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When the results were released, my stepbrother, Dylan Anderson, conspired with our class teacher and accused me of cheating. When they presented the two examination papers with the exact steps written out, I was rendered speechless. My biological parents forced me to admit that I cheated to protect Dylan’s reputation. Then, they forcefully sent me to a mental asylum. To cover up the scandal, the Anderson family told everyone that I had gone insane. They left me to suffer alone. I finally escaped, but died tragically in a car accident facilitated by Dylan. When I died, I finally learned that the phrase “blood was thicker than water” held no truth. It was no match to Dylan’s lies. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the past. I was in the examination hall again. I handed in four blank examination papers. I wanted to see how they could accuse me of cheating if I scored zero on all papers.

On the day my sight returned, our family doctor, Anna Leone, stood right in front of me and mouthed to my husband, Don Marco Vitale, "Double the lubricant tonight. I promise it'll send you straight to heaven, my Don." Marco pressed a gentle kiss to my eyes. Then he turned away and replied with the same silent lip movements, "You little tease. That mouth of yours—and the one below—I'm crazy about them both." The two of them exchanged a knowing smile, convinced their secret was flawless. What they didn't know was that not only had my vision fully recovered—I was also fluent in lip-reading. My gaze drifted to the bottle of lubricant sitting brazenly in the wall cabinet. I said nothing. Instead, I quietly sent a single text message: [Papa, I've decided to come home.] In three days, I would vanish completely. All I would leave behind for them would be the hollowed-out fortune of billions—and that bottle of "lubricant" I had replaced with high-strength industrial superglue.

On my birthday, my boyfriend ditched his childhood friend's desperate call to be with me. Devastated by his rejection, she spiraled into depression and ended her life. Heartbroken, he proposed to me beside her body. "I've already lost Giselle. I can't lose you, too." I said yes, moved by his grief and sincerity. But on our wedding night, he turned on me, hacking me with a knife. "You vile woman! Giselle died because of you. Time to feel her pain!" As I bled out, the girl waltzed back, saying she'd faked her death to spook him. Overjoyed, he pointed at my corpse. "Thank God, you're alive. This wretched woman is gone, and we're free to be together." They looted my wealth for their lavish wedding and happy life. When my eyes snapped open again, I was back on that fateful birthday.

My husband and his beloved mistress died together in a car accident. They left me with a pair of illegitimate children. Eighteen years passed in a blur. I poured my heart and soul into raising those children until, at last, they earned admission to Corvell University, the country's top university. But on the very day they received their acceptance letters, my 'dead' husband returned. And beside him stood his mistress. She clutched my husband's arm and beamed at me. "Thanks to your tireless care, my two sons finally made it into Corvell. If not for you, the two of us wouldn't have been free to live so happily together all these years..." Later, my husband demanded a divorce. He wanted to marry his mistress and reunite their perfect little family of four. I didn't cry, nor did I rage. I only smiled and said, "Sure."

I've been reborn back to the day my husband, Logan Lane, cheats on me. The first thing I do is request my colleague, Emma Kerr, to switch shifts with me at work. In my previous lifetime, Logan slept with my best friend, Yvonne Colton, behind my back. Since the toys they had used in their session were far too intense, their bodies ended up getting stuck together, so they had to be sent to the ER. Emma performed a surgery on them. Logan and Yvonne were fine after that. Upon receiving the news, I couldn't accept reality at all. I cried so much that I ended up fainting. When I woke up, Logan sent me a document. The document stated that if I were to demand a divorce, I couldn't take a single cent with me. That meant I had to give up on all of my assets. I refused to do so. But Logan merely chuckled coldly in return. "Mariella, Yvonne and I are just friends with benefits. You're the one who insists on getting a divorce, which makes you the one ruining our family. It's only natural that you can't take a single cent with you." I tried to go to the court to prove that Logan was the one cheating on me in our marriage. I even tried to file for a divorce there as well. But then, I found out that someone had already deleted the security footage in the hospital during my collapse. This left me without any solid evidence at all. On the day I lost the court case, Logan didn't hesitate to rub salt into my wound. "Just give up already, Mariella. So what if you have evidence and videos of my infidelity? You're just a regular doctor in the ER, whereas I'm the CEO of Lane Group. I'm the one who earned all of the assets. In fact, I have to give you extra money every month because that meager salary of yours can't sustain you at all. Who would rule in your favor anyway?" I couldn't do anything about Logan's underhanded ways at all. In order to stay with him, I had already cut off all ties with my dad and my family, who happened to be the only support I had in my life, a long time ago. Feeling extremely defeated, I wandered on the street in a daze. That was how I got run over by a speeding truck. When I open my eyes again, I've gotten reborn. The first thing I do is to switch shifts with Emma.

