen her wear it, so I guess she just thinks it’s cheap.” I blinked as Hazel’s hesitant voice drifted into my ears, cutting in and out. I opened my eyes to the familiar surroundings of my home and quickly realized I’d been reborn to the moment when my son, Travis, first introduced Hazel to me. In my last life, this so-called gold-digging princess had full control of his paychecks before they’d even married, demanding our family scrape together hundreds of thousands of dollars for her engagement fund because “that’s just how things were done in her family.” By the time I was diagnosed with cancer, we had nothing left to afford treatment. When I tried to talk with her about returning some of the “engagement fund” money to help cover my medical expenses, she refused and even told Travis, “All the family money belongs to me. Your mother’s old life isn’t worth saving, and even if she dies in the streets, she doesn’t deserve a single penny of my money.” Because she was so insistent on not helping, I missed the chance to treat my cancer early, and it progressed to a terminal stage. In the last of my days, as she came to “visit” me, I couldn’t hold back. I pulled her down with me in my final fall. But now, I was back here again, and in a haze, I could hear her voice saying something about a gold bracelet. What did she mean? I looked up, staring at the slightly anxious Hazel in front of me, and her thoughts echoed in my mind again. “Clara’s looking at me so seriously. Is she upset with me? I shouldn’t have listened to Travis about giving her the bracelet early instead of in person. I should’ve just asked my parents for more money to buy her a bigger one, then maybe she’d think I cared more about meeting her.” Her lips hadn’t moved at all—yet I kept hearing this voice. Was it her inner thoughts? When had she ever given me a gold bracelet? In my last life, from the moment we met, she made sure to show me who was in control. She demanded that fruit cost no less than $5 a pound, that our meals be on par with five-star dining, and even insisted on celebrity-endorsed slippers before she’d set foot in our home—and wanted a big cash gift upon leaving. She never paid a dime herself, and every gift she gave me came from the supermarket’s freebie bin. Still in shock, I noticed her glance over at Travis and excuse herself to the bathroom. The second she left, Travis grabbed my arm and whispered, “Mom, why are you just sitting there? Aren’t you going to give her a cash gift? Hazel doesn’t look happy.” “Besides, this fruit and food aren’t even what she asked for. Aren’t you just trying to give her a hard time?” I froze. He had said the same thing in my last life, and I’d thought Hazel was just too materialistic to be a good match for him. That impression only worsened my view of her. But if her thoughts earlier were genuine, it didn’t seem like she was trying to be that way at all.

I shot a few skeptical glances at Travis, beginning to question him too. Last time, he was so weak, all he could think about was his girlfriend. When I tried to press him to return the money, he’d stopped me every time, saying, “Don’t make things too tense—we’ll have to live together in the future.” He’d kept telling me he’d handle it himself. I waited for his solution, but it never came, and my illness only worsened. I couldn’t trust this ungrateful son again. My face darkened. “What do you mean by ‘giving her a hard time’? Just because I didn’t treat her like royalty, I’m ‘giving her a hard time’? I’ve prepared gifts and a cash envelope, yet she comes to me with a supermarket toothbrush. I guess she doesn’t think much of our family, either.” “Mark my words—even if you marry her, I’ll never accept it.” Travis looked shocked at my sudden outburst. He pulled me aside and whispered, “Mom, I already told you, Hazel doesn’t come from much and has had a hard life. We should be the ones spoiling her, not making her uncomfortable. Just try to get along with her, alright?” Just then, Hazel returned. She looked at our uneasy expressions, and her thoughts appeared again. “I was giving Travis the look to have him smooth things over with Clara. Why is she even more upset?” Watching her sit down uneasily, I grew more suspicious. Clearing my throat, I said, “Hazel, you’re still a student. I don’t need gifts from you. Just come by when you can—that’s enough for me.” Hazel’s face looked confused, but her thoughts filled in the blanks again: “What do you mean no gifts? Didn’t Travis give her the gold bracelet? Even if she doesn’t like it, it’s unfair to say I didn’t give her anything.” I glanced calmly at Travis and pulled a few toothbrushes from under the table, placing them on the coffee table. “Travis said you were so thoughtful you even brought me some freebie toothbrushes from the store.” Hazel’s face turned pale, and she immediately looked at Travis. “Since when did I give Clara toothbrushes? Where’s the gold bracelet? Didn’t you give it to her?”

Travis’s face went rigid, but he recovered quickly, grinning as he pulled the gold bracelet out of his bag. “I must’ve forgotten. Here, it’s more official if you give it to her yourself.” Hazel sighed in relief, immediately fastening the bracelet around my wrist while her thoughts continued, “Travis is so careless—how could he forget? Thank goodness Clara brought it up, or I would’ve looked terrible.” I frowned. Hazel was nothing like I remembered. Could it be that she really did try to give me the bracelet in the last life, but Travis never followed through? And because I didn’t feel it was appropriate to ask her about it directly, it turned into a misunderstanding? Why didn’t Travis ever give it to me? After securing the bracelet, Hazel lifted my hand and smiled brightly. “It looks so good on you, Clara. Really suits you.” I stared down at the bracelet, feeling a strange emotion. Because of our awful first meeting, we hardly saw each other after that, and I never knew she could be so sweet. Hazel glanced playfully at Travis. “When are you going to start paying attention to me? I bought that skincare set for Clara, and you said you’d give it to her. But not only did you forget—you used it yourself! You even forgot about something this important?” The skincare set—I remembered that clearly. A month ago, during a video call, I’d appeared on camera briefly with my usual cream in hand. Hazel noticed the brand and even chatted about it with me. The second the call ended, Travis told me she was upset, saying, “Hazel thinks at your age, you shouldn’t waste money on fancy brands. You should save it for your future grandkids and just stick to basic lotion.” I had been furious and told Travis she wasn’t suitable for him. But now, it seemed like I’d gotten things completely wrong. Travis gave me a sheepish glance and put his arm around Hazel, laughing, “I know, babe, I messed up. From now on, I’ll take care of everything you and Mom need.” My heart felt heavy. Had Hazel really been so innocent of everything I blamed her for? And if she hadn’t taken my family’s money, who had? I finished dinner, still plagued with questions. Travis dropped Hazel off at school, and I immediately scheduled a full exam at St. Vincent’s Medical Center. The doctor pointed at my scan and confirmed a small abnormality in my stomach. After a biopsy, it was confirmed to be an early stage of stomach cancer. Luckily, I’d caught it in time, and surgery could completely remove it. I left the hospital feeling relieved, grateful to have a second chance. When I returned home, Travis was slumped on the couch, head in his hands. The moment he saw me, he burst into tears. “Mom, Hazel says we need two hundred thousand for the engagement. What am I going to do?”

Travis wiped his tears. “Hazel says two hundred thousand is the bare minimum her family expects. If I can’t come up with it, she’ll leave me.” He grabbed my hand, eyes pleading. “Mom, I love her. I want to marry her. Please, help me. Once I make good money, I’ll take care of you—two hundred thousand is nothing compared to what I’ll give you back!” I looked at him coolly. “First, you’re going to explain that skincare set business with Hazel.” Travis’s eyes darted as he said, “I just thought you had enough already and wouldn’t need it right away. Besides, haven’t you always given me extra things? So, I figured I’d just use it myself.” “And when did you tell me she thought I should use cheaper products?” Travis rolled his eyes. “It’s just a little misunderstanding. Let it go, will you?” “Now back to Hazel. You bring her over for dinner again. If she passes my test, I’ll scrape together not just two hundred but three hundred thousand dollars for you.” Travis’s eyes lit up, but he looked at me cautiously. “Just don’t mention the money to her, okay? She’s already upset. I don’t want her calling things off.” I raised an eyebrow. “More likely, you don’t want me asking her questions.” The very next day, Travis brought Hazel over again. But this time, she seemed distracted, barely acknowledging my welcome.

While I was still trying to make sense of it all, I heard Hazel’s inner voice: “Travis said his mom’s always been a bit demanding, but I didn’t expect her to insist on a $200,000 dowry, even claiming I couldn’t marry into the family without it. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money? This feels more like a business transaction than a marriage! I thought Clara was always nice when we met, but behind my back, she’s doing things that make her look pretty low.” My heart sank. I had never mentioned a dowry—clearly, this was something Travis came up with on his own. Two hundred thousand from me, two hundred thousand from Hazel…what exactly was he trying to do? Thinking back to the conflicting stories Travis and Hazel had spun, my mind flashed with a realization. Could it be that, in my previous life, Hazel had never held on to that dowry at all? Was it my own son who had hoarded every penny? No wonder he had been so afraid of me confronting Hazel. I fought to keep my emotions in check and called Hazel over to sit with me, sending Travis to the kitchen to fetch the food. Once he was out of earshot, I pulled out my phone and, right in front of Hazel, transferred ten thousand dollars to Travis with a message: “Son, use this to buy Hazel a new outfit. A girl as lovely as Hazel should never have to hold back on dressing her best.” Hazel’s expression turned skeptical, like she thought I was just putting on a show. I didn’t bother explaining, pretending instead to head to the bathroom. When I came back, I noticed Hazel’s expression had changed; she was staring at Travis with a mix of confusion and suspicion. Her thoughts echoed, “Why did Travis say Clara hates my wardrobe and wants me to dress better? Clara didn’t say that. She even gave him ten thousand dollars to buy me something. What’s his game?” I interrupted her thoughts, saying, “Hazel, I asked you here today because I want to talk about the dowry.” Hazel looked stunned and locked eyes with me, finally beginning to understand something wasn’t right.

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My fiancé fell for the girl who saved his life—a mute—and now he wants to call off our engagement. I offered him some advice: “The Holt family isn’t easy to get into; she might want to think it over.” The girl took offense and poisoned herself. Ten years later, after taking over the Holt Group, Nick’s first order of business was to ruin my family and come for my life. “This is what you owe Ella.” I open my eyes again and find myself back at my 23rd birthday party. Mr. Theodore Holt asks what my birthday wish is. “If Nick Jr. and Ella truly love each other, then let’s make them the perfect match.” Content I died on one of the coldest winter nights. I thought I could hold on until spring, but Nick didn’t want to wait. With no anesthesia, he sliced open my chest, his scalpel cutting in bit by bit, and my blood poured out like a fountain. It still didn’t satisfy him. Raising his arm, he drove the cold blade right into my heart. The pain nearly made me pass out. I struggled to ask, “Why?” I really couldn’t understand. Nick and I were childhood friends, our families inseparable. My father had supported the Holt Group all these years, helping Nick rise to the top. Even after he took over the company, we never took advantage of our connection. And yet he manipulated the market, spread scandals, and drove my family, the Jensens, to ruin. “Why, Nick?” I gasped, gripping his tie with all my strength. Nick stared into my eyes, as if I’d somehow betrayed him, even though he was the one killing me. “This is what you owe Ella,” he said, his cold voice more frigid than the wind outside. Ella? Ella Snow? The name stirred an old memory, and slowly, her fragile, tear-streaked face came to mind. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. It had been ten years. So Nick had never forgotten her. He actually blamed her death on me, on the entire Jensen family. “Nick, you really are a—” Idiot! I didn’t get to finish. He yanked out the scalpel, and scarlet blood sprayed, clouding my vision. The pain was unbearable.

“Miss, is your headache acting up again?” There was no icy basement, no howling wind. Instead, the room was warm, the sounds of laughter and music filling the air. Neon lights flickered outside, with cars streaming down the streets below. I was standing on the balcony of the Lexington Grand Hotel, looking out over the city that never sleeps. It was my 23rd birthday party. I’d come back to life. Not only was I alive and well, but I was five years in the past. This was the year the Jensen Group completed a major international merger and went public. And this was the year I hadn’t yet become Nick’s wife. “Oh, what a headache.” Behind me, I heard a bitter whisper. “Nick Jr. has been on every major media channel for three days straight, declaring that he wants to cancel his engagement with the Jensen family.” I stopped Rachel, my assistant, from responding. This was more than just canceling an engagement. This was the year Nick had been in a car accident while visiting a rural project, and a local girl had saved him after he fell off a cliff. The girl was delicate and beautiful, and in her desperation to help him, she’d eaten an herb that damaged her voice. Nick had been so moved that he’d brought her back to the Holt Mansion. For three days, he’d been making public statements. He was going to marry her—only her. He was determined to make her the future Mrs. Holt, wife of the Holt Group’s CEO. “Miss, don’t believe all that nonsense. You and Nick Jr. have known each other since childhood. All these years of friendship…” I shook my head, gently refusing Rachel’s comfort. I knew exactly what she was going to say. Three days ago, I’d woken up at the Jensen Estate. Three days was all I needed to piece together everything, both past and present. “Miss,” Rachel said softly, looking excited, “Nick Jr. just arrived.”

I turned and saw Nick approaching, wearing a crisp suit and surrounded by a crowd. The whispers around us went silent in an instant. Nick and I had grown up together. Our engagement had been arranged early on by our families to cement our business alliance. Anytime someone spoke ill of me, he was the first to stand up for me. Anytime he got into trouble at home, I’d be the first to help smooth things over for him. Until now, everyone had assumed I was Nick’s only love—the future Mrs. Holt, without question. Yet here, at my 23rd birthday party, he brought another woman with him. Ella Snow was draped in a fancy dress and perfectly made up, though it looked like she was wearing someone else’s skin. She clung to Nick’s arm, practically hiding behind him for protection. Nick leaned down and whispered something to her, his eyes filled with affection. Ella looked at me, her expression quickly shifting to one of uneasy fear. She stepped forward. With a soft thud, she dropped to her knees in front of me.

How familiar this scene was. Even the tear at the corner of her eye, ready to fall, was the same. In my previous life, her frail, helpless look had deceived me. I’d actually been willing to help her and Nick figure things out. As a Jensen heiress, I certainly didn’t need Nick. Yes, her presence had stung, but it hadn’t made me lose my composure. When Nick wanted to break off our engagement, I didn’t cause a scene. Out of respect for our history, I sincerely offered him a few words of advice: “Miss Snow is new in Lexington and has lost her voice, even though she saved you. But as for making her the next Mrs. Holt? Even if you convinced every board member, I don’t think Mr. Holt would approve. It’d just make things harder for her.” “Nick, maybe you should take a step back. Why not let her start as an intern at the company, and then, down the road…” My words had a double meaning: “After all, can’t you do whatever you want in the future?” That little suggestion saved her from immediate trouble but landed me in endless torment.

