What Happens At The Ending Of The Pleasing Hour?

Her world was crumbling under the betrayal of her fiance and sister, spurred on by her parents’ favoritism, when he appeared before her. He was her guardian angel in her darkest hour. This man could change the Brookville city’s destiny with just a glance, yet he chose her. “"Marry me. I'll bring you unimaginable happiness!" After marriage: "Sir, her elder sister's been terrible to her!" “Get that agency contract signed and make my wife the boss instead!" "Sir, your grandfather is offering the lady money to leave you!" "Did she take it?" "Yes, but she claims it's not nearly enough!" "Well, then let's double it," he said, pausing thoughtfully. "Get the extra from Granddad." "Sir, everyone’s whispering about how she's not good enough for you!" "Well, they've got it wrong. It's me who strives to be worthy of her presence." As time went on, all of Brookville came to know of Charles Hoffman and the wife he cherished beyond reason, doting on her to the point of wild abandon. However, not a single one of them knew about that fateful summer day she leaped into his embrace under the rustling trees. In that moment, their love was sealed for eternity.

After Pierce Emery and I got back together, I started "renting him out." Every time his old flame, Daphne Roach, called him away, I stopped crying and causing scenes like before. I charged by the hour instead. Ten grand an hour during the day. Twenty at night. Triple on holidays. Three months later, my account was up almost two million dollars. Pierce had promised to help me pick a dress for a banquet, but Daphne called him crying, saying she'd sliced her hand while cooking. I didn't even look up. I just held out my phone with the payment screen open. One night, I came down with a brutal fever. While Pierce was driving me to the hospital, his phone rang again. Daphne. He stared at the screen for a long second before answering. Her voice came through shaky and tearful. "Pierce, the thunder's so loud. I can't sleep. Can you come stay with me?" I quietly pulled out an umbrella and told him to let me out at the next intersection. He looked at me like he wanted to explain something, but I just smiled. "Don't forget to transfer the money." The same thing happened again on the day our daughter went in for her routine checkup. Except this time, she was the one asking him for money.

The doctor told me I had 72 hours left, unless I got access to the newest experimental treatment. However, there was only one slot available, and my husband Bowen Liddell gave it to my sister Yvonne Lawson instead. "Her kidney failure is more critical," he said. I nodded and swallowed the white pills that would only speed up my death. In the time I had left, I got a lot done. The lawyer's hand trembled as he passed me the documents. "Are you sure you want to transfer the two billion dollars in shares?" I replied, "Yes. Give them to Yvonne." My daughter, Candice Liddell, was giggling in Yvonne's arms. "Mommy Yvonne bought me a new dress!" I said, "It looks beautiful. Make sure you always listen to Mommy Yvonne, okay?" The art gallery I built from the ground up now had Yvonne's name on the sign. "You're too kind, Kathy," she said, crying. I told her, "You'll run it even better than I ever did." I even signed all my parents' trust fund away. That was when Bowen finally gave me his first genuine smile in years. "Kathleen, you've changed. You're not so aggressive anymore... You're beautiful like this." Indeed. This dying version of me finally became the 'perfect Kathleen Sullivan' in their eyes—obedient, generous, and no longer argumentative. The 72-hour countdown had already begun, and I couldn't help but wonder what they would remember when my heart stopped for good. The good wife who 'finally learned to let go', or the woman who completed her revenge by dying?

The wife of a renowned designer thought I was not good enough to be seen with her. So, when the award ceremony came, she brought along her young, handsome secretary, someone who suited her image much better. I did not argue or make a scene. I ignored the secretary's quiet provocations and stayed perfectly calm. My wife, taken aback by how 'sensible' I had become, must have thought I had finally given up on her. For the first time, she did not sneer or mock me. Instead, she spoke gently for once, and told me to stay home and wait for her. She even promised a 'big surprise' for my birthday. I lowered my eyes and nodded, hiding the heaviness inside. She did not know that today, I was walking away for good.

Abigail, a struggling writer, time-travels to 19th century France, landing in the lavender fields of Provence. There she meets Vincent, a solitary artist with a mysterious past. Together, they explore the land and inspire each other's work, leading to a passionate, yet doomed, affair. As the hourglass drains, Abigail must choose between her modern life or her love for Vincent in the past

After five years of marrying into the Loween City in place of my sister, the Gambling King finally passed away. My son and my ex-husband—at long last—gave me permission to fake my death and return to them. But they laid down three conditions. First: kneel before Vivian Gray, apologize for framing her all those years ago, and surrender my place as Mrs. Hartwell. Second: work as a live-in maid for my own son for five years, and never show up at his school in my former identity as the reigning queen of the nightlife scene—lest I embarrass him. Third: drink an abortifacient to destroy my fertility forever, as recompense for the infertility I once caused Vivian. "My lady, you've endured five whole years just to earn your freedom—how dare they humiliate you like this?" My maid's eyes were red, burning with indignation on my behalf. But I just tipped my head back and swallowed the death-faking pill, letting the servants toss my "corpse" into the overgrown brambles beyond the city limits. Then, from the mud and weeds, I crawled back to the Hartwell mansion—one knee at a time. Day one, I knelt as ordered and signed over custody of my son without a fight. Day three, I locked myself in the storage closet and stopped showing up at school to pick my son up like I used to. I also stopped pestering him to call me "Mom." Even when Vivian—knowing full well I'm terrified of the dark—deliberately trapped me in the basement, I bore it in silence. By the time my ex-husband Nathan Hartwell saw me again, I was barely hanging on. For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed his face as he carried me out of that basement. But my son just sneered. "It's just another stunt to win our sympathy." When he caught the tears welling in Vivian's eyes, Nathan coldly dropped me to the ground. "Always scheming against Vivian with your dirty tricks—aren't you tired of it?" Right then, the system chimed in my ear: [Please proceed to the "disposable ex-wife death node" to complete the story line and return to your original world.] I let out a quiet laugh. "Not tired at all." And with that, I turned and dove straight into the swimming pool beside me.