My husband chooses to stay in a honeymoon suite with his secretary during a company teambuilding event. "I'm in poor health, so I need Mr. Lowe by my side to care for me when I'm taking a dip in the hot springs. I'm sure Elaine won't be mad because she's so generous, right?" My husband wraps an arm around her waist, sounding displeased as he says, "Ignore her. I'd have wasted my time on her if she's so petty!" Our colleagues chime in. "Exactly! It's best to get a divorce if your wife gets jealous so easily! Now, Ms. Klein is gentle and considerate. You're a lucky man, Mr. Lowe!" I'm the one who recruited all of these people into the company, yet they all now despise me. Since none of them like me, there's no need for the company to exist anymore. I text my parents. "Don't bother investing in the company anymore. I no longer want it."

I've just returned from the world's biggest tech summit when my mentor, who's like a father to me, calls. He tells me he's arranged for me to marry his close friend's son, Jonathan Ford. Jonathan is one of Javron's rising stars. A few of my patents are licensed to his company, and they form the core technology of his new product. I work late to wrap up everything in the lab. Then, I dress up and head to the engagement ceremony. Unexpectedly, I'm stopped at the door by Jonathan's secretary, Linda Jones. She wears a lavish gown and looks more like the bride than I do. "Turn around and scram if you know what's good for you," she says with a sneer. "You're just an orphan from the countryside—think twice about whether you're worthy of our CEO." I ask, "Does Jonathan know you're making decisions for him like this?" She lets out a contemptuous laugh. "You're nothing but a pretty face who needs to ride on her mentor's reputation to get married. How can you possibly understand the weight I carry in Mr. Ford's heart?" A blush spreads across her face as she speaks. I study her for a few seconds, then call Jonathan. "If your idea of courtesy is leaving your fiancee standing outside the venue, then here's how I'll repay the favor. I'll let you read the contract and watch as I sell my patents to your competitor. How does that sound?"

In the third year of my engagement to Jack, he found himself a pureblooded, sharp-fanged huntress up in the Northern Territory. The night before my birthday, he brought her to me—just to call off the bond. He looked at me, cold and distant. “Bethel and I both live for the thrill of the night hunt. You're just a greenhouse wolf—soft and sheltered. You’ll never get what makes it all so addictive.” I asked, holding back the hurt, “Did it really have to be today?” He chuckled, “Did breaking a bond require a date on the calendar?” I nodded without arguing. But the next month, we ended up in the same Blood Moon Trial up north. What he didn’t know was—I tasted the rush of the hunt, the heat of blood, and got the champion long before he even came of age. Later, on his birthday, I sealed a life bond with another powerful wolf. He looked at me, red-eyed and hoarse, voice barely his, “Did it have to be today?” I smiled back, “Life bonds need good omens. The moon’s just right tonight.”

After I hand over my five-million-dollar commission to my departmental colleagues, they drag me to a hotel and celebrate with me for three days straight. But when I walk past the bathroom, I overhear a conversation between two of my colleagues that stops me cold. "Have the results of the vote been released yet?" What vote? Confused, I check my phone and find that I've been removed from the Project Department's group chat. "Who else could it be? Our hero, Zane Carter, received 11 votes. It was unanimous, and the motion was passed." "Serves him right. I've never liked him anyway." I freeze. I can't believe that my colleagues would betray me after what I've done for them. After taking a moment to calm down, I immediately decide to resign. The next thing I know, I receive a call from the company chairman, Wilson Smith. "Have you made up your mind? Quitting now would breach your contract. As a result, your five-million-dollar commission would be revoked. "You're also a key technical staff member. If you leave, your entire department would most likely be dismissed. Once that happens, your colleagues will end up unemployed. Are you sure about this?" I lower my gaze and let out a cold laugh. "Absolutely."

I worked for a restaurant, and our boss loved making empty promises about giving us restaurant shares. The boss said we would start with zero shares, but we could earn 0.01% for every two hours of overtime, covering someone else’s work or saving the restaurant 1,000 bucks. I suggested she write this down in an official document and have someone track it properly. She just smiled and told everyone to work harder. She never actually put it in writing. The experienced staff did not believe her, but one prep cook took it seriously. At the end of the year, he went to the boss to claim his shares. The boss said, “Sorry, the head chef told me there’s no official document, so it doesn’t count. You can’t claim any shares.” The prep cook worked hard all year and got nothing for it, so he took his anger out on me. The day before I was going home for the New Year, he killed me with a knife. “If you hadn’t said it doesn’t count without an official document, this whole restaurant would’ve been mine!” I lay in a pool of blood. When I opened my eyes, I was back to the day the boss first made those empty promises.