Slap! Slap! Slap! In my previous life, the moment Ella knelt, I rushed to help her. This time, I just watched as she gave herself three loud, sharp slaps. Rachel tugged at my sleeve. The room was filled with guests, and many had already pulled out their phones, aiming them in our direction. Rachel wanted to intervene, but I held her back. What was the rush? “Ella!” Nick’s expression was starting to sour. Within seconds, Ella’s cheeks had reddened and swollen. Tears brimmed in her eyes, adding to her pitiful look. She looked from Nick to me, bit her lip, and kept hitting herself. I took a calm sip of champagne. I was curious—how far would she take this performance?

Yes, it was all an act. Her muteness was an act, her delicate “damsel” persona was an act, and even her “suicide” in my past life was an act. Outside a secluded club lounge, I’d overheard her distinct, delicate voice pleading with a doctor: “Doctor, I’m just a poor girl with nowhere to go. If I don’t play the sympathy card, how could I ever get through the Holts’ front door?” “Please give me some medication that’ll put me in a brief state of shock!” “Doctor, I really love Nick Jr. With my background, being his lover is already reaching too high, but since he’s promised to marry me, I need to make sure he feels guilty for me forever.” “Please, just help me! If I fake my death once, he’ll always remember he owes me.” What a scheme. She’d fooled Nick, she’d fooled me, and she’d fooled every high-society figure in Lexington. I’d once asked Nick why he was so taken with Ella. “I was born a Holt heir. Everyone treats me with respect, but only because of my title. Even you, Mila—if I weren’t the Holt heir, would you have cared about me?” At the time, I didn’t know how to answer. If he hadn’t been the Holt heir, there wouldn’t have been any engagement, no shared childhood, no question of love. “Only Ella was willing to give her life for me without knowing my identity. How could I not be moved by such pure love?” He almost had me convinced. As a high-society heiress, I’d always been cautious and thoughtful. I had to consider my parents, my family—I wouldn’t just give my life for someone. We’d all overlooked another possibility. Even if Nick had been unconscious after the car crash, his tailored suit and Patek Philippe watch would’ve made it clear he came from wealth. Whether he was the rich son of an elite family, a business mogul, or a group heir, Ella had known from the start. She’d planned to climb the social ladder from day one.

“Enough!” Nick’s sharp voice cut through the crowd. The room went silent. Ella flinched, slowly raising her head, her eyes wide and pleading as she looked at me. Her message was unmistakable: she’d broken off my engagement and turned me into the town’s laughingstock, and she felt deeply remorseful about it. If I didn’t step in, she wouldn’t stop. Perfect. I lifted an eyebrow and took a leisurely sip of my champagne. Ella clenched her teeth, bowing her head as if she was about to slap herself again. Then, with a loud smack, Nick strode over and slapped the champagne glass from my hand. “Camilla Jensen, you’ve gone too far!”

“Camilla, do you even know what decency is anymore?” Nick’s cold eyes narrowed, his voice simmering with anger. He turned and helped Ella up, gently brushing his hand over her swollen cheek. “Camilla, apologize,” he commanded. “Do it now in front of everyone, and we’ll call it even. I won’t hold it against you.” I almost burst out laughing. How naïve I’d been back then. After uncovering Ella’s scheme, I’d messaged Nick to tell him everything I’d overheard. I even asked him to keep an eye on her. The next day, Ella took her own life by poisoning—not a staged attempt but the real thing. The media had a field day, speculating she’d ended her life over the relentless public pressure. Nick left me a voice message after it happened: “Thanks for the heads-up, Ms. Jensen. Those who betray me will always be punished.” And that was it. For years, I’d thought he confronted her, forcing her to take real poison. I thought he was the same unforgiving Nick I’d always known. I never realized, not until the end, that when he said, “those who betray me,” he was talking about me. Camilla Jensen, did you hear me?” “Ella didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who insisted on marrying her. It’s me, Nick Holt, who’s calling off our engagement.” I stared at him, and a bitter smile tugged at my lips. I’d really been blind. I’d actually thought he was a clear-headed business genius. “Rachel,” I turned to my assistant, “aren’t all the heads of the Big Four here on the top floor?” Rachel blinked, stunned, then nodded. Gathering up my gown, I made my way to the elevator. Nick followed me. “What are you trying to do?” “The old man made a private visit tonight,” he said, clearly nervous. “He didn’t make a big announcement about being here.” I knew that already. After all, a birthday party for a “rising star” in business like myself wouldn’t usually draw the heads of the four most powerful families in the city.

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After losing passion with my husband, I asked my best friend to take me to relax, who knew that she had taken me to a different club, and experienced a night that I will never forget in my life …… Yesterday, I had a fierce argument with my husband Kevin over his ambiguous relationship with a female colleague. Kevin is an executive at an international trading company. Young, successful, and handsome, he’s often surrounded by women with ulterior motives. We’ve argued countless times about this. Yesterday, I decided to surprise him by bringing lunch to his office. To my dismay, I walked in on a voluptuous woman in a low-cut top, leaning over his shoulder under the pretense of delivering documents. My temper flared, and we ended up in a heated argument. That night, Kevin didn’t come home. He always uses this tactic when we fight. Trembling with anger and feeling lost, I impulsively decided to visit my best friend Rachel. Little did I know that this spontaneous decision would alter the course of my life. Rachel and I are close enough to know each other’s door codes. I called her first, but there was no answer. Assuming she was asleep, I decided to go over unannounced. At her place, I used the code to let myself in. As I reached the living room, I heard passionate moans coming from her bedroom. Confused, I wondered, “Isn’t her husband on a year-long business trip?” Then a shocking thought crossed my mind – Rachel was cheating! Driven by curiosity, I crept to her bedroom door. Through the crack, I saw two entwined bodies. The man’s body was young and muscular, his strong arms gripping Rachel’s slender waist. Her pale skin contrasted with his chocolate-colored body as they moved together rhythmically. Rachel was indeed cheating! And with a younger man! I had only dared to fantasize about such things in my loneliest moments. But beyond my embarrassment, I realized I felt… envious. In all my years of marriage, I had never experienced such passion. Our intimate moments were always rushed and perfunctory. Deep down, I longed for a young, vigorous man to satisfy me thoroughly… As I stood there, lost in my thoughts, I heard the bathroom door open behind me. A startled voice called out, “Who’s there?” Snapped back to reality, I realized the sounds from the bedroom had stopped abruptly. Rachel and her companion were now staring at me. … “I… I didn’t mean to… I called but you didn’t answer, so I…” I stammered, trying to explain to Rachel. To my surprise, she waved it off nonchalantly, dismissed the two young men in her room, and casually pulled me to the couch to chat as if nothing had happened. “Another fight with Kevin?” she asked, seeming unsurprised. Seeing that she didn’t seem to mind what I’d witnessed, I let out a sigh of relief and poured out all my frustrations. To my shock, after listening, she rolled her eyes at me. “If he’s out there fooling around, why don’t you do the same?” she said bluntly. Then, to my amazement, she started telling me about the two young men I’d just seen. She said they were personal trainers. I’d heard of that profession before, but I knew it was often a cover for more illicit services. At first, I refused. But Rachel, undeterred, pulled out her phone and showed me a video she’d taken. In the video, she was lying on a hotel bed. At her feet were several shirtless, muscular men kissing her feet… As Rachel’s moans grew louder in the video, I lowered my head in embarrassment. … I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued. But as an educated adult, I found it hard to justify something that went against my moral principles. “I can’t… I’m married. If Kevin found out…” “You’re so considerate of Kevin, but has he ever considered you?” Rachel interrupted impatiently, then grabbed my hand. “Emily, I can’t stand seeing you so uptight. You’re coming out with me right now!” That night, I reluctantly put on the clothes Rachel had prepared for me, and she took me to a private club in the city center… Rachel gave her name at the front desk, and we were led to a private room. The lighting was soft and intimate, and the decor was luxurious, reminiscent of a five-star hotel suite. In the dim light from the large TV screen, I saw several sofa beds and three scantily clad men. As soon as they saw us, they approached with welcoming smiles, taking our bags. “Hello, ladies,” they greeted us. They all had incredibly fit bodies, clearly the result of rigorous training, and handsome faces too. They were obviously carefully selected for this job. They wore only tight shorts, showing off their strong shoulders and toned abs. Looking at their impressive physiques and the subtle contours beneath their shorts, I couldn’t help but blush. Youth certainly has its advantages. Rachel had been quietly observing my reactions. Seeing my shy demeanor, she smiled with satisfaction. “Come on, don’t just stand there. Why don’t you help this lady relax?” she said, pushing me into the arms of one of the young men, giving me a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t be so uptight. You’re here now, so just enjoy yourself. Stop worrying about that unfaithful man of yours. You might as well have some fun too!” “What about you, Rachel?” asked a dark-haired young man as he stepped forward with a grin. His skin was deeply tanned, and I immediately recognized him as the man from Rachel’s house earlier. Rachel had mentioned his name was Jason. Jason put his arm around Rachel’s neck and asked, “The usual?” “Of course,” Rachel replied, wrapping her arms around his neck, her eyes smoldering. “We weren’t quite finished earlier. Let’s continue.” With that, they began kissing passionately, seemingly oblivious to our presence. Rachel boldly pushed Jason onto the sofa behind them and started to remove her clothes, swaying her hips seductively. She was so daring. The young man was visibly aroused, his eyes reddening with desire. He pulled Rachel down and climbed on top of her. Completely uninhibited, they began their passionate encounter right in front of us. The previously quiet room was soon filled with suggestive sounds. In the throes of passion, Rachel’s pale feet were stretched taut, and she couldn’t suppress her moans of pleasure. I could feel the man holding me begin to breathe more heavily, his body responding to the scene before us. “Does having an audience excite you, babe?” Jason asked teasingly. “You’re one to talk… I’ve never seen you this enthusiastic before…” Rachel replied breathlessly. Although I was married, our intimate life had always been conventional. Witnessing such an erotic scene and hearing the intense sounds of their lovemaking left me breathless. This was a bit too much… Rachel, her eyes hazy and cheeks flushed, noticed my reaction. Between stifled moans, she turned to me and said, “Sweetie, see? There’s nothing to be afraid of. Kevin wronged you first, so why shouldn’t you do the same?” She then wrapped her legs tightly around Jason’s waist. “Honey, let’s go to the inner room. I want to use some toys,” she purred. “Whatever you want, babe,” Jason replied, picking her up. He exchanged a knowing look with the man holding me, and the three of them disappeared into an adjoining room. Soon after the door closed, we could hear Rachel’s excited cries. Hearing their activities, the man holding me, whose name was Mark, finally spoke up. “Would you like to relax here first? Or should we go straight to a private room?” he asked, his hands naturally falling to my hips, his body heat making me shiver. “I… I don’t know,” I replied nervously, lowering my head to avoid his gaze. Mark chuckled softly at my response. “You’re so gentle. It must be your first time here, so you’re probably feeling shy. How about we just go to a private room?” The implication in his words was clear even to the most naive person. I felt my face flush again. But this time, I didn’t refuse. “Okay,” I whispered. The private room was set up for intimacy. A warm yellow light illuminated a large circular bed draped with gauzy curtains. Opposite the bed was a full-length mirror. You could clearly see yourself on the bed… Several pieces of lacy lingerie were laid out on the bed. This kind of sensual setup was something Kevin had never provided for me. Imagining what was about to happen, my heart started racing. Noticing my reaction, Mark smiled and pulled me into his arms. “Your heart is beating so fast. Don’t be nervous. Just think of me as your young boyfriend,” he said soothingly. Seeing his initiative, and considering we were already in the room, I tried to convince myself to go along with it. I turned and buried myself in his embrace. His body really was impressive. It reminded me of my first love from my youth, when we first became intimate. The firm feel of his muscles sent waves of excitement through me. It had been so long since I’d been this close to such a young, testosterone-filled body… “So you like pecs, huh?” Mark whispered, kissing my ear lightly. “But my abs are pretty good too. Want to feel them? Or… maybe you’d like to touch somewhere else?” His words grew more suggestive, his breath on my ear increasingly hot, his large hands beginning to roam over my body. I was starting to lose control. But a small part of my mind still clung to reason. “But… I’m married. Isn’t this wrong?” I asked, my mind still conflicted. Even though we had progressed this far, when I closed my eyes, I could still see Kevin’s cold, disdainful face. This thought prevented me from fully giving in, even though Mark and I were nearly naked. I felt so confused. “Does your husband treat you well?” Mark suddenly asked, his hand sliding to a sensitive area. Feeling the tremors he was causing, I couldn’t help but recall Kevin’s indifference towards me. “I… I don’t know,” I replied hesitantly. “I think you’re just making excuses for him. If he treated you well enough, you wouldn’t be here, would you?” Mark said softly. His words hit me hard, seeming to release all my pent-up tension and guilt. I began to cry quietly. “How about I give you a massage? You’re so tense,” Mark offered. “Okay,” I agreed. At this point, I had started to let go of my inner conflict and accept this somewhat absurd situation. I allowed him to remove the last of my clothing and begin massaging my entire body. Although he called it a massage, his hands never stayed in appropriate places, constantly teasing and arousing me. Just as I closed my eyes, ready to fully enjoy the experience, we suddenly heard Jason’s voice from next door. “Babe, can you wear this?” “I want to try the largest size.” His words were followed by Rachel’s passionate cries. I was surprised they were using such intense toys… But then again, Rachel had studied abroad for years, and her ex was a blonde, blue-eyed foreigner. It made sense that she’d be more open-minded… The two rooms were very close, separated only by a thin wall. Rachel’s increasingly loud cries filled my ears. Combined with Mark’s hands roaming my body, I soon found myself responding… I could no longer suppress my inner desires. I threw myself at Mark, and we became entangled. Soon, I too was lost in passion, just like Rachel. He was truly experienced, knowing more positions than even I, a mature woman, could imagine. After all, I had been somewhat of a campus beauty in college. At first, I was able to maintain some control, matching his movements. But when he opened a nearby drawer and I saw the blindfolds and other toys prepared in advance, I lost all reason. Those things were downright kinky. I tried to shy away, stimulated by the sight, but Mark’s testosterone-filled body pressed me down firmly. “Don’t think about anything, just enjoy,” he whispered. And so, in the end, I blacked out from pleasure. In my hazy state, I only felt Mark lifting me up and walking towards the door. I didn’t know what he was planning. My mind was blank until I felt a cold sensation on my back, slowly bringing me back to awareness. He had carried me out of the room. I was now lying on a table, directly in front of the window of the private room. Mark hadn’t separated from me. Noticing my movement, he smiled slightly. “Exciting, isn’t it?” he asked. “Mmm…” I buried my face in his chest, greedily inhaling his scent. “Ah… if only my husband paid half as much attention to me as you do, I’d be content,” I sighed. At this point, I had completely let go of my reservations, boldly expressing my emptiness to him. This statement seemed to stimulate Mark. His arms tightened around me, and he became even more passionate. Just as I was about to reach another peak, I suddenly heard several gasps nearby. I turned my head to look. Rachel and Jason had also come out, and in other corners of the room, several other couples were entwined. Their cries of pleasure soon drowned out ours. My gaze was fixed on Rachel. Under the efforts of two young men, she had completely lost her senses, her movements and sounds growing increasingly frantic. Compared to Mark, Jason’s skills were clearly superior. Seeing her eyes glazed over and her face flushed, I suddenly imagined myself in a similar situation with Jason. I was certain he was interested in me too. When we first arrived, his gaze had lingered on me, like a predator eyeing its prey. Although I appeared reserved, I secretly craved some contrast. But Kevin could never satisfy me in this way. However, I quickly banished these wild thoughts from my mind. I really couldn’t sink any lower… But Mark beneath me had already been captivated by Rachel’s seductive display. He stopped moving and deliberately held me, waiting for quite some time. It wasn’t until Rachel and Jason had finished that he carried me over to them and said, “Shall we try something new?” “Sure, what did you have in mind?” Jason rolled over and got up, his gaze falling on my half-conscious form. Finally, the two exchanged a knowing look. Seeing Jason’s predatory gaze, I suddenly sobered up, feeling weak in the knees. I understood what they were suggesting. But we had just… I looked pleadingly at Rachel for help, but to my surprise, she didn’t object at all. In fact, she seemed excited, urging the two men to get started. I didn’t want to spoil their fun. After Rachel’s persistent coaxing, I gave in and went along with them…

