Bias

After the college entrance exam, the school's reigning beauty dragged me into a wager over our scores. "Only the girl with the higher marks is worthy of being Eric's girlfriend." Eric Lowell scoffed. "That's enough, Jocelyn. My relationships aren't yours to dictate." Then, in front of everyone, he confessed to me. I mistook it for the answer to a long-held crush. With the crowd egging us on, I flushed and said yes. That night, he took me back to his place. From then on, we hardly spent a night apart. Before application season, I went to his house, hoping we would apply to the same university. Instead, I overheard part of a phone call. "Jocelyn, everything's ready: the photos, the videos. Just like you asked." Jocelyn's laughter drifted through the receiver, light and pleased. "You must've gone to so much trouble~ Then let's wait until the school assembly the day after tomorrow and stream it to the whole school. I'm curious to see how Tessa plans on applying to those top-tier universities after that." "Eric," she added casually, "you're not having second thoughts, are you?" He hesitated, then answered, "Why would I? If anyone's at fault, it's her for not knowing her place. What right does she have to keep scoring higher than you?" I set the custom ring down, opened my email, and accepted the Oxford offer that had been waiting for me for a week.

When Seth Gibson told me his legs were crippled and that only snowmelt from a mountain's peak could cure him, I did not hesitate. I scaled the mountainside, climbing over 15,000 feet just to get some snow for him. When I staggered back, bruised and scratched, cradling the snow outside the hospital room, I overheard cruel voices down the corridor. "Seth, today's the deadline. Nevaeh still isn't back. Could she have died up there?" "I heard that the mountain's pretty high. She might have gotten altitude sickness. What a shame! She's already risked herself for Seth ninety-nine times. This was supposed to be the last time before the game ended." "Serves her right! She used to bully Janice, Seth's childhood friend, didn't she?" I saw Seth through the crack in the door. He was standing at the window, his legs perfectly intact, and his expression ice-cold. "Enough," he said flatly. "If she dies, the game ends." I froze in disbelief until it finally sank in. Seth had been pretending all along. A laugh nearly escaped me. What a relief! I could finally get rid of this weight on my shoulders. I pulled out my phone and called his uncle. "I'll marry you," I said.

My boyfriend and I had been together for eight years. We were already discussing marriage when Robbie suddenly asked me to wait a little longer. He said he needed to hold a grand wedding with his first love before he could marry me. Because, as he explained, for his first love—who struggled with anxiety—marriage was her greatest wish in life. He couldn't bear to see her spiral into self-harm under the weight of her illness, so with tears in his eyes, he promised to give her a home. Stunned, I asked what would happen to me. Instead of answering, he snapped impatiently, "Can't you show some empathy? It's just a year or two more. Are you really that desperate to get married? "And another thing… lend me your ring. Let Lucy wear it for now. You won't be needing it anytime soon." I stared at the man before me, someone both familiar and suddenly a stranger, and felt only a cold, hollow ache in my chest. But at last, I saw his true face behind the mask. Later, I chose to attend their wedding. I brought with me a very special blessing.

In my previous life, after I got divorced from Serena Langston, the court had given me custody of my newborn daughter, Talia Poole. Meanwhile, my son, Lucas Poole, was to live with Serena. Many years later, Talia got into a top prestigious university. I had raised her to be a humble and polite young lady. On the day the SAT scores were released, the mass media fought with each other just to get an inclusive interview on how I raised and parented Talia. Meanwhile, Lucas had already dropped out of school when he was still a junior at high school. After that, he eloped with a delinquent, only to impregnate her before he even hit 16 of age. Just like that, he was treated as the living educational material of what a teenager shouldn't become when they grew up. At the age of 30, he was still mooching off Serena without an achievement or a job under his belt. Serena's dream of watching Lucas succeed in life was completely shattered. In fact, she was utterly humiliated by his existence. On the day Talia's celebratory banquet was held, Serena showed up and picked a fight with me. She insisted that I had given Lucas all of our bad DNA, which resulted in him being a massive failure in life. During the fight, Serena stabbed me in the chest. Then, she jumped off the building and died. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day the court will be giving us custody over our children. This time, Serena quickly requests the judge for Talia's custody. I can tell right away that she's been reborn as well.

On the eve of our wedding, Trevin Hoffman's childhood sweetheart, a mercenary who had vanished for five years, was struck by a deadly love spell during a mission. When her teammates dragged her back to him, she was covered in blood, barely clinging to life. Trevin, usually calm and composed, lost control. Ignoring my protests, he locked himself in with her for the entire night. I sat outside that door, sleepless until dawn. The next morning, when I demanded an explanation in hysteria, he shielded her with his body and snapped, his mask completely gone. "I couldn't just watch Wren die. One wild night before marriage, what's so wrong with that?" At that moment, I was disillusioned. My love for him vanished in an instant.

