I Thought My Time Was Up 65

My husband finally thinks about me three years after my death. The reason? His childhood sweetheart's leukemia has relapsed, and she needs another bone marrow transplant. He comes to my place, wanting to make me sign a donor agreement. However, he finds that the place has long been vacated. He asks a neighbor about it. "Are you talking about Kristen? She's long dead! I heard it was because someone dragged her away for a bone marrow donation when she was already sick. She died a few days after returning home." My husband refuses to believe that. He thinks my neighbor and I have conspired to lie to him. He says impatiently, "If you see her, tell her I won't pay the medical bills for that child she's been raising if she doesn't come to see me in three days." My neighbor shakes her head when she sees how stubborn my husband is. She mutters, "The poor child has already starved to death, though…"

Ever since my CEO husband returned from his business trip, he's been acting strange. His hugs are stiff, and his kisses are empty. Even when we're intimate, something just feels off. When I ask him why, he just smiles and says he's tired from work. But everything falls into place the moment I see his first love stepping out of his Maybach, her body covered in hickeys. That's when I finally give up. I don't argue or cry. I just smile… and tear up the 99th love coupon. Once, he wrote me a hundred love letters. On our wedding day, we made a promise—those letters would become 100 love coupons. As long as there were coupons left, I'd grant him anything he asked. Over the four years of our marriage, every time he left me for his first love, he'd cash in one. But what he doesn't know is that there are only two left.

When my husband Joshua dragged his student Linda Moore into our apartment, I didn't even blink—I gave up the bed. Last time, it'd been pouring when he showed up with her in the middle of the night. Told me to crash on the floor with my daughter Mia and gave Linda the bed like it was nothing. I lost it. Fought with him, snapped at her. She bolted, slipped into a ditch, and supposedly drowned. Joshua said nothing. Then, one night, with the storm going wild outside, he pried open a manhole and dumped me and Mia in like trash. "Linda's my mentor's daughter. She's dead—how am I supposed to face him? You two can apologize yourselves." We didn't even get to scream before that freezing, disgusting water swallowed us whole. Turns out, Linda faked the whole thing. Just a twisted joke to punish me. Joshua moved her in right after, like nothing happened. Now, thunder cracked again as the door opened—and there he was, Linda right behind him.

When you give up your dream job for an abandoned baby at your doorstep, Five years later, a mysterious billionaire almost sends you to the police station?! Him: How dare you steal my daughter?! Turns out, his daughter and your adopted girl are twins? And now, you're forced to move into his mansion...

“Who am I supposed to be this time — the boy they love, or the man they lost?” Eli, a 25-year-old orphan who’s fought his whole life to survive, finally lands his dream job. But before he can take his first real breath of happiness, a freak accident claims his life. When he wakes up, he’s in the body of a 19-year-old boy with his same name, a rich family, and everything Eli never had. But behind the family’s perfect smiles lurk whispers of betrayal, greed, and death. Then, the memories come. Not just his own — but those of another man: a brilliant young CEO, poisoned by his own stepmother and stepsister. Two souls. Two deaths. One body. And one haunting question: Why him? As Eli’s worlds collide, so do the people who once loved them. — The CEO’s secret crush who swore revenge. — The orphan’s loyal boyfriend who refuses to move on. — The young heir’s fiancée who senses a stranger behind familiar eyes. Now burdened with three lives’ worth of pain, love, and unfinished stories, Eli must uncover the truth behind his rebirth… and decide whether this second life is a chance for redemption — or the cruelest punishment of all.

My mother-in-law, Eleanor, was having a heart attack, and my husband, Ben Dover—a heart surgeon—was the only one who could save her. Did I call him? Nope. I just stood there, watching her gasp like a fish out of water. In my last life, I'd begged Ben to come save her. He brushed me off, accusing me of interrupting his time with his mistress, Ima Schit. No matter how much I pleaded, he wouldn't come. Eleanor had died in the hospital. And when Johnny, my father-in-law, demanded answers, Ben flipped the script, saying I'd never even called. He made Eleanor's death my fault. Johnny, blinded by grief and fury, killed me. But plot twist—I woke up. Right back to the day this circus started.

My father-in-law, George Lane, suffered from a brain aneurysm and fell onto the ground. The floor was covered in his blood. I calmly picked up a mop and wiped the floor clean. As his daughter-in-law, I gave up on saving him within the most critical time. In my last life, I was the first person who found out that George was injured. I immediately got an ambulance and sent him to the hospital. Before the surgery, the hospital required his immediate family member to sign off the consent form. However, when I asked my husband, Brian Lane to come to the hospital to sign that document, he thought that I was acting out of jealousy because he was spending time with his first-love. He thought I was making an excuse to get him home, so he refused to go to the hospital. In the end, George passed away as he did not receive the treatment on time. Brian did not manage to see George for the last time, and he blamed it all on me. He then hacked me to death. “It’s your fault! My dad was so old, and you didn’t take good care of him as a daughter-in-law! Since you’re not doing your part when he’s alive, then you should continue your duties as a daughter-in-law in hell!” When I opened my eyes, I found myself on the day when George died again.

Livia Lumiere Carlos is a beautiful lady. Others were always deceiving and tricking her. She had difficulty on their hands. Others used her as an errand girl - their slave - while mocking her behind her back for her brilliant mind, commitment, and innocence. But when her husband cheated on her with her best friend, she decided enough was enough. However, Livia died of a sudden heart attack with her dying wish to turn back time. "Whoever stands in my way, I will mercilessly trample them," she promised. "Livia, the slave and errand girl, is no more."

My name is Ivy Lawson. At 3:00 am, I get a call from Christina McSpire, a parent of one of my students. "Hello, Ms. Lawson, I noticed Zoe only spent five dollars on her meal yesterday. Did she not eat any meat?" she asks. Pushing through my exhaustion, I reply, "Don't worry, Mrs. Street. I'll check on it tomorrow." Another half hour goes by, and she calls again. "It's supposed to rain tomorrow. Can you remind Zoe to bring an umbrella?" I can hardly keep my eyes open. "Got it," I reply absentmindedly. A few minutes later, my phone rings once more. "Please make sure Zoe brushes her teeth for three minutes. It's also important that she scrubs each side of her face at least three times." Suppressing my frustration, I calmly respond, "Zoe is in her senior year of high school. I'm sure she's capable of taking care of herself." I expect that to be the end of it, but when I wake up, my silenced phone shows over a hundred missed calls.

Isabella’s world shatters when her longtime boyfriend, Damon Sanchez, publicly proposes to her best friend. Humiliated and heartbroken, she drowns her sorrows in a bar—only to wake up on the bed of Matteo Moretti, the city’s most powerful billionaire. Their one-night stand should have been the end of it. But when her brother Alan's illness and Damon's vengeance leave her jobless, fate delivers Isabella straight into the jaws of her most dangerous mistake—Matteo Moretti, now her ruthless new boss. Caught between Damon’s vindictive games and Moretti’s dangerous allure, Isabella must decide—is survival worth the cost of her heart? Especially when Matteo’s seven-year-old son, Noah, starts calling her "Mom."