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Three years after breaking up with my ex-girlfriend, she dragged me to court. She wanted me to pay back everything she spent during our relationship. It wasn’t about the money—her husband was just bored and thought it’d be amusing. She knew I was in poor health. She knew I struggled with depression after losing my parents in a car accident and relied on medication to sleep. She knew I’d attempted suicide once and ended up in the hospital, even receiving a critical condition notice. And yet, she did it anyway. In court, I looked at her face—familiar yet distant. I’d known her for seven years. We dated for five. Later, she went to study in the U.S. Through the hardest times, I never thought about giving up on us. Los Angeles was so far, but I flew back and forth a dozen times. The court ruled that I had to repay $15,023. The extra $23? It came from the time I wanted to buy candied fruit on the streets of Chinatown in Los Angeles. It cost $3 per stick. I couldn’t bring myself to spend the money, but she smiled and bought it for me. Now that small, sweet gesture had turned into a blade at my throat. What she didn’t know was that the $15,000 in my bank account was everything I had—money meant for my next cancer treatment. Content

After the court ruling, I ran into Valerie Morgan in the hallway. It had been years since I’d last seen her. She’d changed so much. The struggling student I’d known, working odd jobs in a cramped apartment while trying to launch her career, was now a CEO in the renewable energy sector. She stood there in a cream sweater, her gaze cold and distant as it landed on me. Instinctively, I froze, thinking I could just avoid her and walk past. But then she spoke, her words slow and deliberate: “Do you regret it now?” I hesitated, startled. “What?” I replied. A mocking smile tugged at her lips. “Leaving me for money. You must regret it now, don’t you?” The chill of the late autumn breeze crept into my bones. I clenched my fingers against the cold but still felt its sting. After a moment, I took a deep breath and offered her a perfect, practiced smile. “Miss Morgan, the money’s been repaid, and we’re done. Saying things like that—aren’t you afraid your husband might misunderstand?” I turned my head to find Brian Chambers standing there, his face dark with anger. He quickly masked it with a smile, smoothing over the last traces of venom. Brian strolled over, casually draping an arm around Valerie’s shoulders. “Babe, how should we spend that $15,000? Clothes? Shoes? Or maybe that model I had my eye on last week?” He gave me a pointed look, smirking. “Doesn’t seem like enough, though, does it? You should’ve been more generous with your ex, Valerie. That’s barely enough for a new pair of shoes.” Valerie leaned into him, laughing softly. “It’s fine, honey. Think of it as pocket money. If you need more, I’ll cover it.” Brian’s grin widened as he kissed her cheek. “Babe, you’re the best.” Then he turned back to me, all false cheer. “Ethan, I’m really sorry about this. We don’t actually need the money. Valerie and I just had a little bet, and she wanted to cheer me up, so…” He reached out, gripping my hand with a smug, almost gloating look in his eyes. “Thanks for making me so happy—and for showing me just how much my wife loves me.” My chest tightened, a dull ache spreading through me like needles under my skin. I watched them walk away, hand in hand. Valerie would never know. The money she’d used to buy Brian his new shoes was meant to save my life.

I dragged my battered body home. The tiny trailer at the edge of Rustwood, West Virginia, shook with every gust of wind, the sharp clash of metal sheets robbing me of sleep on stormy nights. Summers were worse—an oven with no air conditioning, where I’d collapsed from heatstroke more than once because I couldn’t afford the electricity bill. I never thought Valerie would find me again. But I never imagined our next meeting would be in court. I stared at the newspaper clippings on my wall, then began tearing them down one by one. Each article bore her picture: Valerie Morgan, the rising star of the renewable energy industry; Valerie Morgan, one of New York City’s Top 10 Women Entrepreneurs; Valerie Morgan, radiant at her lavish wedding to Brian Chambers. I swallowed hard, stuffing the crumpled pages into a box beneath my bed. At the bottom of the box was a photo of us—a younger, softer Valerie leaning against me, her shy, radiant smile brimming with hope. The woman in court had been a stranger. Cold. Unforgiving. She was a CEO now, a philanthropist, a beloved wife. Everything but my girlfriend. I laughed bitterly, shoving the photo into the box with the clippings. Then I picked up my phone and called the bar manager. “Put me on the night shift,” I said. At night, the bar drew wealthy women looking for entertainment. Their desires could be twisted, their wallets deep. It was degrading, but it paid well. And I needed the money. I needed to live. What I didn’t expect was to see Valerie there. She stood at the center of a crowd, the spotlight catching her elegant figure. My fingers clenched as my face burned. She saw me too. Her expression flickered—shock, disbelief—and then settled into mockery. “So, this is where you work now.” Sweat pooled in my palms, but I forced myself to stay composed. “Your drink, ma’am,” I said calmly. Her gaze was scornful, like she was watching a rat crawl out of the gutter. “Figures. Women who come here can set you up for life. Fits your style.” I took another deep breath. “Your drink, ma’am,” I repeated. She arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “How long have you been here? Don’t you know how to serve properly?” She pulled a checkbook from her purse, scribbled something, and dropped it at my feet. “Serve my friends well, and this is yours.” Pain shot through my knee as I bent down to pick it up. When I saw the amount—$15,023—my chest constricted, air squeezing from my lungs. It was the exact sum I’d paid her in court. She was using it to humiliate me. I straightened slowly, meeting her gaze. After a long silence, I spoke: “This is payment for my services, Miss Morgan. I assume… I won’t need to repay it?”

The doctor had told me I shouldn’t drink alcohol. But I had no choice—I needed the money. For years, just staying alive had cost me my dignity. I would do anything. What were a few bottles of alcohol compared to that? That night, Valerie’s friends came to the bar. Of course, they all knew our story. Three years ago, when Valerie was desperate, struggling to secure funding, on the verge of being driven to suicide by the banks, I left her. She’d searched for me like a madwoman, even getting into a car accident that landed her in the hospital. She begged me not to leave her, but I didn’t look back. These women hated me for it. They wanted to take revenge on my behalf. They didn’t hold back. I was so drunk I collapsed onto the table, nothing more than a puddle of humiliation. When I reached for another bottle, Valerie grabbed my wrist, fury etched into her features. “Will you really stoop this low for money?” I raised my head, dazed, and held out my hand like a beggar. “Valerie… the money. You said… if I drank, if I took care of your friends, you’d pay me. You said you wouldn’t take it back…” Her gaze softened for a fleeting moment, her eyes trailing to my wrist. Her fingers brushed the scars there. The reminders of my depression, the countless times I’d tried to end it all after my parents’ fatal car accident. It was Valerie who had pulled me back from the brink, holding me close, pleading: “Ethan, you still have me. Live, even if it’s just for me. Please.” Now, though, her touch withdrew like I was filth. She scoffed bitterly, her voice dripping with venom. “I did promise. But tell me—look at my friends. Have you satisfied them?” The room erupted into cruel laughter. Their eyes bore down on me as if I were a circus act, a clown there for their entertainment. I chuckled despite the stabbing pain in my stomach, forcing a smile as I said, “Then I’ll try again. I’ll keep going until you’re happy.” When I reached for the bottle again, Valerie snapped. Her foot shot out, flipping the table. The crash of shattering glass filled the room. I fell hard, shards of broken bottles slicing into my palms. Seconds later, Marcus burst into the room, rushing to my side. “Ethan! Are you okay?” he cried, pulling me into his arms. He turned on Valerie, his voice trembling with rage. “Valerie Morgan, are you even human? After everything Ethan’s done for you, you force him to drink like this?” He paused, his voice breaking. “He has stomach cancer. Do you know this could kill him?!”

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My boyfriend has a buddy who he treats like a sister, and they’re practically inseparable. On the day we were supposed to get engaged for the ninth time, he ditched me at the venue. Why? Because it was their 20th “friendship anniversary.” “It’s just a delayed engagement. No need to rush. Are you really worried that no one will marry you?” Her latest Instagram Story popped up, and it felt like a thorn in my eye. “Twenty years of friendship. How could someone like you ever compare?” They hugged, looking way too cozy for “just friends.” I didn’t cry or create a scene. Instead, I calmly liked the post. Then, without a word, I vanished from his life. Six months later, he called, trying to win me back: “I got you that wedding dress you wanted. Come back, and let’s get married!” But it wasn’t my voice that answered—it was a man’s. “My wife’s pregnant. What do you want with her?” Content The day our engagement fell apart, I tossed the ring into a trash can. A cab driver waved me over and asked, “Where to?” “Just drive,” I replied. “Anywhere but back.” When Carter Delaney’s calls started coming in, I turned my phone off. It stayed off for three days. The night breeze by Santa Monica Pier felt calming, lifting the hem of my red dress. It reminded me of the first time Carter told me he loved me. He had been so young and awkward, his feelings written all over his face, impossible to hide. I had fallen hard for 20-year-old Carter. I even left my hometown of Austin, Texas, and moved to the unfamiliar Midwest for him. I quit a job I loved to become his secretary, a role I held for nine years. Fate sure has a twisted sense of humor. We got engaged nine times. And each time, she got in the way. Her name is Brielle Stokes. We fought about her more times than I can count. “I’ve told you, Brielle and I are just friends. Why are you so insecure?” “We’ve shared everything since we were kids—even baths. Do you really think it’s anything more?” “Skylar Quinn, you’re acting like a jealous maniac! Brielle’s already forgiven you for stalking us. What else do you want?” Carter’s expression darkened during those arguments. After each fight, I’d pick up my feelings, wipe my tears, and apologize. I was terrified of losing him, so I always gave in first. But this time, I felt nothing. No anger, no sadness—just a calm desire to stay by the ocean, doing nothing and feeling at peace. Carter found me without much trouble. I forgot that the hotel I booked was one of his. He burst into my room without warning. “Skylar Quinn, running away is such a childish move.” “It was Brielle and I’s 20th anniversary as friends. We were just celebrating! Can’t I have friends besides you?” Friends. Right. Friends who kiss? I kept that thought to myself. I knew he’d dismiss it as “just a game.” Not like it would be the first time. “Brielle and I have nothing going on. Stop sulking, okay?” His furrowed brows softened as he looked at me, almost concerned. “I’ll make it up to you with a bigger wedding. Brielle can even be your maid of honor. Will that make you happy?” His voice had a soothing tone. I remained silent, making his brows knit together again. “Skylar, if you don’t—” “Fine,” I interrupted. The old me would’ve argued until I caved and apologized. But now? I just smiled faintly. My unexpected compliance caught him off guard, but he quickly masked it with a relieved smile. He reached for my hand. “Let’s go home.” I pulled my hand away coldly and walked ahead of him. Carter paused, stunned for a moment. No fight? He didn’t know how to deal with that. When I reached his car, Brielle was already waiting. “There you are, Skylar! Carter’s been freaking out trying to find you!” She pouted, playfully scolding him. “I told you we should’ve brought her to the anniversary, but nooo. Look what happened—she’s jealous again!” “Skylar, I’m really sorry for him. Don’t be mad, okay? If you are, I’ll hit him for you!” She pretended to punch Carter’s chest but ended up in his arms. “Still the charmer, huh?” Carter smirked at her. “Ugh, stop holding me like that!” Brielle blushed and squirmed, glancing at me. “Skylar’s watching. Are you trying to scare her off again?” 2 I ignored them and quietly took the backseat without looking up. I’d fought so many times over the front passenger seat. If Brielle was around, it was always hers. “She gets carsick unless she’s next to me,” Carter explained. I seethed, baffled. He thought I was being petty. This time, I said nothing, and Carter looked a bit surprised. As the car started, Brielle turned to me. “Skylar, you’ve lost so much weight in just two days. Let me take you to dinner to apologize for Carter?” “Next time, I promise you’ll be invited to our hangouts!” “No need,” I replied sharply. “Just take me home.” Carter ignored me and drove to a restaurant instead. “You look like you haven’t eaten properly. Stop being stubborn.” The car stopped in a busy area filled with restaurants. Brielle tugged at his arm and said, “Carter, I want a Matcha Latte!” “You’re about to start your period. No iced drinks.” They acted like a couple. He knew her body better than he ever knew mine. At the restaurant, the server brought us lemon water. Brielle grabbed Carter’s glass, sipping it. “Yours is so sour!” she giggled, scrunching her nose. Carter smiled fondly, pinching her cheek. “You’ve got to stop stealing my stuff.” Then Brielle turned to me. “Skylar, you’re not mad, right? We’ve always shared everything since we were kids.” Carter froze, realizing how inappropriate that sounded. “Doesn’t bother me,” I replied. “You’ve shared everything since you were kids, right? Makes sense.” Carter exhaled in relief, even smiling faintly as if impressed by my “maturity.” For the first time, I didn’t care if they flirted. When Carter peeled a shrimp for me, Brielle snatched it before it reached my plate. “How sweet! You remembered I love shrimp!” she teased, placing it on her plate. Carter shook his head, amused. “Slow down. No one’s taking it from you.” Then Brielle slid the shrimp to my plate. “Here, Skylar. Have some. If it’s not enough, I’ll make Carter peel more for me.” “I don’t like shrimp,” I replied coolly, leaving it untouched. Carter’s brows furrowed. He must’ve been confused—shrimp was my favorite. But I don’t eat food that’s been taken from someone else’s plate. Brielle was allergic to seafood. She took it just to get Carter’s attention. Her face broke out in hives on the way back. Carter dropped me off on the roadside, insisting, “Brielle needs to go to the hospital. Call a cab.” “But—” He didn’t listen, focused solely on her as he drove away. The street was dimly lit. A couple of tall guys emerged from the shadows. “She’s got a nice body. Let’s grab her.” 3 I froze in panic, my heart racing as fear washed over me. My legs felt weak, and when I tried to run, I stumbled and fell. The two men closed in, stinking of sweat and booze. “All my money is in my bag. There’s about two thousand in cash and a few grand on my cards,” I stammered, blurting out my finances, hoping they’d just take the money and leave. Their eyes lit up as they rifled through my bag, confirming my words. “Don’t worry. I won’t call the cops. I didn’t see anything,” I begged, voice trembling. “I’ll leave—right now…”

