Bias

The night I confessed my love to my girlfriend, she wept so hard she could barely breathe. She said she had seen the future, and she wanted to make a promise with me. I asked her why. She only shook her head and said, "I don't remember… all I know is that in the future I regret something terribly. Frank, no matter what happens, you must give me three chances. Will you?" I was deeply in love with Agnes Grey, so I agreed without hesitation. But later, it was as if she had forgotten all about that night—forgotten it when she clung so intimately to her male assistant. Only then did I understand why she'd made me promise that all those years ago. Because the moment I signed my name on the divorce papers, I heard a familiar voice. It was Agnes at nineteen. Through her sobs, she pleaded, "Frank… you promised me, didn't you? You said you'd give me three chances."

I watched as my boyfriend put the ring that he had promised to give me on Sophie White's finger at her birthday party. When I questioned him, Mark Goodman shrugged nonchalantly. "I promised to marry Sophie. Since that's not happening now, the ring is compensation." I was left speechless from rage and so disenchanted that I decided to cut all ties with him. Everyone was cheering when Mark later showed up at a gathering with Sophie, both wearing a matching set of rings. But when they all thought I would make a scene, I smiled faintly. "You two really deserve each other. When are you getting married? Do send me an invite."

My parents' enemy kidnapped me and live-streamed cutting off my fingers, just to force them to show up. For a time, the entire internet was searching for my parents. But what no one knew was that the police chief on the live connection was my real father. At that very moment, he was on a beach in Havai, lighting fireworks for his adopted son. And on their barbecue table, the live stream of my fingers being cut off was playing. Later, I survived long enough to be rescued, and I reached out with my severed fingers, wanting to touch my parents. But they recoiled in disgust and, without so much as a backward glance, took their adopted son out for steak. What they never realized was that hidden inside my severed fingers was something that would make them regret everything.

I've planned seven wedding ceremonies in total, and not once has my fiance, Zachary Gardner, ever shown up for it. The first time, his adopted younger sister, Louise Foster, bursts into tears because she lost her passport at the airport. It was the dead of winter, but he dumped me by the side of the road and left me. The second time, Louise's dog sprained its ankle. Zachary stuffed the ring back into its box and rushed to the animal hospital to accompany her. Every time I argue with him about it, he declares nonchalantly, "We can get married anytime, but I can't let Louise be upset." Everyone around us agrees with him, saying that we're all family anyway, so I shouldn't be so petty. None of them has seen Zachary and Louise kissing fiercely on the dance floor. Today is the seventh wedding ceremony. Once again, he turns to leave after getting a call. I grab the corner of his shirt and say in a choked voice, "If you leave this time, Zachary, I won't marry you anymore." He stops in his tracks and peels off my fingers. "Wait for me," he says before rushing off. What he doesn't know is that this time, I won't be waiting for him any longer.

It was pure coincidence—or perhaps some twisted stroke of fate—that I happened to be passing by when Kevin Ford was ambushed by his enemies. He would have died right there if I hadn't saved him. After that day, he claimed he had fallen hopelessly in love with me. He said it in the quietest hours of the night, when our limbs were tangled beneath the sheets, "I can't live without you." Within three months, he proposed. The entire Raellere City's elite was scandalized. They said I must have bewitched him, brewed some kind of love potion. But one day, I stood just outside the door—silent, unseen—while the truth unraveled on the other side. "I have too many enemies," he said. "I can't let Audrey become their target. Cate is obedient. If one day she dies in Audrey's place, well, that would be a blessing for her." In that moment, the light in my eyes—once bright with love, hope, and foolish dreams—was extinguished completely.

As we make our way to the city hall, Paisley Doyle is struck by regret once again. After seven years together, this is the 11th time we've found ourselves at this crossroads. Every time we reach the city hall, she claims she needs more time to care for her sick first love and can't bring herself to marry me. Unable to hold back any longer, I finally decide to confront her. "If his condition never improves, does that mean you'll never marry me? Tell me, what do I even mean to you?" Paisley's temper ignites, and she snaps back at me without a second thought. "I promised to take care of him for the rest of my life! Can't you stop being so selfish? "Besides, we've been together for seven years. What does it matter if we're not legally married?"

I was in the late stages of kidney failure, but my husband, Calvin Quayle, gave the kidney that was the best match for me to my younger sister, Louella Lassiter. The doctor urged me to wait for another donor, but I refused. I checked out of the hospital early. I had stopped caring long ago. What was even the point of fighting anymore? I transferred all the assets I'd accumulated over the years to Louella, finally pleasing Mom and Dad. I didn't even get mad when Calvin hovered over Louella like he was some kind of devoted nurse. Instead, I told him to take good care of her. And when my son, Nathan Quayle, said he wanted Louella to be his mom? I smiled and said yes. They got exactly what they wanted, so why were they suddenly regretting it now?

I died on the day I won the Global Medical Doctorate Award. Fresh from celebrating the sixteenth birthday of my younger sister, my parents, brother, and my fiancé finally returned home, but it was three hours after my death. My family photos were beaming with happiness on social media, while I laid in the suffocating basement drenched in blood. Before I died, I had struggled to slide my tongue across my phone screen in a desperate attempt to call for help. My parents and brother had blocked my number. Only my fiancé answered my call. The moment his voice came through, he snapped, "Winona, Winnie's sixteenth birthday is important. Stop trying to hijack attention with your pathetic excuses. Enough with the theatrics!" It murdered my last spark of survival. In that electronic death rattle, my heart flatlined. The 100th time they chose her. The 100th time they abandoned me for her. But it was also the last time. They thought I had ran way to get their attention again, and that if they taught me a harsh lesson, I would come crawling back pathetically. But not this time. Because I didn't leave home. I had been lying in the basement of my house.

I was six months pregnant when my husband's childhood sweetheart showed up on Christmas Eve, pregnant too, demanding her place in his life. Smiling, I welcomed her in. "Come on in. Make yourself at home." In my previous life, I had forced my husband to kick Shirley out. She collapsed from low blood sugar and froze to death that very Christmas Eve. Matthew did not hold it against me. On the contrary, he softened, stayed by my side and took care of me while I waited to give birth. However, when the baby came, despite being an obstetrician himself, Matthew sent our healthy newborn son straight to the morgue. I begged him desperately, but his face was twisted with hatred. "If you hadn't been so petty and dramatic, Shirley wouldn't have died along with her baby!" "You're heartbroken over your son? Then go freeze to death too. Pay for Shirley’s life with your own life." Just like that, I opened my eyes again, back to the moment Shirley arrived on Christmas Eve.

My fiancé leaves me jilted on our wedding day and marries my sister. As I stand there, feeling humiliated, William Sterling gets on one knee before me and asks me to marry him. Everyone in my city knows of him—he's an elite bachelor and every woman's dream. Yet now, he slips a wedding band onto my ring finger and confesses his love for me. "I've always loved you, and I thank the heavens for giving me the chance to spend my life with you." We get married, and he treats me well. Everyone knows that he won't fall for anyone other than me. Everything changes when I accidentally enter his studio in the seventh year of our marriage. I see that he's painted thousands of portraits of my sister, Ivy Winslow. Each one is a tender confession of his love for her. The man I love with all my heart earnestly prays to the heavens and utters his wish. He's willing to sacrifice anything for Ivy to be happy, including his life. It turns out what I thought was seven years of love was nothing but a lie. Ivy is the one he's loved all along. If that's the case, I'll back out. I'll leave in three days, and I hope he and Ivy can be happy together.