My birthday present this year is a written contract titled 'Behavioral Reform Contract'. My fiance, who was the mafia head Matteo Giovanni, and my parents have already signed their names at the bottom. Together, they had me sent to the Behavioral Correction Center. … The windows are always shut, and the sunlight is filtered through the metal window bars. They drug, reprimand, and ostracize me to make me shove my feelings of aggrievement down. Even while I am being humiliated and punished, they teach me to force a smile and maintain a steady breath. It was all done in the name of "treating" me. A year passes, and I go from being a so-called "troublemaker" to their ideal version of me—quiet, elegant, and utterly perfect. Matteo beams at me and says, "You've finally become my perfect wife. We can finally marry." I match his smile, a gesture that they think means obedience from my part. However, it is not true. It is just me bidding my farewell before I leave for good. There's something I don't understand, however. They constantly found me lacking, so now that I am gone from their lives, why are they falling apart?

My half-sister and I were both married on the same day. She was supposed to be sent away to a distant kingdom as a peace offering, branded with an ill-fated destiny. I was supposed to marry the Crown Prince and become the future queen. Yet the night before our weddings, my stepmother orchestrated a switch. In my previous life, I stormed into the wedding ceremony desperate to expose the truth. My sister immediately threatened to kill herself to prove her innocence. The Crown Prince caught her just in time, but the shock caused her to lose the baby she claimed to be carrying. The Crown Prince was furious. He accused me of fraud and attempted murder of the royal heir. He ordered my head shaved and my face mutilated before having me thrown into the peace bride's carriage. I became the laughingstock of the entire capital. My half-sister took my place as Crown Princess, gave birth to twins, and eventually became the beloved empress. Meanwhile, I died on the road to that foreign land. When I opened my eyes again, drums and music thundered outside. The wedding procession was already waiting. A voice rang out, "By royal decree, we have come for the bride!"

In my previous life, I, Ruth Spencer, fell seriously ill. Because of that, I managed to stop my husband, Zayne Colman, from going on a business trip to the country border. He immediately canceled his flight, pulled me into his arms, and gently comforted me. Over the phone, he gave instructions to my younger sister, Reagan Spencer. "The project comes first. You go in my place." But no one could have known that the so-called business partner was actually a ruthless scam syndicate. Reagan had her organs harvested and was tortured to death. I was devastated. Zayne held my frail body in his arms and hoarsely promised that even though Reagan was gone, he would still love me twice as much. And he kept his promise. For ten years, he never let me suffer at all. In fact, he spoiled me rotten. This went on until the day I gave birth. The pain nearly knocked me unconscious, but Zayne put his hand over the call button to prevent me from summoning help. The words he spoke were laced with malice. "If you hadn't gotten sick at such a convenient time back then, Reagan wouldn't have gone alone! I could have saved her. "It's your fault she's dead! She must feel so lonely down there. You and this bastard child can go keep her company!" That was when I finally realized that our love were nothing but a lie. When I open my eyes again, I am back on the day he is about to leave for that trip to the border. This time, I release them to the path leading to freedom, or, in other words, to hell.

We were on our way to celebrate our son’s birthday when we got into a car crash. When I woke up, I looked at my family gathered around my hospital bed and cracked a joke: “Sorry, but who are you guys?” I held back a smile, curious to see how they'd humor their "amnesiac" patient. Would my mother grab my hand in a panic? Would my husband look at me with worry? Would my son rush over, crying and calling me Mom? What I didn't expect was for them to freeze for a moment—and then, almost in unison, let out sighs of relief. My mother was the first to speak, her tone unmistakably lighter, as if a huge weight had been lifted. "If you don’t remember, it’s probably for the best. This is Lindsay—your sister, she’s my daughter. You were adopted." My husband then pointed at me and said to our son, "You should call her Aunt Wendy." Before the shock could even sink in, I watched the child I'd fought so hard to protect turn and throw himself into the arms of Lindsay. "Mom! I played outside all day. I missed you so much!" So that was the truth. My amnesia was exactly what they'd been hoping for. In that case, I didn't need this made-up life anymore.

On our wedding anniversary, I canceled all my meetings and made a reservation at a restaurant. That evening, my wife, the renowned investigative journalist Amaya Shaw, called me. “Efim, I’m sorry! I just received a tip from a source. It’s urgent. “It involves inside information about a well-known company. I have to go verify it immediately!” But the next day, I saw that Javor Furey, the junior she had brought along, had posted a collage on his social media. The central photo showed Amaya wearing a childish birthday hat. Her head was pressed against Javor’s, as they made a wish together in front of a cake covered in candles. This was the caption. [Thanks, my dear Ms. Shaw! Even in the midst of her busy schedule chasing big stories, she remembered to give me this surprise birthday!] [Chasing big stories.] I stared at those three words. Then, I glanced at the limited-edition bag on our dining table. It was the one she had been raving about for half a year. It was the anniversary gift I had prepared for her. I felt absurd. I commented just two words under that post. [How touching.] Her call came in almost the second I hit send. She sounded furious. “Efim, do you have to be so sarcastic? “It’s just an anniversary. How old are you? Why are you still celebrating such childish anniversaries?” From our first year of marriage to the present, her “tip-offs from informants” and “special circumstances” always took precedence over our promises. This time, she could not even be bothered to come up with a plausible excuse. I did not say anything. I hung up and blocked her number. This marriage was over.