Anonymous Noise

When the SAT scores are out, I've scored 400 out of 1600. That's because I never wrote anything on my exam papers. My mom goes crazy, whereas my younger sister, Melinda Bolton, bursts into tears. But I just laugh at them instead. In my previous life, Melinda had formed a pact with the score-swapping system. That was how she swapped our SAT scores. She became the top scorer that all prestigious universities fought to recruit. I, the valedictorian of my year, not only got into a trade school, but I also got expelled from my previous high school. Melinda had the gall to comfort me. "Didn't you call yourself a genius, Melissa? Trade schools are very popular right now. In the future, you'll secure a job at a factory out there!" In this life, I spend my exam hours sleeping in my seat the whole time. Melinda wants to swap her scores, right? Then, let's do it properly!

My sister and I got into a car crash. My heart was ruptured, and I needed immediate surgery if I were to live. My mother, being the director of her hospital, sent all the doctors to my sister instead, all just to check on her. She barely got hurt. I pleaded and begged for my mother to save me, but impatience got the better of her. She roared, "This isn't the time to take any attention away from your sister! She almost had a bone fracture!" And I died. I remember where it was. It was a freezing operating theater.

We’d been together for seven years, but during that entire time, my fiancée rejected the idea of getting married ninety-nine times, all because of a male intern. The first time, she canceled our vacation at the last minute, saying the intern was stuck on a night shift and afraid of the dark. She got on a flight that very night and rushed back to the hospital. The second time, we were already halfway through the doors of the courthouse to get our marriage registered. But just then, she got word that the intern had collapsed from exhaustion. Without a second thought, she left me standing alone in the snow for the entire day. After that, it became a pattern. Every time we were together, the intern would find some excuse to pull her away. Eventually, I made up my mind to let go. I stopped dreaming about a happy marriage with her. However, just when I announced I was transferring to another city, she broke down, begging me, almost hysterically, not to leave.

Six years after donating my heart to my wife, she destroyed the last of my family. Over those six years, she ended my mother’s treatment, letting her die slowly in agony. She deliberately caused a car accident that shattered my father’s spine, forcing him to watch my mother die while trapped in a paralyzed body. Even our daughter was not spared—locked away in a pitch-black basement, she starved to death alone. She did all of this for one reason: to force me—the heartless, faithless man she believed I was—to reveal myself. But during those six years, the love I once had for her turned into boundless hatred. I refused to let my soul dissipate. I stayed—waiting for the day she would learn the truth, and collapse under the weight of her regret.

The day before our wedding, I received an expensive suit from my wife. Not long after, her young lover called me, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. My bad for mixing up your size. Please… please don't blame Sylvie." On the other end, I could hear Sylvie soothing him gently, patiently, until he calmed down. I stared at the plane ticket in my hand—a one-way trip out of the country—and calmly asked her for a divorce. Then, as if I no longer mattered, she left me with a single, cold sentence. "Just don't regret it."

When I was ten, I bugged my brother to come home for my birthday. He died in a plane crash that day. They never found his body. After that, my parents saw me as a total screw-up. They blamed me for his death. Every year on his memorial day, they forced me to kneel at the cemetery and repent my mistakes. I did that for eight years. I figured I'd spend my whole life paying for it. But on my 18th birthday, some creep stalked and murdered me. Right before I died, I tried calling for help. But my mom chewed me out. "I bet you're just dodging your duty to make up for James. You're full of crap. If you hadn't forced him to come back, he would have been alive. This is what you deserve." She hung up, leaving me staring at the dead screen. My last hope was dashed. She was right. Someone like me meant nothing but bad luck to those around me. I didn't deserve to exist. But then, eight years after his death, James showed up with his pregnant wife. When they heard I was gone, they fell apart.

For five years, I was married to Angelo Harmon, who treated me like a queen, earning the envy of everyone around us. But my dream life ended when I discovered he had a second home with a younger woman. When I confronted him, he brushed it off. "It's just a fling for excitement. You’re still my wife. What's the problem?" His callousness repulsed me, pushing me to terminate my pregnancy and walk away.

When Matthew Sinclair accused me of selling company secrets, I expected my girlfriend to stand by me. Instead, Selena Oxford told me to apologize. To the man who framed me. That was the moment I understood that trust was not something you pleaded for. You either had it, or you did not. I resigned the same day, cut every tie, left a ring on the table that she would never wear, and walked out of her life without looking back. I believed we would never cross paths again. Eight years later, at a black-tie banquet, Selena spotted me across the crowd. I was dancing with another woman, moving through the room as if I belonged there. In front of everyone, now known as a corporate powerhouse, she met my gaze with red-rimmed eyes and asked, "Was it for her? Is that why you left me eight years ago?"

On the way to get our marriage certificate for the twentieth time, Rolf Trivett regretted it once again. In eight years, this was our twentieth attempt to get the certificate. But every time we reached City Hall, he would always say he needed time to care for his seriously ill childhood friend and couldn't promise to marry me. This time, I couldn't take it anymore and asked him, "If she’s never going to get better, does that mean you’ll never marry me? What am I to you?" Rolf immediately lost his temper and yelled at me, "I've already promised to take care of her for life. Can you stop being so selfish? "Besides, we've been together for eight years. What difference does it make if we don't get this certificate?"

My husband's ex got kidnapped with me. The guy gave him a choice. "Your ex or your wife. Pick one." Maverick didn't even flinch. He chose her and walked off. After that, hell broke loose. I got tortured till I died. Much later, Maverick decided I was worth remembering. Sent people to find me. Too late. I was already rotting in a dump.