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In my previous life, I married the wrong person from a blind date. I thought it was fate, orchestrated by the heavens. It wasn’t until he used my father’s influence to climb the corporate ladder and had an affair with my best friend that I realized the truth. It turns out it was all his calculated plan from the beginning. So when he sat across from me again in this life, I politely reminded him, “I’m sorry, but you’re in the wrong seat.” In my previous life, I died in the delivery room. As my soul drifted out, I saw my parents crying uncontrollably outside. The nurse, carrying my newborn son, couldn’t find his father anywhere. At my funeral, my husband Felix shamelessly arrived with my best friend Brynn. My parents, their hair turned white overnight, were so enraged they nearly attacked them with a stick. Felix easily dodged and sneered, “Father-in-law, you should be thanking me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t even have a grandson now.” He left with his arm around Brynn’s shoulders, turning back to glance at my memorial tablet one last time. “Oh, and thanks for all your help these past few years.” My father nearly fainted from anger. I trembled with rage, watching the despicable couple gloat. All I could do was pray to heaven for them to face retribution. Perhaps the gods were equally outraged, because I was truly reborn. I found myself on the day of my blind date with Felix. At this moment, I was sitting in a restaurant, waiting for my date. Of course, it shouldn’t be Felix. My father was a local real estate tycoon, owning countless properties and land. Originally, my family had arranged for me to meet someone from a similar background. But in my previous life, I lost my senses when I saw Felix, and my parents reluctantly agreed to let me marry beneath my status. I glanced at my watch absent-mindedly. Felix should be arriving soon.

A few seconds later, the same voice from my previous life floated down from above. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Felix, nice to meet you.” I looked up through my sunglasses. Lifting them slightly, I couldn’t help but curl my lips. Felix, long time no see. He was still the same as in my previous life, thinking he knew me inside out. For this date, he had deliberately dressed in the clean, sunny style I liked. He wore a sporty outfit that looked out of place in this upscale restaurant. It’s ridiculous how I fell for this mismatch in my previous life. I guess I was tired of seeing men in suits, talking endlessly about luxury brands and profits. Felix gently pulled out the chair and was about to sit down. Before he could utter his second carefully planned line, I coldly put my sunglasses back on. “I’m sorry, but you’re in the wrong seat.” His well-practiced politeness nearly cracked at that moment. Felix was half-squatting, looking unsure whether to sit or leave. I simply took off my sunglasses and looked directly at this scumbag. “This isn’t your seat.” Felix stood up awkwardly and started laughing it off. “Oh, is that so? I must have gotten the wrong table.” I looked him up and down, then pointed with my sunglasses to the large restaurant across the street. “Sir, perhaps you went to the wrong restaurant?” At this point, Felix was still a poor guy. Last time we had dinner, he spent over $300, and then kept asking me for expensive gifts afterward. Unfortunately, I was too naive to realize it then. Living this life again, I knew exactly where Felix’s weak spots were. Sure enough, Felix’s expression changed. The scrutinizing looks from people around made him extremely uncomfortable. I crossed my arms and gazed out the window nonchalantly. I wonder what the man I’m supposed to meet will be like this time.

Felix left, and I checked my watch. It had been 10 minutes since the appointed time. I took a sip of water to moisten my throat. In my previous life, there was another reason I chose Felix. It was because of my superstitious mother. Mom was anxious that I was still single at 26, so she dragged me to see a fortune teller. The fortune teller said my destined love would arrive soon. My mom was so happy she immediately paid a lot of money, then dragged me off to start arranging blind dates. However, we both ignored the fortune teller’s long sigh as we left. “Whether it’s fortune or misfortune, it cannot be avoided.” I didn’t understand then, but now I do. This blind date was both a blessing and a curse. Unavoidable? This time, I’m determined to avoid it. I crossed my legs and waited for the man who was actually supposed to meet me. While lost in thought, I heard a soft chuckle from the table opposite. I frowned slightly and looked over. A man wore a light suit jacket with a black and white striped white shirt underneath. His collarbone was deep enough to hold water, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down on his long neck. His thin lips were slightly curved, and gold-rimmed glasses sat on his high, straight nose. I raised an eyebrow. He looked every bit the handsome rogue. The starry eyes behind his glasses blinked at me, and before I could speak, the man sat down across from me. Having apparently overheard my earlier words, he first jerked his chin towards the restaurant outside the window. “I certainly haven’t sat in the wrong place.” I widened my eyes in surprise. This man had been sitting across from me the whole time. Was he the one who was supposed to be on the blind date with me? Did I really miss out on meeting him in my previous life?

The man casually picked up the name tag on the table and wrote a few large characters with the pen. When he passed the tag to me, I read the name aloud. “Bodhi Brooks.” I searched my memory for any information about this man. “Are you Mr. Brooks’ son?” My dad and Mr. Brooks were childhood friends. My dad became a businessman while Mr. Brooks took a stable government job. They say handwriting reflects personality. Bodhi’ handwriting looked as bold as he did. It was a bit strange. In my memory, Mr. Brooks was a smooth and reserved person. I followed his example and wrote my name on a tag. “Ava White?” “You seemed quite fierce when talking to that man earlier, but your handwriting looks so elegant?” Mentioning Felix made me feel sick to my stomach. Thinking about how I had missed out on meeting Bodhi in my previous life, I rested my chin on my hand thoughtfully. “That man clearly wasn’t the one I was supposed to meet.” “What if I hadn’t realized and actually hit it off with him? What would you have done?” Bodhi leaned back in his chair casually. “What could I do?” “If my blind date clicked with another guy right in front of me, I’d just accept my bad luck and go home.” I pressed my lips together, feeling a bit embarrassed. No wonder Bodhi hadn’t made a big deal about this in my previous life. Seeing his carefree and nonchalant attitude, I decided to relax and lean back too. “Did your dad force you to come?” “Now that we’ve met and can report back, shall we go home?” Bodhi nodded twice and stood up first. “I’ll drive you back.” Watching his retreating back, I felt a bit confused. Is this handsome rogue what the fortune teller meant by both blessing and curse?

Bodhi knew where I lived and drove directly to the gate of my family’s villa. “Thank you.” I politely thanked him and got out of the car, but was surprised to hear two car doors slam shut. ?? I turned back to look. “Why are you getting out?” Bodhi tugged at his clothes and cleared his throat, standing next to me and dropping his carefree demeanor. I was about to speak in confusion when Bodhi glanced at me. “Who said I was forced to come on this blind date?” As he finished speaking, he opened the gate to my house more skillfully than I could. “Mr. White! Mrs. White! I’m here!!” Bodhi ran into my house in a few quick strides, and his shout brought my parents out. I stood at the door, my mouth twitching, unable to figure out what this guy was up to. If he wasn’t forced to come on the blind date, did he come voluntarily? “Strange.” I shook my head and entered the house, only to see Bodhi chatting animatedly with my parents. “Ava, come in quickly!” “Your father and I were worried at home, but it seems you two got along well!” I stood there speechless, but Bodhi sat properly on the sofa and helped me out. “Mrs. White, Mr. White and my dad are childhood friends. Ava and I used to play together a lot as kids.” “We hit it off right away on this blind date.” I listened in confusion. I could only gather from my parents’ words that Bodhi and I used to hang out together all the time as children. Perhaps because Bodhi was older than me, he remembered more about it. “Stay for lunch, I’ll cook myself!” my mom said happily, the fine lines around her eyes deepening. I looked at Bodhi, feeling a bit lost. Taking advantage of him going to the bathroom, I finally got a chance to corner him in the elevator.

“What are you up to?” I put on an arrogant air, trying to act like the lady of the house. Bodhi tried to leave, but in a moment of impulse, I slapped my hand against the elevator wall behind him. By the time I realized the awkwardness of the pose, it was too late. Bodhi raised an eyebrow, his long phoenix eyes quite captivating. “What are you up to?” he asked, tilting his head to look at my hand next to his ear. I tried to withdraw my hand in embarrassment, but Bodhi caught my wrist with one hand. “This isn’t right.” Before I knew it, I was spun around and pinned against the elevator wall. “This is how it’s done, understand?” I don’t know if it was from embarrassment or shyness, but my cheeks instantly flushed red. After just two seconds of eye contact with those phoenix eyes, I quickly looked away. “Men and women shouldn’t be in such close contact. Get off me!” Bodhi shrugged. “You started it.” “I did not!” I glared at him angrily. But I saw laughter about to burst from his eyes. As the elevator reached the fourth floor, I felt a mix of embarrassment and anger. I raised my foot and stomped hard on Bodhi’ shoe. And ground it in a couple times for good measure. Bodhi clutched his foot and let out an exaggerated yell in the elevator. “Ahhhh!!” “What are you shouting about?!” The elevator doors dinged open, and I immediately darted out. “I told you I wasn’t forced to come on this blind date!” he called after me. I ignored the voice behind me. It was the first time I’d met such a difficult man. Other men I’d met either treated me carefully or subtly bragged about their family background. Bodhi was the first to act so shamelessly and follow me home.

At lunch, I was shocked to see a feast fit for an emperor on the table. “Mom, since when did you know how to cook so many dishes?” My mom beamed with joy and pride. “After getting married, your dad never let me cook. How would you know?” I held my chopsticks, suddenly feeling a loss of appetite. My mom doesn’t love me anymore!! Bodhi, who was drinking with my dad and constantly complimenting my mom’s cooking, immediately chimed in. “Don’t worry, Mrs. White. I’ll definitely learn from Mr. White and take good care of my wife in the future!” ?? My parents exchanged a look, unable to hide their satisfaction. Under the table, I angrily stomped on Bodhi’ foot and twisted it a couple times. Bodhi’ face reddened with pain, but he didn’t take back his words. Instead, he clinked glasses with my dad again. My dad was an old drinking buddy, and today they were drinking some of his prized vintage. By the end of the meal, Bodhi was drunk enough to start shadowboxing on the spot. “Ava, help Bodhi upstairs to rest,” my dad said. I frowned deeply at the drunk man. “Dad, why don’t I drive him back to Mr. Brooks’ house?” My parents’ expressions changed. “How could we do that!” I took a deep breath and pulled Bodhi up. Seeing how drunk he was, I secretly pinched him to vent my frustration. To my surprise, he let out a loud yelp. “Don’t pinch me! It hurts!” My dad puffed up his mustache and raised his arm angrily. Waaaah. Mom doesn’t love me and Dad doesn’t care about me anymore. Bodhi didn’t hold back either, directly leaning half his body weight on my shoulder. This guy must be at least 5’11”! It took all my strength to carry him into the guest room. But when I tried to throw him onto the bed, he pulled me down with him.

I was nearly crushed breathless. “Bodhi Brooks!!” I shouted in a low voice, and only then did he raise his head with a dazed look. Before I could tell him to get off, he put his finger on my lips in a shushing gesture. Meeting those slightly reddened eyes, I was momentarily stunned. For some reason, my heart started racing uncontrollably. “Don’t make noise.” I nodded hurriedly, trying to suppress my pounding heart, and Bodhi finally removed his finger. Bodhi was so close to me, our noses almost touching. A faint fragrance mingled with the smell of alcohol surrounded me. Even though I hadn’t been drinking, I felt a bit dizzy and confused. I suddenly realized this guy was actually quite handsome. Much better looking than Felix. As I stared dazedly into Bodhi’ eyes, I had a moment of clarity. Felix was undoubtedly my misfortune. Could Bodhi be my blessing? “Ava.” Bodhi suddenly spoke in a low voice, and I instinctively responded. “I told you I wasn’t forced to come on this blind date.” “You stomped on my foot really hard.” Hearing this, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Before I could respond, he suddenly closed his eyes and lowered his head. I hurriedly turned my face away in fright. Bodhi’ lips lightly brushed my cheek, and soon I heard steady breathing by my ear. It took all my strength to finally push him away.

