Bias

My adopted sister, Rita Lawson, and I get ambushed by a rival family at the same time. But she pushes me away at the most critical juncture, leading to me getting kidnapped. After my kidnappers feed me poison, they leave me to rot in the wild. When I finally get home, I find out that Rita pretends to be poisoned, so my dad has already given her the only antidote. With tears streaking down her cheeks, Rita tells my parents that she's chosen to ingest poison for me, and yet I abandoned her and fled on my own. Of course, everyone believes her. My parents tell me, "Rita got poisoned just to protect you. You must transfer your businesses to her." My husband, Enrico Fulci, says to me, "Someone needs to take care of Rita. Let's get a divorce, Elisa." Even my own daughter, Ivana Fulci, asks me, "Mamma, when are you going to be as gentle and understanding as Zia Rita?" Faced with everyone's accusations, I drink a serum that I've bought from the black market in order to suppress the poison in my system. It can allow me to live like a regular person. But in return, the poison within me will erupt three days later, causing my instant death. Using the three days I have left, I hand my businesses, my husband, and my daughter over to Rita. Everyone is pleased, thinking that I've finally learned my place. But what they don't know is that Death will come for me after 72 hours.

My sister-in-law, Cynthia Ziegler, has my name written on her cancer diagnosis report. As such, the entire Ziegler family assumes that I'm the one with cancer. Overnight, my husband, Leonard Ziegler, sends a text message to his mistress, Irene Ludlow. "Our time will soon come! That old bat is about to die at last, so I'll finally be able to marry you!" My grandmother, Amanda Powell, cries and clings onto my hand, begging me not to seek treatment. She is not only discussing with Leonard on how best to split my insurance money after my death but also employing various methods to hasten my death. However, they are all unaware that Cynthia used my medical insurance card when she went for her physical examination. I feign sadness and nod with tears in my eyes. "I won't seek treatment, Mom. Let's not seek treatment no matter who is diagnosed with cancer."

Rainy nights in Sicelia were always thick with the stench of rust and gunpowder. Rumors had circulated that the newly appointed Don of the Romano family, one of the most powerful mafia clans, had been badly disfigured in a fire. His temper had grown brutal, and three fiancées had already been driven to terror. When the news reached the Deluca family estate, my so-called sister had collapsed in tears and begged me to take her place and honor the engagement. I had watched her act in silence before kicking her to the floor. I had said calmly, "When I was brought back into this family, you were afraid of losing your status. You rushed to secure the marriage alliance to protect your position. Now that your fiancé is disfigured and you can't bear to face that scarred monster, you want to shove me into the flames instead?" At that moment, my childhood sweetheart had burst through the door. He bent down and helped my fake sister to her feet, his concern plain to see. "Elena, don't be so ungrateful," he snapped. "This marriage was yours from the beginning. Now it's simply returning to its rightful owner. Tomorrow, I'll be holding a grand wedding with Rosa. As for you, you can obediently go and serve that monster." My parents had stormed in as well, pointing at me and cursing without restraint. As I looked at the selfish faces before me, I drew a slow breath. Resolve hardened in my eyes. "Fine," I had said quietly. "Then all of you can come down to hell with me."

No one knew that three days ago, the aloof CEO in the boardroom, Sophia Monroe, had been tangled up with me in her executive office, going at it for eight intense rounds. I thought Sophia had finally agreed to what I had been asking for. But then she pulled her dress back on, turned around, and disappeared without a trace. She was gone for an entire month. I stayed by Mom's grave for what felt like forever. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with the latest trending news. It was about Sophia's wedding of the century, but I was not the groom. At that moment, I was grateful Mom had not lived long enough to see Sophia's true colors. Before shutting off my phone, I sent her a message. [Monday. Courthouse. Divorce.]

