Independence

The day the Porter family went bankrupt, my elder sister, who had been engaged to Calvin Porter, claimed she was in love with someone else and cut ties with him without a second thought. I was the one who stepped forward to take her place, becoming the laughingstock of our social circle. I smoothed away all the hardness in him, tried to shape myself into the woman he liked, and swallowed countless moments of bitterness, hoping only to warm his distant heart. Until our wedding day. A car accident happened, and Calvin's first instinct was to shield my sister with his whole body. "Rebecca, don't be scared. Where are you hurt? We'll get you to the hospital right away!" He carried her into the ambulance without so much as glancing back at me. I looked down at the iron rod piercing my chest and felt warm blood gush out. It was only then I understood. He was not indifferent by nature, he was simply indifferent to me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Calvin came to our house carrying the engagement gift.

My younger sister, Angela Schrute, got married at 20. By 21, she already had a child. I'm Elizabeth Schrute, 27 years old, and still unmarried. Over the years, I've brought home a few boyfriends. But every time the subject of marriage comes up, my father, Michael Scrute, will take them into his study. I don't know what he said to them. But whenever they come out of that room, they will turn cold and frightening. It's like their hands are itching to wrap around my throat and squeeze the life out of me. My latest boyfriend thinks Dad is being unreasonable… until he follows him into the study. When he emerges, his eyes burn with rage. He breaks up with me on the spot and slaps me. Twice. I still can't figure it out. What is it that drives each of them away? And what secret is hiding in Dad's study?

I was getting married—but I didn't tell my parents. It was my fifth wedding. The last four? Total disasters, thanks to them. Every time, they claimed something was "wrong" with the wedding car and somehow scared the guy off. First was my college boyfriend. We were solid—four years strong. My parents pushed for marriage... then ditched the idea on the big day because his car wasn't "fancy" enough. Second groom? My boss. He pulled up in a shiny new car they actually approved—until they didn't. Yanked me right out. Third time, they set me up with someone themselves. The guy brought ten cars to play it safe. Didn't matter. They shut it down before I even stepped outside. Fourth time? Same story. I kept wondering—what was so cursed about these cars? Why push me to get married, only to destroy it every single time? This year, I was trying again. Wedding number five. This time, I was pregnant—with the son of the country's richest man. I didn't tell my parents. Thought I'd finally outsmarted them. But just as I was about to get in the car... I saw them sprinting toward me.

I happened to come across the filming of a popular variety show, where a celebrity attempted to forcefully take over my greenhouse for a task. After I declined, people watching the live stream subjected me to continuous ridicule.In their relentless quest for higher ratings, the production team deliberately hyped up this matter like crazy.However, when my true identity was revealed, countless students from the Agricultural Academy rallied to defend these crops."Isn't she the expert in crop improvement for saline-alkali soil? My research thesis revolves around her remarkable achievements!""Anyone who dares to tamper with her crops will face dire consequences."

I opened my eyes to a sharp sting in my arm. Pushing up my sleeve, I froze. A dense line of jagged letters had been carved into the skin of my right forearm: [This house has monsters! Every time I'm killed, I'm thrown into a loop and lose all my memories. With each death, I mark my hand.] Beneath the warning, three crooked tally marks were etched deep into my arm.

Soon after I came back to the country, someone slapped me right across the face in broad daylight, yelling that I was a mistress. A crowd of reporters closed in, pelting me with questions about whether Chandler Armstrong, CEO of Armstrong Industries, was keeping me as his mistress. I was stunned speechless for a moment, but then I pulled out my wedding photo with Chandler from seven years ago and held it up. "What are you talking about? I'm his wife!" The crowd went silent, and the woman who'd slapped me turned white as a sheet. Only then did I finally get it: while I'd been overseas, Chandler had been openly involved with an actress, and everyone in his social circle had already decided she was the future Mrs. Armstrong. Today, they all came expecting to confront a mistress—only to find out that I was actually his wife. Later, Chandler tried to justify it. "Alina, you've been out of the country for years. I'm a man, and I have needs. She's just a B-list actress; it's not like she threatens your position. Why should you be upset? Just let it go," he said. "Don't make a scene." I handed him the divorce papers. "You make me sick."

Jonathan Shaw is busy taking his mentor's daughter, who's burning up a fever, to the hospital on the day I fall. I'm pregnant. I need to undergo surgery to stabilize the pregnancy, but it's risky. However, Jonathan's tone is icy on the other end of the line. "I know you've always been biased against my mentor, Tessa. Still, do you think you can use something like this as an excuse to get me there?" I lose hope in him as a lone tear rolls down my face. "Don't bother saving the child. Help me abort it." My love for Jonathan leaves with our child.

In my previous life, my husband had suddenly died of a brain hemorrhage, leaving behind a massive mountain of debt. For the sake of my son, who was still in high school, I sold the house my parents had left me, gritted my teeth, and worked three jobs to pay off the debt. Overworked and exhausted, my health deteriorated, and I eventually collapsed in the hospital. From my bed, I could hear my son, now a graduate from a prestigious university, smiling as he spoke on the phone. "Hello? Dad, it's me. Yeah, she's about to die. I bought insurance for her, so we should get close to one million. You and Aunt Rena should come back home right away." The "Aunt Rena" he spoke of was none other than my husband's childhood friend and neighbor who had known him for years. It turned out that the debts were all part of a massive money-laundering scheme between my husband and his childhood sweetheart. They had fabricated false accounts to hide their crime, and he had faked his death to escape the law. My son, eager to become the heir to wealth, had stood by and watched me work myself to death. When I next opened my eyes, I was back in the moment of my husband's feigned brain hemorrhage, the day it had all begun.

Clayton Amos finally agrees to marry me during my fifth year as the antagonist of a novel. On the day of my wedding, the chandelier in the middle of the hall suddenly snaps and falls. At the most critical moment, he shoves me aside and runs over to protect Gladys Dawson, the protagonist of the novel, and his first love. Clayton's arm is slashed as a result, and blood pours out of the wound, dyeing his pristine white suit red. Meanwhile, Gladys remains unharmed in his arms. I hold a hand against the bleeding wound on my neck and finally accept the fact that Clayton never loved me. This is when the system appears and asks me, "Hailey Paltrow, would you like to abort your mission now?" I nod in silent response. "Since he's going to end up losing all four of his limbs and ultimately wish for death, I'll let him have it."

James Wesley has hated me for a decade after his childhood sweetheart passed away. He requests to be transferred to the frontier the day after we get married. I write him countless letters in those ten years to win back his favor, but his response is always the same. "If you truly regret it, why don't you hurry up and die?" However, after I am abducted, James storms the bandit's hideout by himself and saves me. He suffers multiple bullet wounds, but before he succumbs to his injuries, he uses the last of his strength to slap my hands away. "The thing I regret the most… in this life… is marrying you. If we get a second chance at life… please… don't bother me anymore." His mother, Felicia Axford, sounds regretful during the funeral. "It's all my fault, James. I shouldn't have forced you to marry her…" His father, Jeremiah Wesley, stares at me, his eyes burning with contempt. "You forced Emily to take her own life, and now you also caused my son's death. You're nothing but trouble, so you should just die!" Even Xavier Bowen, our troop commander, who was responsible for facilitating our marriage in the first place, shakes his head and sighs. "I shouldn't have played matchmaker. I let you down, Mr. Wesley." Everyone feels sympathetic toward James, including me. On the night I am discharged from the troop, I swallow some pesticide and die in the middle of an abandoned field. When I open my eyes again, I realize I have returned to the day before my marriage. This time, I am determined to fulfill everyone's wishes.