Here Perfect

I'm on track to be a top student, but I end up taking the SAT twice. The first time, I score high enough to get into Westbridge University. The second time, my score qualifies me for Northfield University. Each time, I score over 1500. Yet when the admissions teams see my name, not a single school admits me. At first, I think it must be some kind of background check, certain they've found something in my record. But my parents are honest, hardworking people. They've never broken the law. They wouldn't even harm a fly. So I try a third time. My SAT score is 1580, and my GPA is still perfect. This time, I apply to Crestwood University, thinking I finally have it in the bag. The Crestwood University admissions officer arrives full of cheer, but the moment he sees my name, he freezes, immediately realizing there is no way I will be accepted. I rack my brain, trying to figure out what is wrong with my name. Why does seeing it make every school hesitate, even though my scores are perfect?

During the two months that I was away for a competition, my neighbors insulted me in the neighborhood’s common group chat. [The girl living on the ninth floor, you look like a decent girl. Why are you bringing so many men back home every day?] [Can you moan a little softer? I don’t care if you’re a sex worker, but if you keep making loud noises until midnight, don’t blame me for calling the police!] [Don’t call the police yet. I haven’t had my turn. How much are you charging, Charlene?] My heart sank. Before I left for my competition, I had asked my boyfriend, Jacob Smith, to take care of my luxury river-view apartment. That way, he could keep an eye on my expensive paintings. What was happening? I rushed home in confusion, but when I opened the door, I was further dumbfounded. My 3,000-square-foot apartment had been partitioned into 30 rooms. Meanwhile, Jacob’s childhood friend, Prissy Black, was holding a string of keys as she collected rent money. When they saw me, everyone started laughing. “What? Are you here to rent from Prissy after learning that she’s providing cheap rooms in such a pristine location? “Too bad everyone knows that you’re eyeing her boyfriend. You won’t be able to benefit from doing such a thing!” I was extremely furious as I approached Jacob to talk about it. However, he told me that it was Prissy’s dream to be a landlady. He asked me not to pay it any mind and to treat it as doing a good deed. “You’re rich anyway. Don’t be so calculative. Everyone’s happy now, so what’s wrong with that?” The keys tinkled in Prissy’s hand as if they were taunting me. “This house doesn’t welcome stray animals like you. You have yourself to blame for not having such a nice boyfriend.” The two of them acted all lovey-dovey in front of me, and I immediately called the police. “Someone’s trespassing on my property, and my painting that’s worth 15 million dollars has gone missing. What type of punishment would this entail?”

When my husband, Austin Hart, and I participated in the earthquake disaster relief, he discovered the corpse of his first love, Stacy Deleon, in the collapse zone. That night, Austin left a suicide note behind before jumping off the building with our son, Clifford Hart, in order to reunite with Stacy in the afterlife. Only then did I realize that both Austin and Clifford never cared about me, to begin with. When I was reborn, I returned to the moment when Austin first asked for a divorce. This time, I agreed to the divorce immediately. I even gave the custody of the three-year-old Clifford to Austin right away. Five years later, we meet again at an auction. Austin laces fingers with Stacy while taking Clifford's hand with the other. He mocks me, "It's only been five years, Kendra. You're really that shameless now, huh? You can't wait to latch onto me again now that you've found out I'm here!" Clifford mocks me as well. "Mom… Wait, you should be Ms. Powell to me now. You should stop pestering my dad already. My parents and I are living a very happy life right now." I just ignore them. Instead, I grab my daughter, Faye Gilmore, who has been sneaking food off the table, and steer her back to our seats. But Austin flies into a fit of rage instantly. A vein pops out of his hand, which is still laced with Stacy's fingers. "You really are shameless, Kendra Powell! We've only been separated for five years, yet you already have a daughter that old? I can't believe you're willing to resort to such despicable methods just to make me jealous! Which bastard did you have that bastard child with, huh?"

