Martyr Or Murderer: Jens Soering, The Media, And The Truth

My husband, a lawyer, tells his true love to deny that she wrongly administered an IV and insist that her patient passed away due to a heart attack. He also instructs her to immediately cremate the patient. He does all of this to protect her. Not only does Marie Harding not have to spend a day behind bars, but she doesn't even have to compensate the patient. Once the dust has settled, my husband celebrates with her and congratulates her now that she's free of an annoying patient. What he doesn't know is that I'm that patient. I've died with his baby in my belly.

When finding evidence is by the skin of one's teeth, what price are you willing to lay to find the culprit?~~~She was just a typical girl from a not so typical family, who will seek justice after her loved ones' death. She was the only survivor in that death trap or at least that was what she knew. Their death wasn't just a mere tragedy, it was intentional. The purpose was to eradicate her clan, but they failed when she survived.When her only reason for living was taken away from her... What was left in her being were: hatred, anger and the burning fire to have her revenge, but it was hard to find since no obtainable evidence could uncover the culprit behind the terrible scheme.When her boss, turned lover, started to show affection, a beam of light was flashed in her being. The newly found solitude with him gradually replaced her negative feelings. But as another guy entered into the picture and claimed her to be his, it drifted her back to her intentions which led her to unravel some secrets she never thought existed. Join me as I lay pieces of information about the Culprit's real identity.

The prettiest girl in our class, Mandy Smith, died unexpectedly in our dorm. When the police took statements, my two other roommates and I pleaded guilty. I took out Mandy’s love letter to my boyfriend. “I killed her because she was seducing my boyfriend.” Anna Anderson took out a purchase history for cyanide. “I killed her because she snatched my overseas studies spot from me.” Fiona Lee took out an expulsion letter. “I killed her because she reported me for cheating.” All three of us hated Mandy. However, the police found that all of us had alibis during Mandy’s time of death. The counselor also asked us to stop lying. However, the three of us sneered. “Whether you believe it or not, one of us is the murderer.”

He promised to protect him from a killer. He never said he was one. When journalist Ian Parker witnesses a brutal murder, he should have been the killer's next victim. Instead, he wakes up in the hospital, saved by Zhedya Hunter…a brilliant forensic pathologist, a reclusive CEO, and a man with chilling grey eyes that feel hauntingly familiar. Charismatic and dangerously possessive, Zhedya offers Ian shelter in his opulent penthouse, a gilded cage where every comfort is a chain. As Zhedya's obsession deepens, Ian's career skyrockets, with damning evidence against the city's most wanted criminals mysteriously falling into his hands. But each exclusive story comes with a price: a fractured memory, a drugged haze, and a growing pile of bodies connected to anyone who threatens their twisted paradise. Now, Ian is trapped in a nightmare of luxury and lies, unraveling a truth more terrifying than any headline: his savior is a predator, his sanctuary is a crime scene, and the man who claims to love him is the most prolific murderer he will ever interview. Learning how to love a murderer is easy. Surviving him is the real story.

During a livestream of my brother, Douglas Wilcox's heart transplant surgery, I, the lead surgeon, turn tail and flee with my tail between my legs halfway through the surgery. Because of that, Douglas ends up dying on the operating table, and I become a murderer. My mom kneels on the floor with tears streaming down her cheeks. She questions me, "You're the only one capable of performing this surgery in the entire country! Why did you run away? "We've been waiting for 20 long years for a suitable heart that can save Douglas' life! You're the one who killed him!" In the face of the growing public outlash and the pressure exerted by the health department, the police built a case on this incident and decided to investigate me. On the day I'm whisked away by the police, the enraged onlookers and the reporters have me surrounded. "Dr. Wilcox, although you're just an adopted daughter, the Wilcox family still loves and pampers you to no end. Why did you do this? "People without medical ethics like you are murderers! You deserve to get skinned alive!" I just look at the camera with a stony expression. "Someone else is the actual murderer here. The truth and the proof that all of you badly want are already revealed in the livestream."

In the late stages of her pregnancy, my wife slipped away into the mountains with her childhood sweetheart, seeking some reckless thrill under the open sky. Fate, however, had other plans. She suffered a massive hemorrhage, and the two were rushed to the hospital. As a doctor, I took one glance at her condition and instructed the nurse to prepare for the cremation. In my previous life, I had risked everything to save her. On that very operating table, she and the child inside her perished together. Her childhood sweetheart, overcome with grief and fury, rallied others to accuse me of seeking personal revenge. Their rage was relentless, and they broke my hands. "A butcher like you, without medical ethics, deserves nothing less than eternal damnation!" they shouted, their words burning like brands on my soul. Yet I distinctly remembered—the surgery had been a success. Her vital signs had stabilized. Clinging to hope, I begged my in-laws to conduct an autopsy, to uncover the truth buried beneath the accusations. Instead, they called the police, who swiftly charged me with performing surgery under the influence of alcohol. Stripped of my rights, I was thrown into prison, where suffering became my only companion. Years later, upon release, I stumbled across a sight that tore what was left of my heart to shreds—my wife, alive and well, behind the wheel of a luxury car, accompanied by her childhood sweetheart and their child, living off the fortune I had worked tirelessly to build. Their betrayal didn't end there. Coldly and methodically, they lured me into a trap, casting me into a cement mixer to erase every trace of my existence. When I next opened my eyes, time had rewound itself. I was back on that fateful day, the one when her hemorrhage began.