Face Smacking

In the third year of our marriage, my husband's first love got a divorce. He gave her the forty-five thousand dollars we had saved for a house because she was left with nothing and struggling to make ends meet. I urged him to ask for the money back, but he pointed at my face and angrily shouted, "You used to be so gentle and virtuous—what happened? Why are you so selfish, so shallow now?" "Is forty-five thousand dollars really worth you making a fuss over?" "Chloe is starting over with nothing, raising a child on her own. Don't you feel any sympathy for her?" Fine. He was noble, he was merciful. I did not argue further, because the one who needed money for cancer treatment was him, not me.

There's this thing that my mom keeps repeating to me. "I love my children equally. I will always treat you and Brielle the same." It's true that I get everything my sister, Brielle Montgomery, has since we were children. If Brielle has a new backpack, I do too. If Brielle goes for piano lessons, I'll be given the opportunity to attend the same lessons. When I go home for the holidays, my mom digs out two beautiful shopping bags sporting luxury brand logos. With a smile on her face, she hands them to us. "I specifically went to the store to buy you nice coats. Both of you get a coat each. I'll have you know that coats with wool linings are worth thousands of dollars. I don't even have the heart to wear one of these coats. I only bought these coats for you two." As I gaze at the expensive-looking coat, I feel warmth surging into my heart. But when I try on the coat, I feel a weird, scratchy sensation coming from my armpits. After flipping the coat inside out, I notice a few strands of long, dry hair tightly entangled among the seams. I even smell a faint trace of mold mixed with a strong hint of rot that can't be covered up by the cheap fragrance on the coat.

After being reborn, the first thing I did was switch my newborn daughter. In my previous life, soon after she was born, a blood test showed her type was AB. But mine was B, and my husband's was O—there was absolutely no way we could have an AB-type child. My husband flew into a rage and demanded a paternity test on the spot. To everyone's shock, the results proved she was biologically related to me, but not to him. He slapped me hard across the face, his voice trembling with disappointment. "I've always treated you well. I only ever loved you—and this is how you repay me?" My mother-in-law wailed and cursed me for cheating, accusing me of bearing another man's child to steal their family fortune. I was completely stunned. I knew better than anyone who the father of my child was—how could she possibly not be my husband's? In no time, everyone turned against me. They called me a cheater, a tramp. My husband divorced me and went online to play the victim, stirring up a storm of hate and harassment that never seemed to end. With nowhere to go and no one left to believe me, I took my baby in my arms and jumped from a building. Even in death, I couldn't make sense of it all. And when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my daughter was born.

When I died with a smile on my face, right before my brother's eyes, he looked as if the anguish might tear him apart. Yet, for twenty-one years, he hadn't stopped wishing I would meet this exact end. It all traced back to my fifth birthday—the day I had innocently hoped our parents would come home from their business trip to celebrate with me. They rushed back that night but never made it. A car accident took both their lives. From that moment on, my brother resented me, despised me. He didn't just stand idly by as our cousin snatched up my work as her own; he encouraged it. And when my landlord threw me out, it wasn't a random cruelty—it was my brother pulling the strings. All he had ever wanted, from the very beginning, was to see me die a miserable death. But when he finally got his wish… why did he cry, pleading for me to come back, begging me to call him 'brother' one last time?

The night my boyfriend and I celebrate our first anniversary, we get into an accident. My soul travels through time and ends up ten years in the future. Here, I see that my boyfriend and I have married and started a family. It's the future I've dreamed of. However, it seems that I'm out of a job, and I've given up on my dream. I struggle to make it through endless days of my boyfriend's ice-cold treatment. Ultimately, I see myself sitting on the edge of a building's roof after falling deep into postpartum depression. When I open my eyes again, I see my boyfriend's panicked face…

When Sethlzaar, a child of the conisoir, is chosen by a man in a cassock, it is with a confused acceptance that he follows.A life in the priesthood, though for those considered blessed, is no life at all. However, Sethlzaar has nowhere else to be and nothing else to lose. With a new name and a new purpose, he is determined to survive the tests of the seminary as the priests forge him and his new brothers into blades destined to serve as sacrifices to the cause of Truth.In the end, choices will be made, legends born, and loyalties tested.But above all else, Sethlzaar Vi Sorlan will have to face the truth that perhaps he's not as blessed as he'd been led to believe...