My husband, Garrett Kachmar, vanished overseas with his ex, Linda Sharpe. They left me with one thing—an illegitimate, screaming baby. Twenty years later, I posted that my "son" had passed his exams. He was joining the police force. That's when Garrett came back. With Linda. And a lawsuit. At the plaintiff's table, Linda looked polished—soft makeup, perfect posture. Her voice? Pure control. "After Garrett divorced, we got married and had a big, healthy boy. Jemma couldn't stand seeing us happy, so she stole our son. We searched for twenty years. She refuses to give him back. We're his biological parents. We have the right to take him." Garrett shot me a glare. "Jemma, just because you can't have kids doesn't mean you get to steal mine." The trial was livestreamed. The comments exploded. [Can't have your own kid so you steal one?] [You destroyed a family. Sick.] [Give him back to his real parents!] Then my "son" was called into the courtroom. And the whole room went dead quiet.

On the day of my son's one-month celebration, my notoriously stingy sister-in-law surprised me with a branded baby bottle. But instead of accepting it, I turned away and gave it to the neighbor's cruel son who had XYY syndrome. In my previous life, I had accepted that bottle with genuine gratitude, using it day and night to feed my son. I never imagined that a month later, in the dead of night, my son would suddenly suffer a heart attack and die in my arms. Strangely enough, the very next day after my son passed, my sister-in-law's sickly child—who had been confined to the neonatal intensive care unit since birth—was miraculously discharged in perfect health. Losing my son shattered me completely. I spent my days drowning in tears. My husband called me a cursed woman, claimed I brought nothing but disaster, and demanded a divorce. Not only that, but he insisted I leave with nothing. When I refused, he and my sister-in-law joined forces and accidentally beat me to death. It wasn't until after I died that I learned the truth. The woman I had thought was my husband's younger sister wasn't his blood relative at all. She had been adopted by his mother years ago to be raised as his future wife. Together, they had plotted to destroy me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day my sister-in-law handed me that baby bottle.

Richard Montague, a rich heir in Durmask, has just posted a new tweet on Twitter. The accompanying photo features a luxurious winery. The caption reads, "My wife loves this place a lot, so I bought it immediately." I tap on the photo, soon realizing that this is Amie Winery, the same place that I had briefly mentioned to Richard last week. Then, I recall the fact that he has told me that he's prepared a surprise anniversary gift for me in a mysterious tone. So, this winery must be the gift! With a wide smile on my face, I respond to his tweet in the comment section. But three minutes later, Kiara York, a popular celebrity from the same company that I'm in, quickly proclaims her love for Richard on the Internet. "Wow, my husband is so generous! I'm very satisfied with this gift!" All the onlookers and fans begin shipping Kiara and Richard like mad overnight. "What a sweet relationship! As expected of the rich heir in Durmask! Even the way he announces his relationship is very domineering!" The whole turn of events leaves me feeling stunned. Once I realize that Kiara is just trying to ride on the coattails of Richard's popularity, I quickly post a picture of my marriage certificate online. It comes with a caption. "If she's the legitimate wife, then who am I?" But Kiara soon posts a marriage certificate of her own. To my surprise, there's a photo attached to the certificate. Richard's face is shown in the photo. Kiara mocks me, "There's a limit to being a lunatic fangirl, you know! Rick and I are husband and wife by law! You can't just slap a Photoshopped picture here and pretend that he's your husband!" As I stare at both copies of the marriage certificates, which show the courthouse's stamp, I fall in deep contemplation. Then, I look at the place Kiara tagged on her Twitter comment. Finally, I can't resist calling Richard, who's currently overseas. "How dare you engage in bigamy behind my back!"

After three years of renting, the landlord kept raising the rent, so I decided not to renew the lease. I hired cleaners to thoroughly clean the entire place, inside and out. There was not a single scratch on the furniture or appliances. I figured the landlord would not return the deposit easily, but I never imagined she would come out swinging with such outrageous demands. “This dining table cost me 25,000 dollars! You got it dirty, and we can’t clean it. You owe me 25,000! “How did this living room lamp get so dusty? Don’t you know how to clean as a girl? We’ll have to deduct 1,500 from your deposit! “There are hooks on the wall. You damaged my walls! 2,000 for that! “This mattress... Hmph. You live-streamers probably brought home who knows how many men. This one’s ruined anyway. There goes 15,000! “Why are there strands of hair in the bathroom? How am I supposed to rent this out to the next tenant? Five hundred for cleaning fees!” She tapped away at her calculator, then thrust it in my face. “You’ve lived here for three years. I’ll give you a friend’s discount. I won’t charge extra for the other damages. Pay me 50,000 dollars, and we’ll call it even! “Otherwise, I’ll expose you online and make you lose followers!” I glanced at the live stream that had 50,000 viewers at the time. When I looked up again, my face was only a mask of smiles. “Ms. Lane, let me think about it. I’ll give you an answer in two days.”

