Novels

A sudden fire broke out at the company. To save Jack, I found myself trapped in the flames.

The day my husband took me for a pregnancy check-up, he got a call from his old-flame. Just a simple “I miss you,” and he left me standing on the curb without a second thought. I expected to lose it, to yell and scream at him, but I didn't. I just stayed quiet and calmly booked an appointment for an abortion the next day. But when my husband found out, he completely lost it, practically shoving his ‘beloved’ out of his arms, begging me in tears to forgive him.

During my first chemotherapy session, the intense pain caused cold sweat to cling to my face. \nThe experience was utterly agonizing. \n"

It was a national holiday. My little sister wanted to lie down across the entire back seat to sleep, so my mother told me to get in the trunk.

After securing a guaranteed spot in Harvard, I decided to skip the SAT. The moment the school’s golden boy Clive Smolett heard that, he stormed over and punched me across the face. “Everyone else has to take the SAT! Why the hell do you get a free pass? “Is it because you’re scared you’re not actually the genius you think you are, and you’re afraid the whole campus will find out, huh?” In my last life, during the SAT, Clive’s essay was identical to mine—word for word. I asked the proctor—my own sister—and my childhood friend, who was in the same exam room, to back me up. Instead, they begged the school to go easy on me, saying I should be allowed to retake the test since it’s my “first offense.” By the time the scandal blew up, everyone cursed my name and accused me of being a “cheater” and “plagiarist.” And since I couldn’t prove I was innocent, I got expelled. To make things worse, they got me permanently banned from taking the test again. Mom and Dad were doxxed and harassed online. They lost their jobs and aged 10 years overnight. Their son went from being on top to hitting rock bottom. Depression hit hard. On a winter night, I took my life. But then, suddenly, I woke up—back to the week before the SAT.

\"Jack Wilson, are you even human? I'm asking you, where did all the company's client contacts go? They said you have them all. Give me those phone numbers right now. That's company property. Don't think I won't sue you!\"\nI was stunned for a moment, then realized that Tiffany must be getting desperate.\n\"How can you be so disgusting? Give me the client contacts right now! Or I swear I'll destroy you, you believe me?\"

I Found a Box of Birth Control Pills in My Widowed Mother-in-Law's Room.

Before I agreed to marry Mark, I knew about his childhood sweetheart, Sarah. They'd had a nasty breakup, supposedly water under the bridge. I was pregnant and happily planning our wedding. Then, Sarah got into an accident, lost her memory, and reverted back to the sweet sixteen-year-old she'd once been. Mark asked me to be understanding, to be patient with her, to indulge her. My jewelry, makeup, clothes, bags – if she wanted it, she got it. Our house? Hers to stay in as she pleased. Then came the wedding day. Friends and family, everyone was there. Sarah burst in, wearing a wedding dress, blood dripping from a cut on her wrist. She shoved me to the ground, sobbing, claiming it was her wedding, that Mark had promised. Mark scooped her up, all tenderness and concern. "Okay, okay, let's get you to the hospital. We'll do the wedding later." Later? There wouldn't be a later. He didn't even notice the blood pooling beneath me…

After marrying Ben, my childhood friend, it was like we were still strangers. Our interactions were mostly limited to the nightly routine, a perfunctory exercise. He was so reserved that even when I brought up divorce, he only paused, then pushed himself up from the bed. “Alright,” he said, like he was acknowledging a memo. “I don’t want the kid either,” I told him. “He’ll be your responsibility.” “No problem,” he replied, his voice flat. I pushed further, “Thanks for the last few years. It’s been rough, I know.” My belongings were minimal, all packed in one suitcase. Before walking out the door, I glanced back. Ben, bare-chested with fading scratch marks on his back, stood silently on the balcony, smoking a cigarette.