Even though I pretended to be calm, my steps were a bit unsteady as I returned to my own room. I sat dazedly on the edge of the bed. Remembering what had just happened made my face flush and my heart race. Having just experienced a painfully devastating previous life, I shouldn’t be able to fall for someone so easily. After much thought, I attributed this abnormal reaction to shock. Yes, I was just shocked. I couldn’t remember the childhood with Bodhi that my parents mentioned. Anyway, in all my years, I’d never met such an unreasonable man! After freshening up, I shook my head, trying to get Bodhi out of my mind. But then my mom came in carrying a glass of warm milk. “Ava dear.” Seeing my mom’s face full of smiles, I turned away sulkily. “Now it’s ‘Ava dear.’ Earlier I thought I must have been adopted.” Mom pretended to glare at me angrily, putting the milk on the bedside table. “I’m just anxious about your marriage!” “Mom thinks Bodhi is quite good. He’s handsome and clean-cut. His dad is your dad’s old friend too. If you marry him, you definitely won’t be mistreated. We only have one daughter, and when you get married…” I gave my mom a long look, and she swallowed the rest of her words. I took a sip of milk without speaking. Remembering what had just happened still made my heart beat faster. Mom gathered her thoughts for a while before patting my hand. “Tell mom honestly, what do you think of Bodhi?” I glanced at Mom and considered carefully for a moment.

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I accidentally sent a message meant for my best friend to my ex-boyfriend while drunk. “Come see me tomorrow. I have something to tell you.” Alex: ? “You think I’ll come just because you tell me to? We broke up, stop treating me like your dog.” “What do you want to say? Having regrets? Begging to get back together?” “Chloe Williams, you dumped me so decisively, there’s no chance of us getting back together!” … “Chloe, I’m downstairs.” “Say what you need to say now. Answer the phone.” “You’re not answering calls or messages, I’ve been worried sick about you, and here you are just sleeping, Chloe Williams!” “Wake up, wake up! I’ve got some crazy news – guess who I just ran into downstairs? Alex! It was Alex Shaw!” Early in the morning, Zoe dragged me out of bed. Zoe is my best friend. We’ve known each other since childhood and are close enough to share clothes and have keys to each other’s places. At the mention of Alex’s name, I opened my eyes briefly. Zoe put her hands on her hips and scolded, “Chloe Williams, you really do care more about guys than friends. I’ve been trying to wake you forever with no response, but the moment I mention Alex you’re wide awake. It’s been six months since you broke up and you’re still hung up on him? Zoe put her hands on her hips and scolded, “Chloe Williams, you really do care more about guys than friends. I’ve been trying to wake you forever with no response, but the moment I mention Alex you’re wide awake. It’s been six months since you broke up and you’re still hung up on him? Have you no self-respect?” I yawned and lay back down to continue sleeping. Alex Shaw appearing downstairs at my apartment? The chances of that were lower than the sun rising in the west. “Stop making noise. Let me sleep a bit more. I drank too much yesterday and my head is killing me. When I wake up, I’ll tell you about the juicy gossip I heard at the class reunion last night. It’s mind-blowing.” I thought Zoe had come over because of the message I sent her last night. Zoe shook me again. “No more sleeping! Alex is really downstairs!” “Are you crazy or am I?” “Neither of us is crazy. It’s Alex who’s gone mad. He really is downstairs! Think about it, when have I ever joked about him with you?” During those first difficult days after the breakup, Zoe had taken time off work to be with me every day. She knew better than anyone how much Alex meant to me. She had indeed never joked about him. “Really?” I started to believe her. Zoe: “Yes, really! I’m not lying, I actually ran into him! He was dressed all fancy, like he might have a new girlfriend. Maybe he’s waiting to pick someone up for a date right now! Oh, by the way, what gossip were you talking about?” New… girlfriend? Of everything Zoe said, all I could hear was Alex dressed up nicely and Alex having a new girlfriend. We’ve only been broken up for six months. I had just started to move on, and he’s already dating someone new? Fine, he can date whoever he wants. But did he have to pick someone who lives in my building? I was furious. I sat up abruptly. “Let’s go! Let’s go see.” I got ready as quickly as possible – washing up, putting on makeup, choosing an outfit, styling my hair… For our first encounter since the breakup, I couldn’t lose face!

Alex Shaw was a year ahead of me in high school. During those years, he was something of a celebrity at school. He came from a good family, had great looks, and was a top student. Many girls had crushes on him. I was just one of many. I also fantasized about winning over this unattainable guy, but it was just a fantasy. The closest I ever got to him was watching him on the basketball court from the bleachers. Even among the crowd of spectators, I was unremarkable. The turning point came on an ordinary hot summer day. During a break in the game, his eyes scanned the crowd, finally landing on me. Like a dream, he walked straight towards me and “borrowed” the water bottle from my hand. Then he tilted his head back and drained the entire bottle. “Hey, add me on SnapChat so I can pay you back for the water.” Those were the first words he ever said to me. “N-no… I mean, sure, let’s add each other.” I fumbled for my phone in a daze. And just like that, we connected on social media. Even with his contact info, I never imagined anything would happen between us. I only messaged him on holidays. “Happy 4th of July, Alex.” “Happy 4th.” “Happy Thanksgiving, Alex.” “Happy Thanksgiving.” … Out of politeness, he always replied. During our senior year, I found out he was planning to study abroad for college. After much deliberation, I decided to close this chapter of my youth. I gathered my courage and confessed to him. “Alex, I’ve actually liked you for a long time.” He replied instantly: “Then let’s be together.” Me: ???!!! And just like that, we started dating. Looking back now, it all seems so rushed and impulsive.

I spent over an hour doing my makeup and getting ready. As we headed downstairs, Zoe kept fretting that my hair didn’t look quite right and worrying that Alex might have already left with someone. Zoe: “It’s been so long, he’s probably gone by now.” I also thought Alex was likely gone, but I still wanted to go down and see. Not for any particular reason. I just wanted to know what kind of person could truly capture Alex’s heart. Surprisingly, Alex was still there. After six months apart, he hadn’t changed much. No matter where he stood, he was always the most eye-catching person around. Some girls passing by sneaked glances at him. He seemed oblivious, just looking down at his phone with furrowed brows, appearing quite irritated. Well, of course. Waiting so long for someone who never showed up, who wouldn’t be annoyed? Zoe marveled, “What kind of goddess could make Alex Shaw willingly wait this long?” Indeed, Alex was never a very patient person. When we were together, he had never waited this long for me. It was always me waiting for him. Thinking back to the days before our breakup, my emotions were complicated. My footsteps involuntarily slowed. Finally, I stopped moving altogether. “Let’s go back,” I said, turning around. Zoe: “Hey, wait!” “We’ve broken up. Whoever he’s with now has nothing to do with me.” Zoe: “That’s not…” “Don’t say anything, Zoe. I’ve finally moved on. I don’t want to fall back into old patterns.” Zoe grabbed me: “Shut up! He’s coming this way!” “Chloe Williams.” At the same moment, Alex called out to me. Zoe slipped away upstairs. Alex and I stood face to face, momentarily speechless. Up close, he seemed to have lost some weight. His jawline was more defined than before. Zoe said he was dressed up nicely, and she was right. He even wore cologne, giving off a faint scent of cedar – clean and refreshing. That jerk! I think this cologne might even be the one I gave him! “You said you wanted to see me?” I asked coldly. Alex was visibly confused: “You’re asking me?” “Who else?” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a beautiful woman walking in our direction. My heart sank. “If you have nothing to say, I’ll leave. Don’t want to keep you from your girlfriend.” “Girlfriend? What girlfriend?” Alex looked completely baffled. The woman walked off in another direction. I was bewildered: “You’re not here to meet your girlfriend? Then why are you here?” “Chloe Williams, you’re asking me?” Alex repeated, still confused. “You called me out in the middle of the night, didn’t answer my calls or messages, and I’ve been waiting for you since last night until now. And now you’re asking me why I’m here?” Alex stared at me like I was the one who had wronged him.

“I… called you out?” I was dumbfounded. “When did this happen?” “Check your phone,” Alex said irritably. I felt my pockets: “I didn’t bring it.” Alex took a deep breath and pulled out his own phone. He opened it, glanced at it, then quickly put it away. “Last night, you told me to come see you, saying you had something to tell me.” His face was cold, his tone very unpleasant. I tried to recall. A thousand curses ran through my mind. No way, no way. Did I send the message meant for Zoe to Alex instead? “Um, well.” I couldn’t meet Alex’s eyes anymore. Alex was still cold: “Well what?” “Actually…” Alex tilted his chin up, gesturing for me to continue. I hesitated for a moment, then resigned myself: “Actually, that message wasn’t meant for you.” “I’m sorry, Alex. I was really drunk last night.” He froze, then his face darkened like he wanted to strangle me. Back home, I ignored Zoe’s questions and searched everywhere for my phone. When I found it, I realized it had died at some point. Zoe: “So? So? What happened? Huh?” I plugged in my phone to charge: “He came to see me.” “What for? To get back together?” I told Zoe everything that had happened from start to finish. “So, you’re the goddess he waited all night for?” Zoe was shocked. “He came just because of one text message, and waited from last night until now. Could it be… he still has feelings for you?” Zoe’s eyes sparkled with gossip. I turned on my phone, and the screen immediately lit up with notifications. Some were from Zoe, some from Alex. There were over a dozen missed calls, mostly from Alex too. Zoe: “Quick, check what Alex said!” I hesitantly opened the chat. 23:11 Alex: “You think I’ll come just because you tell me to? We broke up, stop treating me like your dog.” 0:0

Alex: “Chloe, I’m downstairs.” 0:0

Alex: “Say what you need to say now. Answer the phone.” “Hahahahaha!” Zoe burst into laughter next to my ear. “Chloe Williams, are you sure he doesn’t like you anymore? Look how well-trained he is now, haha!” 5 The reason for my breakup with Alex was very simple. There was no cheating, no misunderstanding. He just didn’t love me, that’s all. Shortly after we got together, Alex went abroad for college. It’s no exaggeration to say that at that time, we barely even knew each other. Long-distance relationships are hard. A long-distance relationship between two people who barely know each other is even harder. Add in the time difference, and it becomes nearly impossible. Back then, I often felt like I didn’t even have a boyfriend. When I opened SnapChat, our chat history was so bland, without a hint of flirtation. Alex: “Have you eaten?” “Just finished class.” “It’s snowing.” [Video] Me: “The snow looks beautiful.” I’d get his reply the next day: “Still snowing.” [Video] The day after, me: “It’s really coming down.” … A month later, I brought up breaking up for the first time. Three days later, Alex flew back to see me. Looking at his impatient handsome face, I immediately regretted it. Alex: “Can we not break up?” “Okay.” And so we continued our rocky relationship. For a whole year, we never watched a movie together, never celebrated Valentine’s Day. He never forgot to send gifts, but they were always things I couldn’t use. A junior started pursuing me, not believing I had a boyfriend. When I mentioned Alex’s name, he said, “Come on, don’t joke. My ex is Jennifer Lawrence.” I was stunned, suddenly wondering what Alex and I really were to each other. Why couldn’t I have a normal relationship like everyone else? When I’m old, looking back… I’d have nothing to reminisce about. After much thought, I brought up breaking up with Alex again. That afternoon, Alex suddenly appeared before me. With a grim expression, he tossed me a box: “Happy birthday, ex-girlfriend.” My birthday was the next day. He had flown back early, intending to surprise me. I accepted the ugly necklace he said he had spent a long time choosing. The breakup talk was, once again, left unresolved. We truly ended things after he returned to the States. When Alex was abroad, I thought distance was our only problem. With the distance gone, I realized there were other things between us. He was very busy, often forgetting to reply to my messages. We’d make plans to see a movie on the weekend, and I’d end up sitting alone in the theater until the credits rolled. We’d plan a trip, I’d even request time off work, then he’d say he had a business trip. On Valentine’s Day, all I got was flowers he ordered. Seeing him in person was out of the question. … I finally understood. He simply didn’t love me. That’s why everything else came before me. What was the point of a relationship like this? After being stood up yet again, I told Alex we were breaking up and blocked him on everything. Two weeks later, in the dead of night, I quietly unblocked Alex. I went through his TikTok, then his Twitter, then his Instagram. Alex was living his best life. He really didn’t love me. 6 Yes, I was the one who broke up with Alex, but I had my reasons. The way he talked about it made it sound like I was the bad guy. Earlier downstairs, after hearing my explanation, he looked so hurt. What did he have to be hurt about? In our relationship, I was the victim. I opened Instagram and saw he had even shared a very emo song. Me: “…” Utterly speechless, I was about to close the app when I accidentally liked his post. My phone immediately buzzed with a message from Alex. Alex: “?” Come on, man. That reaction was a bit too quick. I didn’t reply, so Alex sent more: “??” “???” He seemed determined to keep going until I responded. Reluctantly, I typed: “Misclick, sorry.” Alex: “Oh. Another misclick.” No matter how I looked at it, it seemed like he was mocking me for last night’s misdirected message. Sending the wrong message was my fault, and making him wait so long was my bad. But when we were together, he stood me up plenty of times too. I only made him wait this once, and it wasn’t even on purpose. Thinking about it this way, my feelings of guilt disappeared. “Didn’t I wait for you countless times before? You only waited for me this once, seems like you came out ahead if you ask me.” Five minutes passed, then ten. Alex didn’t reply. He probably realized he was in the wrong and had nothing to say. I smirked and put down my phone. The phone buzzed with a new message. Alex: “It wasn’t just once.” “I’ve been waiting for you downstairs since we broke up.” “I waited for three days, then saw you come back with another guy.” “Who was he?”

