Novels

"Eight years into our relationship, I took a knife for my doctor boyfriend, Ethan. He promised I could ask for anything in return. Everyone expected me to demand a proposal. Instead, I calmly said, “Let’s break up.” Then I turned and walked away. Ethan smirked and bet everyone, “She’s just a lovesick puppy fishing for attention. I bet she’ll be back begging me to take her back in three days…” He was wrong. I had a secret; I'd been given a second chance. In my past life, I'd gotten engaged, but Ethan's dream girl, Olivia, jumped off a building and killed herself. He took all his anger out on me. On our wedding night, he slashed my face and locked me in a dark, cramped basement. After I got pregnant, he forced me to eat massive amounts of supplements. By the time I went into labor, the baby was too big, and I couldn't deliver. I bled out, my body torn apart in a horrific stillbirth. This time, back to the day I took that knife for Ethan, I did as he wished."

My cousin was born without a uterus and with a sealed vaginal canal. Medically speaking, she was intersex. But that didn’t stop her from spending nearly every night out with a different boyfriend, flaunting her supposed sex life like it was some kind of trophy. One day, she leaned in close with a conspiratorial grin and whispered to me, “You know, Fran, there’s more than one way to make a guy happy.” I tried to talk some sense into her, warned her about the infections, the risks, the sheer lack of hygiene and honestly, she’s just asking for an STD. But she just laughed it off. Then she fell for some rich boy—second-generation money, the kind that came with an estate and a last name that mattered. And suddenly, she wasn’t so cocky anymore. She asked me whether she should get surgery to “fix” herself, to make everything work the way a man like that would expect. I warned her—surgery comes with risks. A woman’s body isn’t some tool made to satisfy a man. If she wanted to be with someone, she had to put her own health and dignity first. But she wasn’t interested in being careful. She believed her tricks in bed—or whatever version of it she could manage—would be enough to keep him around. On their wedding night, no matter what tricks she pulled out of her twisted little playbook, he still turned on her. Said she disgusted him. Word spread like wildfire. The guy’s family kicked her out like yesterday’s garbage. The engagement was called off before the wedding cake had even been cut. Her dream of marrying into wealth? Dead in the water. She lost everything—her pride, her place in high society and the engagement. Her dream of marrying into wealth? Dead in the water. And then she blamed me for it all. She poured gasoline on me and set me on fire. “You bitch! If it weren’t for you talking me out of the surgery, I wouldn’t be a laughingstock right now!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that exam room—the very day she told me her secret.

"I was ten when my mother remarried, gaining a stepbrother. My family treated me like a princess, my stepbrother especially. That all changed when I turned eighteen. My mother and stepfather died in a car accident. After the funeral, I snuck away to a secluded corner, clutching a life-sized silicone doll. The doll's face was identical to my stepbrother's. ""Brother…"" I whispered, my fingers trailing down its waist. A sigh of contentment escaped my lips. The door burst open. Harrison Hayes stared at the messy room and the doll, his face a mask of disgust. He slapped me, cursing my immorality and disgrace to the family. He tore up my plane ticket to study abroad and sent me to the infamous Grace Academy, to learn some manners. My first day, they broke my limbs and forced chili water down my throat. The next day, I was thrown in a dog cage and left to starve. On the third day, every man in the academy cornered me, forcing me to serve them. Five years later, on my mother's death anniversary, he came to get me. I said nothing, my hand reaching down."

After Dad declared bankruptcy, Mom started to demand a divorce.

My wife was known as the goddess of pure love. In the three years we were married, she only allowed hugs, kisses and sleeping in each other's arms. She always said that true love meant resisting temptation, which tested my sincerity. But then, at my birthday party, everything changed. She was pressed against the sink by her foster brother, gasping for breath. She whispered, "Don't worry, brother. I've never let him touch me. My heart has always been yours." Her foster brother's grip tightened around her waist, his breath ragged. "Then isn't he useless as a man? Girl, you're wicked." Isabella Moore chuckled softly. "He deserved it. He pushed me into marrying him, angering you to leave the country." The sting cut deep. I turned off my phone, walked out of the hotel quietly, no sound to mark my exit. On the way home, I called Vincent Moore, her father. "Uncle Vincent, the three years are up. Can I leave now?"

"The day before my wedding, Sarah, my fiancée, decided to test my love. She invited both our families onto a cruise. Out on the choppy water, she pushed my mom overboard. Then, she jumped in herself. I was torn, panicked. My mom, already swallowing water, weakly pushed me away. “Save Sarah first! She’s your fiancée!” I dragged Sarah back onto the deck. When I turned to look for my mom, she was gone. Sarah watched me cry, a cold look in her eyes. “Stop pretending, your mom was a competitive swimmer, she can’t drown.” “You didn’t save me first, Alex was right, you don’t love me enough.” “We’re postponing the wedding. When you’ve thought about this and apologized, along with your mom, we'll talk.” She left, arm in arm with her childhood friend, Alex. She didn't know that years ago, an illness had left my mom unable to swim. This push had killed her."

My wife was known as the goddess of pure love. In the three years we were married, she only allowed hugs, kisses and sleeping in each other's arms. She always said that true love meant resisting temptation, which tested my sincerity. But then, at my birthday party, everything changed. She was pressed against the sink by her foster brother, gasping for breath. She whispered, "Don't worry, brother. I've never let him touch me. My heart has always been yours." Her foster brother's grip tightened around her waist, his breath ragged. "Then isn't he useless as a man? Girl, you're wicked." Isabella Moore chuckled softly. "He deserved it. He pushed me into marrying him, angering you to leave the country." The sting cut deep. I turned off my phone, walked out of the hotel quietly, no sound to mark my exit. On the way home, I called Vincent Moore, her father. "Uncle Vincent, the three years are up. Can I leave now?"

I risked my life to save my fiancé, William Schneider, when he fell into the river. He was obliged to marry me because we made physical contact in the water despite the fact that he had intended to end the engagement. I took care of him for thirty years. I even gave him a healthy, smart son. However, William never loved me. He only felt that my saving him back then was a conspiracy to marry him. William, therefore, made the decision to follow his adored "first love" to the end of his life, choosing to die for her. My son blamed me. He thought his father had suffered all his life because I wouldn't step aside. Out of revenge, he poured my emergency heart medication down the drain and let me die in agony. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day William fell into the river. This time, I didn't save him. Instead, I went to find the son of my father's old war buddy. "You promised my dad you'd take care of me for life. Does that promise still count?"

I lost five years of memories. When I woke up, I discovered that Ethan Sinclair, my longtime crush, had become my husband.