Crossbreed Priscilla

“Brent, please, I didnt cheat on you!” “Shut up!” Here I was begging a man who was a cheat himself— begging him to believe me and take him back. Despite the fact that he had been the one that cheated. But where had the compromising pictures come from? “I can't — I can't b-believe you're choosing your ex over me, Brent! I'm your wife! Your wife!” “Not only have you ruined my reputation, you have ruined my family's name as well. I wish I can erase you and everything we have together from my memories,” he growled at me. “You'll pay for what you've done, Priscilla. I promise you.” “Brent, you have to believe me,” I wept, summoning up the courage to clutch at his arm but he snatched it away from me, making me fall back violently against the table. He produced a set of papers and a pen and slammed them down onto he table. “Divorce papers. I want them signed. Now.” ***************** Sent packing by her husband when she was two months pregnant, Priscilla Sinclair had no one to turn to so she buried herself in her work. Six years later, she met the father of her children who wants her and his kids back. Could there be a chance for him in her life again?

In my past life, my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart, Kimberly Thatcher, claimed to be Lady Luck. She insisted on handing out sachets to keep our team safe for a hike. I, Priscilla Jensen, caught the scent and realized the sachets were stuffed with herbs that would attract wolves. So, I stepped in to stop her, saving everyone from an attack. But Kimberly thought I was looking down on her sachets, and that I was targeting her on purpose. Though she was the leader, she stormed off from the group in anger. We searched the forest under the raging storm. In the end, someone broke a leg, someone else was strangled by poisonous vines, and my shoulder was torn open. By dawn, we found Kimberly's corpse at the bottom of a valley. … On the seventh day after her death, her memorial service became an ambush. While everyone mourned for her, their eyes were fixed on me. My boyfriend, Fabian Lowell, was the first to lash out. He ripped off his bandage, revealing his wound. "If you hadn't stopped Kimberly from giving us those sachets, none of this would have happened! How dare you show up to her memorial service?" he yelled. Everyone turned to glare daggers at me. Suddenly, someone shouted, "It's all your fault! You're the reason we ended up like this! Go to hell!" In the next second, they hurled a pot of boiling stew at me. Then they set the private room ablaze and burned me alive. … When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day of the hike.