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The night before the SAT Finals, my overachiever boyfriend, Carter Paxton, handed me an “essential” essay topic he guaranteed would appear on the test. Trusting him, I memorized it word for word. Incredibly, the essay prompt was precisely as he predicted. I gleefully wrote it out during the test, sure I’d score top marks. But when the results were released, my perfect record shattered—I scored only 280 overall! Meanwhile, Sloane Whitmore, who usually lagged academically, soared to become the valedictorian, cozying up to Carter in celebration. Devastated, I took my own life. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to 10 minutes before the test started. That’s when I noticed Sloane’s sly, calculating stare. Content I had been reborn, back to 10 minutes before the SAT began. Carter Paxton stood before me, his smile a picture of reassurance. “Hannah, don’t stress. Just write the essay I gave you exactly as it is. I’ll see you at Union State University,” he said smoothly. “You’re brilliant and hardworking as always—I have no doubt in you,” he added. To ensure I would use his essay, Carter had grilled me relentlessly in the previous life. I couldn’t help but laugh coldly to myself. In my past life, he said the same things. And yet, when the scores came out, my essay was flagged as plagiarized, earning me a zero on my English Literature and Composition paper. But why wasn’t it Sloane Whitmore accused of copying me? When I confronted Sloane, she had denied it all, smugly claiming, “Hannah, I turned in my paper early. How could I have copied yours? The surveillance footage even shows you glancing my way repeatedly. If anyone cheated, it was you!” My scores were abysmal—20 in math, barely passing in other subjects. My protests were dismissed as excuses. It didn’t make sense, no matter how I thought about it. Until this moment when Carter handed me a pencil case, inside was a pen, and I realized it had ink that had disappeared within 12 hours. I snatched the pencil case from him without hesitation, masking my revulsion as his grin deepened. “Hannah, I’ll be right here if you feel nervous. Just look over at me and think of us,” Carter said soothingly. In my past life, surveillance footage had caught me glancing out the window—toward Sloane’s desk. I had trusted Carter implicitly, assuming Sloane had sweet-talked him into giving her the essay prompt. Swallowing my disgust, I turned to him with a saccharine smile. “Carter, you’re so thoughtful. I’d be lost without you.” “Of course, silly. We’re forever. Now go ace that test.” I headed toward the exam hall. Along the way, I bought a regular pen at an inflated price from Dane Hargrove, the second-ranking student in our class. It was worth it for peace of mind. As I passed a classroom, I noticed a discarded bottle of red ink on the floor. Picking it up, I grinned—this was divine intervention. This time, I wasn’t just aiming to survive. I was going to make Carter and Sloane pay. In the exam queue, Sloane scanned the crowd until her eyes locked on me, and her lips curled into a satisfied smile at the sight of the pencil case in my hand. “Sloane! Your dress! What happened?” someone exclaimed. Sloane turned to see an unmistakable blotch of red on her skirt—a result of my “accidental” handiwork. Her face drained of color. Flustered, she shoved her pencil case into a friend’s hands and ran toward the restroom. “Let me take it for her. Sloane’s desk is next to mine,” I offered before anyone could respond, snatching the case. Inside, I swapped her pen cartridge with the one Carter had prepared for me. 2 That cursed pen had doomed me to a score of 280 in my past life. While I had used my fountain pen for the essay, I relied on that faulty pen for every other subject, and the results were catastrophic. No one believed me when I denied plagiarism. Without proof, my protests fell on deaf ears. My college acceptance vanished, replaced by blocklisting from every high school in the area. Sloane paraded my “academic dishonesty” online and told reporters, “Hannah’s entire record was fake. I won’t press charges, but her cheating caused real harm. She owes her peers, teachers, and society an apology.” Her words fueled a wildfire of public condemnation. In her pristine white dress, Sloane gave tearful interviews while Carter comforted her, becoming her knight in shining armor. Meanwhile, I endured harassment—death threats, insults, and even packages containing dead animals. Sloane rode her “high-achieving victim” narrative to an acceptance at Union State University and became a media darling. She and Carter were hailed as the perfect couple, while I was painted as a conniving fraud. Even my family believed the lies. My father’s sighs and my mother’s tears broke me. I took my own life to escape the shame. I would ensure they paid the price for everything they took from me. On test day, Sloane finished early, passing by with a smirk. She made small noises to distract me, hoping I’d glance her way for the cameras. This time, I gave her the satisfaction of two deliberate glances—just enough to confirm she hadn’t swapped pens. Watching her write Carter’s pre-prepared essay, oblivious to the vanishing ink, almost made me laugh out loud. Carter and Sloane had no idea I had improved the essay they thought would secure Sloane’s perfect score. Mine was refined and structured for maximum impact. When the results came out, I couldn’t wait to see their faces go pale. 3 The math, English, and composite exams followed in quick succession. I watched Sloane Whitmore tap her foot happily as she scribbled answers during the test. When the final bell rang, we left the examination hall together. Outside, Carter Paxton greeted me with a broad smile and a casual wave. “How’d it go, Hannah? Did the essay I prepared for you come up?” he asked, his tone soft and caring. As he spoke, he took my pencil case from me and discreetly tossed the pen into the nearest trash can. A cheap pen worth a couple of bucks wasn’t worth keeping, and he visibly relaxed after getting rid of it. Trailing close behind me, Sloane saw Carter’s action. Her lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Hannah, what did you write for your essay?” Sloane asked, leaning in with the overwhelming scent of her bargain-bin perfume. Feigning naivety, I recited the essay Carter had drilled into me word for word. Sloane’s and Carter’s initial curiosity transformed into uncontainable glee. “You wrote that? Wow, Carter’s incredible—he predicted it perfectly! And he’s in college already, yet he still cares so much about your SATs. You’re so lucky!” “Seriously, Carter’s amazing. He even helps his girlfriend prep for her college essays! That kind of foresight is rare,” another chimed in. “If Carter had tutored me, I wouldn’t have flunked my essay. Hannah, you’re lucky to have such a talented and thoughtful boyfriend. It’s like he’s one in a million!” The chatter of classmates surrounded me, and Sloane pretended to join in with half-hearted admiration while Carter placed his hand on my shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze—a subtle celebration of their scheme. I caught the knowing glances they exchanged, and the smugness in their eyes made my stomach churn. In my past life, I was too blind to notice their unspoken communication and perfectly synchronized acts. “Now that the exams are over, we should all celebrate! One last hurrah before we go our separate ways,” suggested Dane Hargrove, the class president, with cheerful enthusiasm. Of course, I agreed. I knew exactly what was coming next. In my previous life, Carter went on camera and accused me of having a “habit of stealing.” He claimed that my plagiarism of Sloane’s essay was just the tip of the iceberg. But the real thief had always been Carter. He’d stolen money meant for our housekeeper, Mrs. Ellie Carter—$10,000 in cash. No one suspected him back then. When the money went missing, my parents blamed me and cut off my allowance for a month. “Ellie, this money is for you,” my mother had said sternly. “Hannah, if you took it, just admit it. People make mistakes, but honesty is what matters.” “I expected better from you,” my father said, his disappointment cutting me like a knife. I knew I had left the money for Mrs. Carter, but my protests fell on deaf ears. In this life, when I saw Carter eyeing Mrs. Carter’s paycheck again, I replaced the real cash with fake bills. At the dinner celebration, Sloane enthusiastically pointed at the menu, calling for all the most expensive items—wild-caught Maine Lobster and other delicacies. The waiter scribbled down her lavish order. “Carter, you’re finally here! Sloane’s been thinking about your love for seafood and ordered much just for you. I couldn’t stop her!” Jade Ellington chimed in, her tone syrupy sweet. “She even skipped the shrimp because you’re allergic, even though it’s her favorite. She’s always so thoughtful,” Jade added. “Oh, you!” Sloane said with mock modesty, nudging Jade playfully. Carter’s gaze softened as he looked at Sloane with what could only be described as quiet admiration. 4 I wasn’t here for the food. My focus was elsewhere. Feigning confusion, I asked, “Wait, is Sloane picking up the tab? With all this fancy seafood, it’s gotta be pricey!” In my past life, Sloane had publicly accused me of being a homewrecker during a similar dinner. She rallied everyone against me, painting herself as the victim of my supposed interference in her relationship with Carter. What should’ve been a simple “split the bill” dinner ended with me being stuck with the entire check under the guise of “making peace.” Not this time. I flipped through the menu and let my eyebrows rise in exaggerated worry. “Wow, this place is expensive! There’s a more affordable spot nearby. We’re all just broke students—maybe we should go there instead.” I emphasized “broke students,” knowing someone’s ego wouldn’t be able to take it. Sure enough, Jade Ellington sneered at me like I’d just grown another head. “Broke? Speak for yourself. Just because we’re students doesn’t mean we’re broke! Besides, Hannah, doesn’t your family own a business? What’s with the penny-pinching?” I let my gaze linger on the fine print at the bottom of the menu: a $300 minimum per person. Thinking about Carter’s hollow bravado and empty wallet made me almost giddy. “No big deal, Hannah,” Dane Hargrove chimed in. “Let’s enjoy the night! A little splurge won’t hurt anyone, and Carter definitely wouldn’t fit in at a cheap diner.” “Oh, don’t worry about it, Hannah,” Sloane added, her tone dripping with faux kindness. “If you’re struggling to pay, we could all pitch in and cover your share.” That fake generosity burned me in my past life, but I had no shame this time. “Sloane, you’re so thoughtful. Thanks! I’ve been short on cash lately,” I replied with a cheerful smile. “Since we’re celebrating, maybe I’ll add a couple of nice drinks to my order. Cheers to us!” Sloane’s smile twitched. “You… you…” Just then, the waiter arrived. “Would you like to order now?” “Yes,” I said sweetly. “Let’s add a bottle of Dom Pérignon, please.” Sloane stiffened, her grip on her fork tightening. The waiter approached with his notepad in hand. “So far, we have truffle and mushroom wagyu stir-fry, premium black and white caviar…” I glanced at the menu items Sloane Whitmore had already ordered. Nearly every item was the most expensive seafood available. If she was going all out, why shouldn’t I? “Let’s add a bottle of Château Lafite and a round of specialty cocktails,” I said with a saccharine smile. Sloane’s lips twitched as she clenched her fork. Jade Ellington, ever the gossip, seized the moment to strike. “So, Hannah, how long have you and Carter been together?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux innocence. I knew this was a trap. In my past life, I’d answered honestly and ended up branded with a massive “homewrecker” label. “One year? Wasn’t it the summer before senior year?” I had answered back then, and her response sealed my fate. “Oh, so there was no gap at all? That’s proof you swooped in while Carter and Sloane were still sorting things out! Hannah, that’s so gross. Poor Sloane was too kind to say anything,” Jade had sneered. “Yeah, Sloane and Carter were arguing—they hadn’t officially broken up! But you jumped at the chance, didn’t you? How shameless can you be?” another classmate said, feeding off the drama. “Don’t hold me back, Sloane!” Jade had cried dramatically, trying to slap me as tears streamed down her face. Sloane, always the consummate actress, pretended to restrain her. Back then, Carter’s silence was deafening. “Let’s move on, everyone. I’ll do what I can to make it up to Sloane,” he said, his voice full of empty promises. His refusal to defend me was more damning than any accusation. I’d stormed out of the restaurant, humiliated. 5 In this lifetime, I played my cards differently. Feigning shyness, I tugged on Carter’s sleeve, lowering my gaze like a bashful girlfriend. “Almost three years,” Carter replied smoothly, calm and composed. “Three years?!” Jade Ellington nearly dropped her fork. “But I thought it was only one year! Senior year, right?” “I’ve been with Hannah since her sophomore year,” Carter said. “I’ve had a crush on her for a long time.” He added, “I didn’t want to distract her from her studies, so we only went public in senior year. I didn’t want her to deal with unnecessary rumors.” Sloane Whitmore’s face turned ashen. Her brows furrowed deeply as she stammered, “What about… us?” Sloane had basked in the assumption of being with Carter during their junior year. She’d never confirmed the rumors outright but had played along coyly whenever classmates teased her about it. Carter, however, looked directly at her and delivered the blow: “There’s never been an ‘us.’ Hannah has always been my only girlfriend.” His words left no room for interpretation. On the way to dinner, I’d subtly planted seeds with Carter. “My dad mentioned how grateful he is for all the help you’ve given me with my studies,” I said. “He joked about paying you $200,000 for tutoring me.” Carter’s brows had knitted for a moment, but when I continued, “You’ve been so selfless, even keeping our relationship private to protect me,” his tension eased. Now, under the scrutiny of everyone at the table, Carter took my hand and kissed it gently. “Silly girl,” he said, his voice dripping with sweetness. “Three years hardly captures how long I’ve cared about you.” Sloane looked as though she’d been struck by lightning. Her dazed expression only cleared when Jade tugged her sleeve, snapping her back to the present. “This is Carter’s notebook,” Sloane said, handing over a thick stack of notes. “The exams are over, and I don’t need it anymore.” As she passed the notebook to Carter, a receipt fluttered out, landing near my feet. Curious, I bent down and picked it up. It was a Chanel receipt for a limited-edition “Snow White” bag addressed to Carter Paxton. I looked up to see Sloane smirking at me with smug satisfaction. Carter’s nervous glance darted between me and the receipt. “Sloane, a Snow White bag? That’s quite the gift,” I said, holding the receipt. Sloane’s triumphant smirk widened. I turned the receipt over to inspect it closer. “But isn’t this line exclusive? As far as I know, it’s not available in the U.S. It might be worth getting it authenticated.” The color drained from Sloane’s face. Moments later, she called over the waiter, glaring at him. “Be careful with the sauce! Don’t let a single drop touch my bag!” All eyes turned to the white bag she cradled protectively. “That’s a gorgeous bag,” Jade said, touching it. “Careful!” Sloane snapped, swatting her hand away. “This cost over ten grand. It’s not for greasy fingers.” I watched the performance with cool detachment. Having owned the same bag, I knew hers was a counterfeit. I held up the receipt, pretending to scrutinize it further. “Sloane, your receipt dropped. Funny, though—this bag isn’t sold stateside. It’s worth checking out, just in case.” Carter’s expression turned gray, his lips pressing into a tight line.