At the reunion, someone asked when I was getting married. Grinning, I pulled out the invites. "Mid-October. Be there." Cheers broke out. Everyone peeked at the girl next to me. "You've been with Daphne forever, right? Finally making it official?" Daphne hurled her drink at me. "Ethan Everett, is this your idea of pressuring me into marriage?" The room froze. I wiped my face, cool as ever, and opened the invite in front of her. "Maybe check the name. It doesn't say you're the bride."

My fiancé's secretary had my wedding ring remade into a Hello Kitty trinket. When I confronted her, she twisted the truth with shameless arrogance, insisting that my wedding was hers to decide. I turned to my fiancé for support, only to have him dismiss me as petty and unworthy of being his bride. Together, they ridiculed and humiliated me, unaware that their families' power and future all depended on me. When my superior stepped in, their mockery collapsed in the face of truth. My fiancé fell to his knees, begging me to honor our engagement. But I cast him aside without hesitation, breaking off the marriage and leaving him with nothing.

On the day I'm supposed to get promoted as the deputy director, I pick up a 40-pound barbell before breaking my right arm with it. Because of the injury, I missed the only title-evaluating surgery available in five years. Everyone feels sorry for me, seeing as I've practically ruined my own future with my own hands. But I, on the other hand, am so excited about it that I've downed two bottles of vintage wine in one go. Because in my past life, I spent ten hours in surgery and pulled the patient back from the brink of death. But my wife, Megan Reese, immediately accused me of abusing my power as a doctor just to resolve a personal vendetta by killing her first love, Pierre Hopkins, on purpose. She bribed the nurses who were in the same surgery as me. They were adamant that I used the wrong medication purposefully, which led to the patient dying from a rupture. Not only was my career destroyed, but I also became a public enemy, hated by everyone. My mom tried to seek justice on my behalf, only to get cyberbullied by the Internet users, who knew nothing about the truth, to the point that she broke down. In the end, she accidentally fell into the river and drowned. When I received the tragic news, I chose to end my life by jumping off the hospital's rooftop. After I died, Megan spent my assets however she wanted. She also lived happily ever after with Pierre, who apparently "came back to life". When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day I'm supposed to perform a surgery on Pierre.

At the celebration, the pampered heiress in Crownridge, Aveline Sage, confessed her love for me in front of the entire school. I turned her down flat. I was one of the Sage family's candidates—handpicked top students from every state—to improve their next generation's genes. In a few days, when the exam results came out, whoever earned the highest national score would become her fiance. For three years straight, I had been ranked first in the country. In my previous life, I achieved that top score. I got engaged to Aveline and became the envy of everyone—the son-in-law of Crownridge's most powerful family. But on the day of our engagement, her first love, Caspian Lorne, jumped off the top of the Sage Group building. His body was shattered beyond recognition. Aveline hired the best mortician to restore his face and placed him in a crystal coffin, where she slept beside him every night. During our honeymoon, she brought Caspian's body along, then kissed and clung to him right in front of me. When I confronted her, she looked at me with disgust. "The Sage family sponsored your education for twelve years. You knew Caspian and I were in love. Couldn't you let him win just once? You've been in first place for twelve years. What would it have cost you to lose? You ruined his future, ruined our love. You deserve to die." She drugged me, turned me into a fool with the mind of a three-year-old. I couldn't recognize my parents. I lost control of my own body. And I died in agony. … Then, I opened my eyes again, back on the morning of the exam. Last time, I beat Caspian by a single point. This time, I left an answer blank. Let him be the top scorer. Let him marry her. I hoped they grew old together, with plenty of children to match their love.