I've been married to Austin Salazar for five years. Every time I accidentally touch him, he'll force me to kneel in a pool of disinfectants while reciting verses from the Bible. But there was once when I noticed a bright red hickey on Austin's collarbone. Instincts propelled me to touch it for a fleeting moment. While Austin did lose his temper at me before storming out of our home, for once, he didn't tell me to get down on my knees. Naively, I thought that he's starting to get used to my touch. But the next day, my virginity is set to be auctioned off at the auction house where the rich and the powerful of Bannerton regularly visit. The auction will officially start in two days. While Austin's buddies calculate the price they can afford to bid with lewd expressions, he remains unmoved as he keeps cleansing his collarbone with disinfectants repeatedly. "How dare she touch the spot Carol has kissed before! Who does she think she is? Just the sight of her taints my vision!"

After they pulled me out of the surf, my fiancé, Milo Schneider, looked wrecked—eyes red, breathing all over the place. On impulse, I decided to mess with him. "I think I lost my memory. Where am I?" I kept my face blank. He froze for a second, then shoved his brother, Sean Schneider, toward me. "Sean, take your fiancée to the hospital—now." Yeah. That smile on my face? Gone. Sean pulled me into his arms. "Abigail, I'm your fiancé. Did you forget?"

The intern secretly submitted a voluntary pay-cut application on my behalf. As a result, my salary dropped from $10,000 to $2,000. When I found out and confronted him, my boss and colleagues all defended him. "The company is not doing great right now. Oscar was just trying to save costs for us. Do you have to nickel-and-dime over this?" With my salary so low, I couldn't afford the special medication for my chronic migraines, and one day I passed out at my desk during an attack. But the intern snuck a video of me unconscious and posted it on the company's website. He even whipped up a detailed 100-page slideshow breaking down how I was slacking off on the clock and dumping all my work on him. Overnight, I was labeled a workplace bully. My boss gave me the cold shoulder, and my colleagues whispered about me. Even worse, some extreme "anti-workplace-bullying" activists tracked me down to my home, showed up with two cans of gasoline, and burned me and my parents alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that very day when the intern had submitted my pay-cut form. In this second chance at life, I would make sure everyone saw the intern for who he truly was.

I'd been assigned overseas for three months, but I wrapped up my work ahead of schedule and flew home early to spend New Year's Eve with my wife. While waiting for a ride, I scrolled through TikTok and came across a video captioned: [Marrying the one you love feels like winning a war.] Then the scene shifted, and my world tilted. The bride slung over the groom's shoulder… was my wife. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But then I spotted familiar faces—her relatives, unmistakable in the crowd. I didn't hesitate. I checked the hotel location tagged in the video and shoved my phone toward the taxi driver. "Change the route. Take me here," I said. "I'm going to catch them in the act."

For eighteen years, my wife, Elizabeth Connerty, never once reached out to her first love, Lucas Ryder. She committed herself fully to me and cooked warm meals for me. She attended every parent-teacher conference for our daughter. She carefully planned our family trips year after year. That was how we lived—quietly, steadily, and happily—for eighteen years. But after our daughter celebrated her eighteenth birthday, I turned to Elizabeth and said, "Let's get a divorce." She stood in the doorway of our daughter's bedroom, staring at me in stunned silence. I added calmly, "When our daughter was born, you promised me that once she turned eighteen, we would divorce."

Before my crazy grandmother died, she gave me three walnuts. According to her last wish, I cracked open the first walnut on my twenty-fifth birthday. Inside the walnut was a slip of paper. 'Go to the skybridge and grovel at the first beggar you meet' was the instruction written on it. When I looked at the note, I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Still, I did as told. To my surprise, the beggar turned out to be an undercover cop. Only later did I learn that I had long been targeted by human traffickers, and the bow had saved my life. As for the second walnut, my grandmother told me to crack it open before I got married. When I put on my wedding dress, ready to marry the policeman who saved me, I happily opened it. This time, there was a crumpled old photograph inside. In the photo, my fiancé was smiling as he strangled another bride.