Novels

Ten years ago, I saved a drowning boy. I conducted a rapid rescue on him. After waking up, he told me, "I have decided to marry you when I grow up!" Thinking that he was joking, I didn't take his words seriously. Ten years later, the boy grew up, becoming a crazy and domineering CEO, whose name was Brian Hawk. At my wedding with my fiancé, he led a group of people and beat up my fiancé, forcibly taking me away. "I told you I would marry you. Your husband can only be me."

My biggest problem is that I sleep too well. So well, in fact, that I can be thrown into a survival horror game and still be dead asleep in four seconds flat. A blood-drenched little girl stood at the foot of my bed, but my snores were loud enough to shake the walls. The corpse of a hanged woman in a painting opened its eyes at midnight, only to see me grinding my teeth in my sleep. When I got too hot in the middle of thenight, I rolled over and wrapped my arms around something cool and firm to the touch. It felt nice. The final boss whispered, “...Are you going to open your eyes? Or are you just using me as a body pillow?”

After failing to win over three guys, the system informed me that I could return to my original world by dying. So, I happily ordered a carb-loaded feast in a dim basement. After I finished it, I grabbed a rope, ready to hang myself. But just as I was about to put my head in the noose, I saw a stream of comments flashing before my eyes. [Sis, no! Your brother is only acting this way toward you because he feels indebted to your adoptive sister. You're the one he truly loves!] [Yeah, your fiancé is the same. He's only doing this because your adoptive sister once saved him. The truth is, it breaks his heart every time he hurts you!] [Your childhood sweetheart only feels guilty towards your adoptive sister. Sis, don't give up! Don't commit suicide. They'll all go crazy if you die!]

My name's Molly. The comment section says I'm the cunning side character.Outside the orphanage, a wealthy couple with teary eyes approached me:"Is there a girl named Lily here? About your age, with big eyes like yours..."Before they could finish, I noticed glowing text floating in the sky: [Here we go! The billionaire parents arriving at the orphanage just as the main character has been reborn! Now she'll become everyone's envied true daughter of the rich family!]

My sister was dying in childbirth, and my father, a top obstetrician, was the only one who could save her. In my last life, I didn't hesitate. I called him. After I begged and pleaded, he abandoned his honeymoon with my stepmother and flew back to perform the surgery. My sister, Kerry, was saved. But the good news came with a death sentence for my stepmother. Her depression, they said, had relapsed. She’d thrown herself into the ocean. She left a suicide note, a ten-page manifesto detailing a decade of alleged abuse at our hands. The honeymoon, she wrote, was her last reason to live, and we had destroyed it. My father read the note. He told us he didn't blame us, his voice a dead, hollow thing. But on the day of my nephew's one-month celebration, he poisoned everyone's food. "If it weren't for you two," he'd whispered, his face a mask of grief-stricken rage, "Penny would still be alive." "How could I have raised such venomous daughters? A hundred deaths wouldn't be enough to atone for what you've done." He held our heads in the toilet bowl until the world went black. I opened my eyes. I was back on the day my sister went into labor. …

The prince was searching the entire city for the girl who lost a glass slipper. My stepsister stole my shoe, claiming she was the one who danced with the prince last night. She didn't know that the prince had killed someone that night.

It was the third year of my intermittent amnesia when I overheard my husband, Leo Maxwell, chatting with one of his bros. "Dude, seriously, your wife blacks out every few months. You're having us take turns pretending to be you, what if one of us actually falls for her?" Leo swirled the whiskey in his glass, that cocky smirk plastered on his face. "Relax. Clara’s frigid. As long as you don't hit on her, she's not gonna be looking for that kind of action.” “Just a heads-up, though," Leo continued. "Play your parts, but keep your hands to yourselves. She's still my wife after all, and when I’m done screwing around, I'm gonna come back home.” For the past three years, every man who’d held my hand, kissed me, even shared my bed after my memory lapses wasn’t actually Leo. Three years. Nine memory wipes. Nine stand-in husbands. What they didn't know was that I’d faked my amnesia for two years.

My sister’s son was diagnosed with uremia and urgently needed a kidney transplant. After testing, the only suitable match was my daughter. My sister knelt in front of me, pleading desperately. But my husband immediately ordered the bodyguard to throw her out. “I will never allow anyone to harm Grace,” he said coldly. But the next morning, my daughter was gone. I was frantic with worry. My husband mobilized all his resources and connections to search for her, but no leads turned up. Half a month later, they found my daughter’s lifeless body dumped in a septic tank. She had always been so particular about her appearance, but when we found her, she was covered in filth, disfigured beyond recognition. I was devastated. My husband held me tightly, grief and rage contorting his face. “I will hunt down whoever did this and make them pay,” he promised. Overcome with sorrow, I fell into deep depression. Through it all, my husband stayed by my side, nursing me, comforting me, whispering to me: “We’ll have another baby. Once you recover, we’ll bring Grace back to us.” Encouraged by his warmth, I slowly pulled myself out of the darkness and began preparing for a new pregnancy. I genuinely believed he loved me—that he, too, was trying to find light beyond the loss. Then, five months into my pregnancy, I discovered a document that shattered everything: a kidney donation consent form. My husband had signed it as Grace’s legal guardian, agreeing to donate one of her kidneys to my sister’s son. That night, I opened his phone, and the messages I read nearly stopped my heart. He had pushed for this pregnancy not out of love or healing—but because he wanted another "spare" organ donor. All the tenderness, the care, the supposed grief—it was all an act, a cold, calculated plan. When I confronted him, he snapped. The mask fell away.

After the great war between humans and beasts, both sides agreed to let the half-beasts govern the world. Every hundred years, a union between humans and beasts would be arranged. The first half-beast child of the generation would be the next ruler of the Human-Beast Alliance. In my past life, I chose to marry the eldest son of the wolf clan, renowned for his unwavering devotion. I was the first to bear him a child—a rare half-beast white wolf. Our son was named the next ruler of the Human-Beast Alliance, and my husband, by extension, rose to immense power. My younger sister, who had chosen to marry into the fox clan out of vain admiration for their beauty, was not so fortunate. The fox clan's heir, a notorious philanderer, eventually contracted a disease and lost his ability to father children. Jealous and resentful, my sister set a fire that burned both me and my young white wolf son alive. When I opened my eyes again, it was the very day of the human-beast mating ceremony. This time, my sister was quicker—she climbed into the wolf clan heir Jacob's bed before I had the chance. I knew then: she had been reborn too. But what she didn't know… was that Jacob's nature was cruel and violent. He worshiped bloodshed, not love. And he was anything but a worthy mate.