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A tragic love story of a happily married couple; when Nicholas lost his memory due to an accident at work, Reign does all she can to help him remember who is she. But it isn't so easy, because his family and a controlling ex try all they can to keep the two apart. Can Reign help Nicholas remember?

The maid's daughter, who grew up in my home, had the nerve to act like an heiress. On her birthday, she invited every kid from school for a full-on rager at my family's villa. When I suggested they take it to a hotel, she lost it. "You don't get to tell me what to do! My friends can party wherever they want!" She added, "The ten-layer cake my parents ordered for me is on the way. Why don't you park yourself by the door and wait for it, huh?" Her crew circled up, laughing and pointing at me. But I'd lived through this before. Nothing about her little act rattled me. I turned to the butler and told him to lock the gate. Then, I went to Rambo's cage. "Hey, buddy," I said, opening it up. "See those trespassers?" I pointed at the crowd. "I'm counting to three. If they're still here, don't let a single one get away."

Olivia Parker, after she was forced on by an unknown man at the hospital where her sick father was just proclaimed dead, finds herself pregnant a month later. Left with no other choice than to keep the pregnancy, she drops out of school at the age of 18. Six years later.. Olivia's son grew up to be the exact replica of her new boss.. Damien Sterling! "Who is his father?!" His voice echoed multiple times into her ears. "I don't have one, talk to my mummy with respect!"

Tunnels deconstructs the individual’s Romantic fascination with ‘love’ or the grammaticality of beauty. Ideally, the ‘tunnels’ in the collection are subterranean love poems from the suburban imaginary. These seemingly syntactic tunnels travel through one’s literary imagination or heterotopic dreamscapes, and while αγάπη (Greek for ‘love’) inspires these rhizomic tunnels to navigate the abysmal ‘meta-spectacle’ of gesture, language or moment of poemness, the mind like the many-colored jeepneys of Manila, where driving past roast goose restaurants in Shek Kip Mei or spotting stilt houses in Kampong Kleang, attempt to explore the transgeneric textualities of the everyday, alongside the unstructurality of time and space, the littoral and the liminal.

On day ten of our cold war, Barry posted a pic—him and Lyla, locked in a kiss. His 'one true love.' I sent in my study abroad application without a word. At our grad party, he strolled in with Lyla, fingers laced with hers, looking at her with all his affection. A friend hesitated. "But what about Amelia? She loves you. You guys are getting married." Barry smirked. "She was just a stand-in. Now that Lyla's back, my fiancée should change too." So I slipped off the ring, handed it over, and disappeared. And he lost it. Tore through everything trying to find me. Years later, he finally did. Saw me with my husband, picking out baby supplies. His eyes went red. "Amelia, come back with me. Please?"

My husband's true love, Yvonne Sullivan, requests to operate on me when I'm due for a kidney transplant surgery. I'm vehemently against it, but my husband, Charles Gunner, still allows Yvonne to practice on me. My artery bursts during the operation, but she can't handle it. She panics. The hospital wants Charles to take over, but he objects. "Don't pressure Yvonne too much. Anyway, the patient won't die. If she does, I'll sign an agreement stating that the hospital has no fault in this." After the surgery, I display major signs of rejection, prompting an emergency rescue alert throughout the hospital. However, Charles is celebrating with Yvonne. He doesn't answer his phone. I'm lying in the ICU when I receive a text from him. "I'm guiding Yvonne on her dissertation at home. Don't come back when you wake up—I don't want you to disturb us."