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My husband dotes on me. He's always saying I'm the one he cherishes most in this life. Everyone else envies me too, saying I married well—pampered like a princess. It all started when I mentioned, offhand, that tailored cuts flatter my figure. From that moment on, he kept it in mind every day, going out of his way to gather all kinds of designer womenswear for me. In the walk-in closet at home, there's always a wardrobe filled exclusively with my new clothes—each piece haute couture, with exquisite fabrics and impeccable craftsmanship. On New Year's Eve in our third year of marriage, the house was lively, packed with relatives chatting and laughing. With a smile, my husband handed me a gift box. "Go on, open your New Year's present." The frustration and resentment I'd been bottling up for so long exploded in an instant. I shoved the box to the floor. "It's the New Year—can you just stop for once?" The moment the words left my mouth, everyone fell silent. The relatives' expressions shifted; one after another, they began to scold me for being ungrateful, for not knowing how lucky I was. My husband looked at me, eyes full of shock and hurt. "I just bought you some pretty clothes. Why are you angry?" Amid their pointing fingers and his wounded questioning, I rushed into the walk-in closet like I'd lost my mind, dragging out those designer clothes and throwing them all over the floor. Everyone stared at me, stunned. No one said another word.

Before we submit our college applications, I help our homeroom teacher hand out each student's sealed official records envelope as the class monitor. But the class belle, Vivian Nash, says she's an art student who's about to debut as a celebrity. To thank everyone for taking care of her, she asks the whole class to tear open their sealed envelopes and slip one of her glamor shots inside so they can "share in her good luck." My boyfriend, Brandon Dunn, immediately steps up as her childhood friend. He says he doesn't just want one of her photos, but he also wants her autograph on his envelope. Afraid something might go wrong, I immediately warn him that opening the sealed envelope could negatively affect his application to Caldoria University's School of Foreign Service. Before I can even finish speaking, Brandon kicks me hard in the stomach. The other students laugh and mock me. "You're just stirring up trouble for no reason. Everyone knows what you're really thinking. You're just afraid Vivian will get back together with your boyfriend!" I'm so furious I can't even find the words. But due to my responsibility as the class monitor, I call our homeroom teacher over and forcefully stop the absurd stunt. Later, everyone gets into their dream colleges. Well, everyone except for Vivian. At our class reunion six months later, Vivian suddenly bursts into tears in front of the entire class. She accuses loudly, "Why did you isolate me? It's your fault I made a mistake on my college application!" I'm dumbfounded. Suddenly, she grabs me by the throat and forces poisoned liquor down my throat. I die before I can be saved. After my death, Brandon and our classmates all defend Vivian. They even paint me as the class bully. Meanwhile, she goes viral by livestreaming her sob story and quickly becomes a rising celebrity. When I open my eyes again, I'm back at the moment Brandon is eagerly playing the gallant knight backing up his damsel. This time, I take the initiative and hand him his sealed envelope. "I think Vivian is right. It'd be nice to keep one of her photos as a souvenir."

When my best friend and I realized we had been reborn and traveled back several decades, we locked eyes, collapsed into each other's arms, and sobbed, shouting that we wanted to break off our engagements. The entire neighborhood whispered that we had lost our minds. But only we knew the truth. In our past lives, this was the day everything was sealed: she married a battalion commander, Ned Stark, and I became the wife of a high school teacher, Robbie Stark. My husband betrayed me. For the sake of that pretentious whore, Scarlett Wheaton, he stole my university admission letter and let her take my place on campus. The world mocked me as a failure, and Robbie stood by in silence. After we married, every time he touched me, he would immediately write another love letter to Scarlett—atoning for his supposed guilt. "Scarlett, even if I can't be with you in this life, my soul will always belong to you alone." Even my own child despised me, calling me an ignorant village woman, urging me again and again to divorce so that his father could be with his "true love," Scarlett. And my best friend, Rachel Croft—born the daughter of a factory director—was tricked by her husband, Ned, under the pretense of buying a house. He drained her savings and her wages for twenty long years. It wasn't until she fell gravely ill and went to sell the house that she discovered the deed he had given her was a forgery. The real house—the one paid in full—was in Scarlett's name. One of Scarlett's dresses cost more than my friend's entire monthly salary. When Rachel begged to reclaim what rightfully belonged to her, she was met only with contempt from Ned and her child. "All you ever care about is money. You're nothing like Scarlett, who isn't materialistic at all. Your illness is retribution," Ned had said. "Exactly. Only someone as noble and kind as Scarlett deserves to be my mother!" her child had said. Rachel and I both spent our lives working ourselves to the bone, only to end with nothing—dying bitter and broken from the injustice. But this time, fate has given us another chance. I will go to university. Rachel will become a wealthy woman. This time, without us paving the way, those shameless men and that wretched woman think they can still live happily ever after? Dream on.

Queenie Livingston, my best friend whom I have cared for over the years, gives me a bottle of perfume. I immediately turn around and pour its contents down the toilet. In my previous life, that perfume made me sprout hair all over my body and reek. I was shunned by my colleagues, and my then-boyfriend and superior, Preston Zimmerman, wasted no time in dumping me and hooking up with Queenie. I desperately sought medical treatment back then, but with nowhere left to turn, I died in utter agony and despair. Only after my death did I learn that the grotesque condition was caused by the perfume Queenie had maliciously tampered with. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the exact day Queenie gave me the perfume.

Hazel Williams is a sweet affable 16-year-old who just started high school. When the people closest to her started dating, she felt left out and alone. Watching her crush with his girlfriend every day wasn't helping either, especially when Theo is her brother's best friend since kindergarten whom she practically grew up with. Her newfound friendship with her school's star dancer, Lee, helped her cope with her situation. But things got complicated when her long-time crush started to show feelings for her and at the same time, she found herself falling for her new best friend. Part 2 In the second year of high school, a new celebrity student arrives and turned her school upside down. What started as a student-guide relationship blossomed into a unique friendship. Her troubled new friend not only stirs the situations at school but also her relationship with her boyfriend. When her first-ever relationship finally came to an end, her old crush came back into her life for the Summer and they were tempted to rekindle their feelings for each other the year before. This story is still ongoing, read on to find out what happens next. Part 2 is currently only available on GoodNovel.

At 16 years old, I travel with my sister, Sarah Barnes, to the remote mountains of Nectar Valley to participate in a program. While herding cattle in the mountains, I fall asleep. In my drowsy state, I hear strange panting and gasps. Thick fog has somehow risen throughout the forest by the time I wake up. Suddenly, Sarah's anxious voice calls out from within the fog. I'm about to respond when someone suddenly covers my mouth with their hand. A voice whispers in my ear, "Don't answer. That's not your sister. It's the Temptress!"