On my wedding day, my best friend, Beatrice Hopper, buys a lottery ticket from a convenience store and gives it to me as a wedding gift. I initially believe that she's joking, but when I see the unmistakable disdain in her eyes, I know something is off. "They say it's the thought that counts. This gift is precisely how I show that I care. Besides, I'm pregnant and need money for everything right now. I don't want you to feel bad about taking my money," she says. Honestly, I'm disappointed. But since it's my wedding, I can only stand there and watch as my best friend drags her entire family to the reception for free food and drinks. As expected, the wedding ends on a sour note. The two of us part ways unhappily. What I don't see coming, though, is winning 50 million dollars in the lottery that night. Elated, I tell my husband the news, and we head to the lottery office first thing in the morning to claim the prize. The news quickly spreads among our friends and family. But by the afternoon, Beatrice pounds on my door, demanding I return the lottery ticket. "I should've been the winner!" she screamed. "I was the one who bought it, so why should you take away my prize?" I keep backing away from her, panic flooding my entire body, so much so that I don't even notice she's holding a knife. The last thing I expect is for her to swing it at me in the middle of our struggle. By the time I realize what's happening, the blade is already buried in my husband's chest. I try to call the police, but Beatrice yanks me back. We grapple, stumble, and crash through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Eventually, we fall to our deaths in the courtyard below. The universe must've had mercy on me because when I open my eyes again, I'm back at the moment she hands me that lottery ticket. Here comes my second chance.

My so-called best friend pretends to be me and steals my identity as the CEO. She spends money recklessly and announces she'll buy apartments in the city for our long-time employees. Everyone praises her as the perfect boss. Not only that, but she also steals my husband. Even my son calls her "Mommy". So, when I'm accused of having bipolar disorder and other mental health issues, no one speaks up for me. My young son has no idea that I am his birth mother. The company and assets my parents have left me have been taken by my best friend, too. In the end, my body ulcerates, and I pass away in a psychiatric hospital. When I open my eyes again, I realize I'm back on the day my best friend used my money to buy apartments for our employees. She stands in the center of the crowd, taking in all the praises. "You're beautiful and so is your heart, Ms. Moore! You care about us so much, always handing out bonuses. And now, you want to set up a fund to help us buy homes? I'd work for you until I die!" And so, I quietly change the password on the bank card that funds all this. This time, I'll make sure my dear friend and my beloved husband experience the "wonderful" life they truly deserve.

Before the SATs, everyone had filled in their dream colleges they'd like to apply to. Now that the results were out, my boyfriend, Sheldon Miller, and many of my classmates had successfully gotten into Astraeus University, which happens to be their dream university. In order to celebrate the success, Sheldon's childhood friend, Winnie Frost, decided to invite Sheldon and the classmates over to the tattoo parlor her family ran for celebratory tattoos. I grabbed Sheldon's hand and reminded him that students in aviation majors weren't allowed to have tattoos of their own, only to get slapped by him instead. The classmates around me even started mocking me relentlessly. "Just how shameless are you, Cassandra? Sheldon and Winnie are the actual childhood friends here! You don't want him to get a tattoo at her family's parlor out of jealousy, right?" I was so pissed that I could feel a headache coming. For the sake of Sheldon's future, I forcibly dragged him away. But what I didn't expect was that Winnie would secretly carry two barrels of gas to my residence. Just like that, she set my residence ablaze. That fire ended up killing my parents and me. Sheldon and our classmates even forged Winnie's alibi just so they could wash her off the police's suspicion. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Sheldon is about to walk into Winnie's tattoo parlor. Sheldon shakes my hand off ruthlessly and begins berating me angrily. "Aren't you just being jealous because Winnie and I are close to each other? I'll have you know that not only do I want to get a tattoo with Winnie, but I also want to have her name tattooed on my body!" This time, I just flash a wide smile at him. "Go on, then. You'd better have her name tattooed on an obvious spot."