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I’ve always known since I was little, that a person could mean less than a dog. To my mom, I was worth far less than her precious dog. Her dog could stay by her side, soaking in her endless care. But me? When I was barely a month old, she sent me to the countryside to fend for myself. A fever, one she ignored, left my left leg permanently damaged. I didn’t cry, didn’t complain. Quietly, I erased all ties between her and me. But later, when she heard I’d found a new mom, she completely lost her mind. Content My name is Gabrielle Hackett. Gabe, for short. My name might as well mean “extra” because, to my career-driven mom and love-struck dad, their perfect little world never needed a kid like me. The year I was born, Mom’s career was soaring. She was set to perform at Lincoln Center, achieving her lifelong dream of being the prima ballerina she’d always aspired to be. When she first found out she was pregnant, she wanted to terminate. But her body couldn’t handle it. The doctors warned her that terminating the pregnancy could cause irreversible damage. That was a risk she wasn’t willing to take. Dad, hopelessly devoted to her, was terrified of losing her. “Once the baby’s born, we can hire a nanny. The baby won’t stop you from dancing,” he promised her. With Dad’s persuasion and the doctor’s reassurance, I—who was never supposed to exist—was brought into the world. However, during delivery, complications arose because of my oversized head. The doctors fought to save her life, but she was left paralyzed from the waist down, confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her days. Because of me, Mom’s career was destroyed. I became the villain in her story from the moment I was born. She never smiled at me, only met me with endless disdain and bitter words. To console her, once her health stabilized, Dad whisked her away for a vacation to help her recover. And me? They left me in the hospital’s incubator, completely forgotten. Thankfully, a kindhearted nurse called Dad to remind him to pick me up. But in the end, it wasn’t my parents who came for me—it was the nanny they’d hired. Throughout my infancy, my parents never once held me. Mom had plenty of milk to breastfeed me, but she wouldn’t. She’d pump it and pour it all down the drain instead. The nanny tried to persuade her. “Breastfeeding is good for the baby.” Mom sneered. “That thing isn’t good enough to drink my milk.” Maybe her cold, cutting voice upset me, but I cried endlessly in my bassinet. The nanny rushed to comfort me, but Mom was visibly annoyed. “Crying, crying, always crying! It’d be better if she just died already!” That was her go-to line. If not for my eyes—eyes that resembled hers so closely—even the nanny might have doubted I was her child. There are probably few kids in this world who, from birth, are showered with nothing but rejection. Mom made it an art. She’d instead I suffer than let herself endure the slightest inconvenience. But she didn’t know back then that life had a way of balancing the scales. The pain you spare yourself by neglecting your children will one day return to you tenfold.

My constant crying grated on Mom’s nerves so much that when I was only a month old, she packed me off to my grandmother, Dolores Whitaker, in the countryside. But Grandma didn’t love me either. Dad had married Mom against Grandma’s wishes. She despised Mom, blaming her for driving a wedge between them. Her hatred for Mom extended to me, Mom’s child. Living with Grandma meant sharing space with my cousin, Finnigan Wilder, who was two years older than me. Compared to Finn, my life was less than that of an abandoned puppy. Whenever Grandma took us out, she’d plop me on the ground while carrying Finn, gossiping with neighbors while I crawled aimlessly nearby. Once, while her attention was elsewhere, I crawled straight into the middle of a road and was nearly hit by an oncoming car. A kind stranger quickly scooped me up and returned me to Grandma. Her response? A hard slap on my back. “Wild little brat with no mother! If you’re so set on running off, just let the cars finish you!” I couldn’t even talk yet, but the pain made me cry out instinctively. Grandma didn’t soothe me. Instead, she angrily dragged me back home and locked me in a room until I cried myself unconscious. As I grew older and learned to walk, I knew obeying was the only way to avoid punishment. But obedience came at a cost: suffocating humiliation. While Finn got to eat meat, I was lucky to get the broth. When Finn got new clothes every few months, I was left with his torn and patched-up hand-me-downs. Even when it came to pocket money, Grandma had no trouble giving Finn coins for candy, but when I asked, I’d only get a scolding. “Go ask your mom! She makes all that money and doesn’t return a penny to help us. What good is she?” I didn’t know how to ask Mom for help. The only solution my childish mind could think of was sitting at Greenwood Orchard Trail every day, waiting for her to return. Most of what I knew about myself came from the whispered gossip of neighbors. Like how I must have been too disobedient for Mom to want me. Or how I wasn’t sent to preschool because “it wasn’t necessary.” I listened quietly, but my hope stayed stubborn. I kept waiting for Mom to return. The seasons changed, and the years passed. When I was six, during a summer as humid as any other in Clover Hill, my waiting finally paid off. But what I experienced that day was a pain I’ll never forget.

Early in the morning, after hearing that my parents were finally returning, I put on my cleanest dress and hurried to Greenwood Orchard Trail to wait for them. The neighborhood ladies who passed by had grown used to seeing me there. Occasionally, they’d tease me with their sharp tongues. “Gabe, waiting for your mom again? It’s been years. She doesn’t want you anymore, you know!” Most days, I’d bow my head like a scolded puppy, clutch my sleeves, and silently cry. But today, I stood tall, defiant hope swelling inside me. “She does want me! She’s coming back today!” A loud honk echoed in the distance, confirming my words like divine proof. I caught a glimpse of her in the passenger seat and ran as fast as I could toward the car. The vehicle stopped, and my mother, Evelyn Hackett, stepped out. It had been so long since I’d seen her that her voice sounded strangely soft. “Baby, slow down…” I thought she was calling me, and my heart soared. I ran even faster. But as I reached her, I froze. She wasn’t calling me. Gently, she reached back into the car and cradled a small, white dog in her arms. “Baby, the ground’s dirty. Let Mommy carry you, okay?” Her “baby” wasn’t me. It was the little dog swaddled in her arms. Its tiny body was covered in silky fur, and its head was adorned with two dainty pink bows clipped to its ears. The children in Clover Hill had never seen such an elegant dog before. I didn’t know the breed, but Grandma had always said, “A dog is just a dog, no matter how fancy. It’ll never be a person.” I stared at the dog, tears welling up uncontrollably. I didn’t even know why I was crying. Maybe I envied the pretty bows on its head. Mom had never given me anything so lovely. No, she’d never given me anything at all. I remembered her first video call to Grandma after she’d left me in the countryside. I’d purposely wandered into the camera’s view, hoping to see her face and get her attention. Instead, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Why does she look worse every time I see her? She can’t possibly be my kid.” Her disdain pierced the screen like a dagger, straight to my chest. Maybe if I looked cleaner, I thought she’d like me better. So, at six years old, I learned to scrub clothes and wash shoes. In the freezing winters, my hands turned red and raw from the icy water, my knuckles cracking painfully so I could be present for her next video call. What did I get for my efforts? Grandma scoffed at me, saying I was only pretending to be hardworking so I wouldn’t get scolded. Mom glanced at my frostbitten cheeks on the call, her look of contempt even more profound than before. “She looks worse every time. What’s wrong with her?” She had no idea how much I longed for her to return day after day, season after season. And now that she was here, calling a dog “baby” while ignoring me completely, the pain hit harder than ever. At six years old, what did I know about jealousy or heartache? I just couldn’t stop crying. My sobs annoyed her immediately. “I told you we shouldn’t have come back. This is exactly why! All she does is cry—so annoying. She’s nothing like my Baby, so obedient and quiet!” As if understanding her words, the dog yapped in my direction, mocking me. Mom didn’t scold it. She scolded me instead. “Stop crying! Look, you’ve scared Baby!” I stared at her, struggling to hold back tears. My voice cracked as I whimpered, “Mommy…” She didn’t even glance at me. She turned her back, holding the dog tighter, and walked away. My father, Nathaniel Hackett, followed close behind her, carrying bags of treats and toys for the dog like her shadow. He, too, ignored me entirely. I was left in the middle of the path, dazed and forgotten. That’s when my cousin, Finn Wilder, snickered behind me. “Your mom’s something, huh? Treating a dog like her daughter. What’s so special about it?” Eight-year-old Finn was full of curiosity. When Mom wasn’t paying attention, he lured the dog away with a bone. Holding it in his hands, he teased it relentlessly. The dog snarled, baring its teeth at him. Startled, Finn flung it aside. The poor creature flailed in the air, landing awkwardly on its feet, only to stumble off the second-floor balcony. It hit the ground with a sickening thud. “Baby!” Mom’s scream tore through the yard. Finn bolted, leaving me standing there, too stunned to react. When Mom looked up, cradling her lifeless dog, her eyes met mine. “Gabe!” At that moment, I knew I was in deep trouble.

Mom’s wailing brought the whole household outside. She clutched her dog, her face red with grief, while Dad dragged me off the balcony and threw me to the ground. “It wasn’t me! It slipped and fell on its own!” I cried, trying to explain. But Mom’s glare cut through me like a knife. “Don’t you dare lie to me! From the moment we arrived, I could see you didn’t like Baby. But I didn’t think you’d be this cruel. She was only a year old! How could you kill something so innocent and sweet?” Her anger made her forget entirely that I was her child. I panicked, terrified she’d disown me, and fell to my knees. “Mommy, it wasn’t me! I didn’t push it…” She turned her back, hugging the dog closer, refusing to listen. “I hate kids who lie. If I’d known you’d turn out like this, I never would’ve had you.” Her words stabbed me more profoundly than any punishment ever could. Desperate, I blurted out an apology I didn’t mean. “Mom, I’m sorry! I just wanted to play with Baby. I didn’t mean for this to happen…” I thought admitting guilt would make her less angry, but it only gave her more ammunition. Turning to Dad, she raised her voice in accusation. “See? I told you she’s the one who killed Baby! And you still thought coming back to see her was a good idea. How could someone as perfect as us produce such a horrible child?” Convinced by her words, Dad began ushering her toward the car, leaving me behind. Frightened, I threw myself at her legs, clinging tightly. “Mommy, please don’t leave me! I swear I’ll be good!” I sobbed uncontrollably, but her expression didn’t soften. She walked away with Dad without glancing at me, leaving me in the dirt. I stumbled after them but collapsed after just a few steps, the world fading into darkness.

The fever that burned through me lingered for two weeks before it finally subsided. Grandma Dolores paraded around the neighborhood, bragging about her “effective homemade remedies.” What she didn’t mention were the awful side effects. It wasn’t until I started school that I noticed something was wrong. My left leg would sometimes go numb without warning. At first, the episodes were infrequent, so I didn’t think much of it or tell anyone. Why would I? I knew no one would care. It wasn’t until I graduated elementary school that the problem worsened. I started tripping over myself, my limp becoming noticeable. That’s when I realized just how serious it was. But by then, it was too late for treatment. Mom’s resentment only grew. Six years had passed since Baby’s death, and she had finally moved on. But she would never accept a daughter with a limp. I was nothing but a blemish to someone as obsessed with perfection as Evelyn Hackett. By then, I was used to it. I had grown so independent I hardly noticed her absence. I walked to school and back, lived on my schedule, and never relied on anyone. It wasn’t all bad. The only thread connecting me to my parents was the monthly allowance they sent. But when I entered middle school, even that tiny tie began to fray. Teenagers can be cruel, and I became the perfect target. A small, frail girl with a limp and no parents to stand up for her? I was easy prey. The bullies stuffed all kinds of disgusting things into my desk. Sometimes it was worms. Other times, it was frogs. But the creatures always shared one thing: their legs were broken. I knew they were mocking me, but I didn’t have the strength to fight back. Like the helpless frogs they left behind, the more I struggled, the more viciously they attacked. The worst incident happened when I found a dead centipede in my backpack. Its body was dry and shriveled, its legs entirely gone. It was horrifying. That day, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I ran to the teacher, sobbing as I told her what had been happening. The school took the bullying seriously. The teacher called the bullies’ parents—and my mom. Her response? It’s as cold as ever. “Why are they only picking on you? Maybe you should take a good look at yourself. Figure out what you’re doing wrong. If you keep causing trouble, just quit school. I don’t want you embarrassing me any further.” I shouldn’t have been surprised, but her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Her indifference emboldened my bullies even more. After a scolding from the school, they started taking my allowance every month as soon as it arrived. They didn’t care how I’d survive after. With no other choice, I started working in the school cafeteria, trading labor for meals. But even that wasn’t enough for them. Once they had spent all the money they had stolen from me, they pressured me to find other ways to earn more. “See that bar over there? Girls your age can make hundreds in a night dancing onstage.” “I heard your mom’s a dancer. Bet you’re just as good, huh?” I shook my head, stepping back instinctively. I wasn’t stupid. I knew I could never go to a place like that. But they didn’t care what I thought. When I tried to run, one grabbed my hair and yanked me back. Another kicked my leg, sending a jolt of pain through my limp. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to march right in there and do what we tell you, or you’re dead meat!” Gritting my teeth, I snapped back, “Kill me, then! I’m not going!” “Look at you, acting tough,” one of them sneered. “No, Dad,o who will save you now?” Their laughter echoed in my ears as they dragged me toward the bar. I stopped struggling. My vision dimmed, and I felt the last bit of hope leave me. I hated my weakness, but I understood even more clearly that their audacity came from knowing I had no parents to rely on. They were cruel, awful kids, yet their parents enabled them without limits, excusing their every action. And me? I worked hard, stayed obedient, and did everything right. I was the “good girl” every neighbor praised. But still, I was the girl with a mother who gave birth to me—but never raised me.

A low, steady voice broke through the air like a lifeline as we neared the bar. “Gabe, you’re late getting home. Don’t you know your brother worries about you?” We all turned. Standing by the side of the road was a tall, skinny teenager in a faded denim jacket. His clean-cut appearance and quiet strength were undeniable. “Your brother?” one of the bullies asked suspiciously. I hesitated, but seeing my chance, I nodded rapidly. “Yes, that’s my brother! You’d better let me go, or he’ll make you regret it!” I had someone to lean on for the first time and didn’t hesitate to use it. But my bluff was short-lived. One of them squinted at him and laughed. “You’re full of crap! That’s Lachlan Merritt! His dad drank himself to death, and his mom was bedridden. No way he’s your brother!” Lachlan Merritt. The name tickled something in my memory, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. My lie was exposed, and the bullies yanked me forward again. Lachlan wasted no time. He charged forward like lightning, taking down two before anyone could react. The others scrambled to retaliate, but he held his ground, even against all six. By the time the bullies limped away, he was bleeding but unbowed. “Are you okay?” I whispered, holding out a tissue. He frowned, waving me off. “It’s nothing. Don’t make a fuss.” I grabbed his chin firmly, forcing him to face me. “You need to take care of small wounds. Leave them alone, and they’ll get worse!” I knew that better than anyone. If my fever had been appropriately treated, I wouldn’t have a limp today. He softened under my scolding. “How long has this been going on?” he asked. I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Just a month or so.” He looked down, guilt shadowing his face. “This is my fault.” “What?” I frowned, confused. “How could it be your fault?” That’s when I learned the truth. Lachlan was a friend of my cousin, Finn. Before Finn left for culinary school, he’d asked Lachlan to look out for me. Out of guilt for what had happened with Baby and my resulting fever, Finn had carried the weight of responsibility ever since. While Finn’s guilt had grown into overcompensation, Mom’s disdain for me had only deepened.

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On the eve of our wedding, Elliot Starling suddenly became incredibly busy. He couldn’t even attend the wedding venue to oversee the decorations, as we had planned. Feeling guilty, he called to reassure me. “Riverhaven’s got thunderstorms tonight. Be a good girl and stay home, okay? Don’t go out.” “Don’t worry about the setup. All you need to do is show up as the beautiful bride you are.” But I wasn’t convinced. I went to check for myself. And that’s when I saw him. In the massive helicopter parked on the lawn, a woman in a flight attendant’s uniform kneeled between his legs. “Sir, did my service meet your expectations?” Elliot smirked and pulled the woman into his arms. But that was supposed to be my wedding venue. The helicopter? That was supposed to be my dream. …… Content The rain in Riverhaven was relentless, a downpour so wild it shook the skies. By the time I stumbled back home, I was drenched, pale, and shivering like a drowned cat. Feverish and burning up, I fumbled for a fever pill, swallowed it dry, and curled up under a blanket to make a call. “Hello? I’ve changed my mind.” “I want to join Atlantic Skies Airways. Yes, as soon as possible.” I hung up, sneezing hard as the memory of what I’d just witnessed came crashing back. I stayed in Riverhaven for Elliot. Now, I was leaving because of him. The medication kicked in, and I closed my eyes. Not long after, Elliot’s call jolted me awake. His voice on the other end was as soft and soothing as if nothing had changed. “Sienna, I’m swamped. Have you been eating properly?” I coughed twice. Elliot instantly grew concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Didn’t dress warmly enough, or…” His worry stopped short. A new sharpness entered his tone. “Sienna… you went out, didn’t you?” “Mm,” I murmured weakly. “I went downstairs to grab breakfast. Didn’t realize how bad the rain was.” The tension on his end eased. “I told you not to go out in this storm! We’ll have someone bring whatever you need to the villa.” “Our wedding’s just days away. If you’re too sick to stand, where will I find a bride as beautiful as you?” I didn’t respond. All I could think about was the helicopter on the lawn and the woman in uniform. I was sure Elliot would find someone else. If I couldn’t reach the altar “Sienna?” When I stayed silent, Elliot hesitated. Then, muffled noises: a stifled gasp, interrupted breaths. He growled low at someone near him, half-scolding, half-playful. “Sienna, the rain’s awful. Someone bumped into me out here.” “Be careful, okay? Don’t drive too fast.” “Don’t worry.” Elliot’s tone lightened. “Just thinking about finishing these meetings and returning to you makes me want to push seventy on the highway!” “Gotta go. Call you later.” The line disconnected abruptly, his usual sweet nothings cut short. Moments later, a text arrived: “Sienna, the wedding company just called. There’s a problem with the helicopter we booked—they must send it back for repairs. How about we replace it with a giant floral arch?” Repairs, huh? I thought back to the scene in the helicopter. Or maybe it needed fixing because it got a little too steamy during… whatever that was? Honestly, having a helicopter at the wedding was absurdly extravagant. It was Elliot’s idea. When I was 24, in my first year as a flight attendant, I had a rude passenger pour a scalding cup of water onto my hand. I still had to crouch down and clean the cabin, fighting tears. At the time, Elliot was struggling with his startup. I couldn’t afford to take a break, even with bandages covering my burn. That scar is still there. Elliot had held me back then, his voice trembling as he made a promise: “When I make it big, I’ll take you on a helicopter ride.” “No passengers, no service duties. Just the two of us. Something romantic, just ours.” But he didn’t keep that promise. He gave our romance to someone else. Everything else since then? Just guilt-ridden scraps. I didn’t want them anymore. A confused cat emoji popped up in our chat window. I stared at the keyboard, typing a single word: “Okay.”

When Elliot’s assistant dropped off food for me, I was deep in a feverish sleep and didn’t hear the doorbell. By the time I woke up, the takeout outside was cold. When I opened the bag, everything was exactly what I liked: light and easy to eat. The microwave was there, but I couldn’t bring myself to reheat it. I felt nauseous instead. I shoved the containers into the fridge and called Quinn Sawyer my best friend. “I’m leaving,” I told her. For the next fifteen minutes, she unleashed a tirade against Elliot Starling. “Are you serious? He’s sitting on his high horse now, and you’re just going to walk away quietly? Do you know how much that would benefit him?” “If you ask me, you should marry him first! Gather all the dirt on his cheating and sue him for divorce. Take half his fortune while you’re at it!” “You’ve given him ten years, Sienna. Ten years of your life, and for what? To walk away with nothing?” Ten years. That’s how long Elliot and I had been together. I watched him start from nothing, fail, rebuild, and finally create his brand. The most challenging years were during the pandemic. His fledgling company was on the brink of collapse. My flights were cut by more than half. We had no choice but to give up our spacious apartment and move into a cramped basement apartment. Those days were brutal. It was brutal to the point where we practically fought the rats in the walls for scraps. Elliot had to repay suppliers on time, or it would ruin his credit. He took on grueling manual labor to make ends meet. I begged my boss for extra flights. No matter how disgusting, complex, or dangerous, I took every route they threw at me. Somehow, we survived. I’ll never forget the day we paid off our last debt. Elliot locked the door to the basement, dragged a suitcase in one hand, and held my hand in the other. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and said: “Sienna Raine, thank you for staying by my side.” “I, Elliot Starling, swear to God—one day, I’ll make something of myself and give you the grandest wedding imaginable!” Back then, his sincerity was like crystal—pure and transparent. But years of struggling had dulled its shine. Quinn wasn’t entirely wrong. From an outsider’s perspective, I probably should fight for something to justify my ten years with him. But if I said I didn’t hate Elliot, no one would believe me. There was a moment of rage—when I saw him with that woman in the helicopter. But after that, all I felt was exhaustion. I just wanted to leave. To get far away from him, from this place filled with a decade of memories, and start over. “I don’t want to make this ugly,” I said, lowering my gaze. Call me weak, call me a coward. I didn’t want to rip apart the veil of decency between us and destroy the best parts of our ten years together. Because those years were my youth. No matter how rotten he became, Elliot Starling was the man I had once loved with all my heart. Quinn sighed. “So when are you leaving?” I checked my inbox. Atlantic Skies Airways had already sent the offer letter. “Two days.” In just two days, I would be gone. It was 10 p.m., and Elliot still wasn’t home. Since his career took off, we lived on opposite schedules. Sometimes, I flew red-eye flights and returned to an empty house. Eventually, I requested not to fly at night. I just wanted to return home to some semblance of “us.” I’d gotten used to waiting. But tonight, I didn’t want to wait. Just as I turned off the lights, my phone rang. The sound of running water came through the line, sharp and jarring in the stillness of the night. “Sienna, don’t wait up for me.” “I was supposed to fly back tonight, but the moment I landed, they pulled me into back-to-back meetings.” “Everyone’s scrambling to get things done before I go on wedding leave…” “Don’t be mad, okay? After the wedding, I’ll make it up to you with the best honeymoon ever.” I wanted to ask him: What flight takes off from Liberty Tower’s rooftop terrace and lands at this hotel? What kind of meeting requires participants to shower before joining? But I said none of that. “Work’s important. Take care of yourself, too,” I replied instead. He started to say something, but then the sound of water stopped. Bare feet padded across hardwood. Clothing rustled. I could almost hear someone whispering near his ear. A dull thud followed. His phone hit the ground. Through the line came the unmistakable sounds of lips meeting lips. Maybe he was in such a rush he forgot to hang up. I listened masochistically until a woman’s soft, breathy voice broke through: “Elliot, are you getting married?” Elliot likely lit a cigarette. I could hear the exhale. “What else would I do?” he chuckled. “She’s been with me for ten years. I owe her a title. Can’t have people saying I’m heartless.” The woman sneered, her tone mocking. “What a generous older man. You never wondered if she, as a flight attendant, might’ve been with other men all these years?” Elliot didn’t respond. Unaware of his silence, the woman kept going. “I heard she flew a lot of Mexico flights. Aren’t those notorious?” “Plus, no one in her line of work is sponsor-free. Didn’t she bail you out during your financial crisis?” “Enough!” Elliot roared. “Speak out of turn again, and you’ll regret it! I know who Sienna Raine is, and it’s not your place to judge her!” I hung up, trembling from head to toe. I knew Elliot. He didn’t lose his temper without reason. He had listened, taken it in, and let it sink deep into his heart. Memories of those difficult years resurfaced. To pay off his debts, I flew countless Mexico flights. The conditions were beyond nasty. But worse were the leering stares, the feeling of being prey surrounded by wolves. By the end of each flight, my body bore black handprints I couldn’t wash away. Once, a passenger tricked me into coming to the back of the plane and then dragged me into the restroom to assault me. If not for a colleague passing by and hearing my cries for help, I might not have escaped. On the way home, I cried for hours. But when I reached the door, I dried my tears. I didn’t want Elliot to know. I didn’t want him to feel guilty or worried. So I said nothing—not about that, the men who offered to “sponsor” me or the businessmen who tried to date me. I rejected them all. Because I knew Elliot only had me. And I only had him. I believed in every promise he made and every word he spoke utterly. I believed he’d make it one day. And he did. But now, I didn’t want it anymore.

The following day, I woke up early, determined to start packing. I wanted to sort the more significant items for shipping before I left. I didn’t expect Elliot Starling to walk through the door. The photo frame holding our engagement picture from when I was 27 fell to the floor and shattered. I scrambled to pick it up, only to cut my finger on the broken glass. Blood dripped onto the floor. Elliot rushed over to help, his face full of worry. “You’re not feeling well. Lie down and rest. Let the cleaning lady handle this.” As he spoke, he angrily kicked the photo frame across the room. I froze, staring at the shards of glass and the photo now scattered on the floor. Tears welled in my eyes. That photo… was from the day we got engaged. When Elliot earned his first real paycheck, he bought me a simple white sundress and a modest diamond ring. He dragged me to take engagement photos, grinning the whole time. That same day, he promised to take me to the Liberty Tower Rooftop Terrace for their rotating buffet dinner. “That place costs thousands, doesn’t it?” I said, wincing at the thought. Elliot threw an arm around my shoulder and said confidently, “I make the money; you spend it. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?” I shook my head and teased him. “I hate sushi, and that place serves too much of it. I don’t want to ruin my stomach for days.” “How about this: buy me a big bowl of spicy mac and cheese with extra eggs. Save the rest of the money, and you can take me when I want to go.” He laughed, ruffled my hair, and said, “Deal.” But we never did have that bowl of spicy mac and cheese. And the wedding he promised? That had been postponed for seven years. Seven years gone by in a flash. Elliot noticed my tears and panicked. “Does it hurt?” I shook my head, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “Don’t cry, Sienna,” he said gently, wiping my face. “We’ve got to try on wedding dresses today. You’ll look terrible in photos if your eyes are swollen.” I froze. “Didn’t we already pick one out?” A flicker of guilt crossed his face. “We did, but the boutique just called. They’ve got an even more luxurious, custom-made gown. I want you to have the best.” His gaze burned with intensity, but I couldn’t tell if it was genuine or just another performance. Elliot, you always needed to understand. I never wanted luxury or extravagance. That simple sundress you bought me all those years ago meant more than any couture gown ever could. Still, I didn’t resist. I let him lead me to the boutique. The moment we walked in, the staff recognized him. They glanced at me briefly, then avoided my eyes, shifting nervously. I had a good idea of what that meant. Following Elliot’s instructions, the manager ushered me to the premium section to pick a gown. As we passed the storage area, I saw two employees moving a wedding dress into the back. It was the dress I had chosen. I smiled to myself but said nothing. Dress after dress, Elliot found none to his satisfaction. Finally, I stepped out in a pure white satin, strapless gown. Elliot, who had been sitting with his head down, looked up. He stared at me, speechless for a long time. I saw a whirlwind of emotions in his eyes—admiration, nostalgia, confusion, doubt, disdain, and irritation. Then, he frowned. “Who told you to bring her a plain white dress like this?” My heart sank. Did he see me as unworthy of the purity the dress symbolized? Or was he convinced that my efforts to support him during our most challenging years came at the cost of my dignity? “I told you! I want the most extravagant, sparkling, and ornate gown you have! Don’t try to pass off something so basic!” His contempt cut more profound than any glass shard could. Before the staff could bring another dress, I slipped into the dressing room and leaned against the wall. My chest felt tight, my eyes stung, but the tears wouldn’t fall. Through the curtain, I heard Elliot’s low voice on the phone. “Why are you calling me? You know I’m with her at the boutique.” “If you hadn’t swiped her dress with my black card, I wouldn’t have had to come back here!” “When I see her in plain white… I can’t help but think about what you said…” “Forget it. You’ll be there for me later. As long as she stays put at home, that’s enough.” When he dropped me off at home later, his words still echoed in my head, refusing to leave. Eventually, I snapped back to reality and found myself alone. I went to the closet and pulled out the white sundress Elliot gave me when I was 27. It still hung there. I folded it carefully and placed it in a large bag to donate. Next, I climbed up to the attic and cleared old boxes. Inside were piles of photos from our shared history. I pulled the albums out, tossing the photos into the fire until nothing was left but ashes. The empty albums and boxes went outside for pickup. Then, I found an old notebook at the bottom of a box. Its yellowed pages were filled with Elliot’s handwriting—his accounting ledger from the early days of his business. He had meticulously recorded every penny borrowed, repaid, earned, and spent. I remembered how he used to carry that notebook everywhere. It was like his lifeline. Now, it was buried among our forgotten memories. I brushed off crumbs and stains—remnants of long nights, cheap meals, and tears shed in frustration. Flipping through, I noticed a recurring entry: “2018: Owe Mr. Landon $20,000. Due within a year.” “2018: Owe Mr. Grant $10,000. Due within a year.” “2018: Year-end summary—Owe Sienna Raine one wedding. Lifetime repayment.” I froze, staring at the words. Every year, my name appeared in his notes. On the last page, in bold red ink, Elliot had written: “Elliot Starling, never forget to marry your girl.” “Remind yourself every year until you fulfill this promise.” I didn’t know what to feel. I could only laugh weakly, unsure if it was bitterness or resignation. Sliding the notebook into the hidden compartment of my suitcase, I zipped it shut and prepared for my last flight. A one-way ticket to Montclair. From there, I’d transfer to Greenport and start my new job at Atlantic Skies Airways. But I never expected to see Elliot Starling on that flight.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “295205”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #重生Reborn #校园School #励志Inspiring #惊悚Thriller #魔幻Magic