Independence Quotes

In my last life, the System let my parents swap my SAT scores with my twin's. I was always top of my class—until I magically bombed with a 640. Amelia Everton? Scored a perfect 1520, like she'd earned it. The internet went nuts. Everyone called me a fraud. My parents played innocent on TV, said I'd been cheating for years. Every college ghosted me. Then they kicked me out. I froze to death alone. Not this time. I'm taking it all back—every last thing they stole.

On my birthday, I personally prepare 16 dishes. After setting up the candlelight, I open a bottle of red wine. I take a photo and send it to my husband, Eric Sinclair. "I'm working late tonight. Don't wait for me," he replies. I choose to believe him. But after midnight, I notice an Instagram story posted by Shirley Huxley, his secretary. Eric was there with her, dressed in the trench coat I once gave him. They sat side by side in the VIP seat of football stadium where my favorite Super Bowl take place. Entwined in a passionate embrace, they kissed beneath a sea of shimmering lights and the roar of thousands of fans. That game is the one I have always longed to experience with him. I look down at the cold food on the table. Eric's words keep ringing in my head. "I hate kissing." "Marriage is a partnership, not about love and kisses." Though we've been married for ten years, we've never shared a single kiss. Meanwhile, he's out there, kissing Shirley openly and passionately. Despite it all, not a single tear falls from my eyes. The next day, Eric settles into his chair, completely unfazed. "Return the gallery to Shelly," he commands. I nod quietly, saying nothing. Suddenly, Layla Sinclair, my daughter, comes running down the stairs and throws herself into Shirley's arms. "Aunt Shirley, you're my favorite. I don't like Mom!" In that instant, it hits me—the home I devoted my heart and soul to means nothing anymore. It doesn't matter that I've been married to Eric for a decade. Now, all I want is to find myself again. I decide to accept an invitation from the Parisoir School of Fashion Design. From this moment on, I won't wait for them to come home, and I won't look back.

The day before Chris Carter and I were supposed to get engaged, my parents sent me to prison. Three years later, when I was finally released, Chris was the only one who came to pick me up. I knew he despised me. I trembled, keeping my head down, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But he blocked my path, frowning. “Emily York? You stink.” He pinched his nose and told me to get in the car. I fell to my knees, desperately begging him not to take me home. If he did, I would die. He looked at me with chilling indifference and said, “Then go ahead and die.” I agreed. But later, he cried and begged me to stay alive.

After I got pregnant, I witnessed my boyfriend's grandmother's death. She left behind a secret, and now, everyone who knows that secret is dead. First, it was my boyfriend's father who died. My boyfriend's mother followed soon after. Lastly, my boyfriend died too. He ended his life by overdosing right before my eyes. The media went wild. They dug obsessively for the truth. Again and again, the police summoned me for questioning. Online hate toward me was overwhelming. Everyone wants to know what the secret is. People claim I cursed my boyfriend's entire family to death, just to keep the secret to myself. I stay silent, never saying a word in defense of myself. On the seventh day after my boyfriend had passed, I spot someone at his funeral. At that moment, I place my hand on my swollen belly. I am utterly calm and at peace. It is time for me and my child to die too.

Three days after giving birth, my husband leaves me alone at home to care for the baby, saying that he needs to leave on an urgent business trip. Three days later, I've just arrived at the hospital when I see a family photo his childhood sweetheart has shared on her social media. It's captioned, "This was taken during a trip. We're a happy family of three." I'm surprised to see my husband grinning in the photo and comment on it with a question mark. He immediately calls me to reprimand me. "Do you know how hard it is for her as a single mother? She doesn't have a man to care for her. All I did was take a photo with her. Do you have to be so petty?" That evening, his childhood sweetheart shares a photo of some monetary gifts. "He insisted on giving me this after taking the family photo." I know my husband gave that to her to pacify her. This time, however, I'm ready to leave him.

My grandmother only knows how to draw one thing—infants. They're ugly, but people line up to buy the paintings. I watch as she takes those women into unlit rooms. Then, their bloodcurdling screams will ring out. Oddly enough, they always thank my grandmother when they're leaving. One day, I finally find out what exactly my grandmother paints. I discover the truth when I see an infant crawl out of one of the women's bellies—it looks just like the one my grandmother has painted.

After dating for seven years, I proposed a hundred and one times to my boyfriend, Jason Brown. However, he always told me that he was not ready, rejecting my proposals. This continued to my 28th birthday. In his suit pocket, I found a ring box. Thinking he was about to propose to me, I was overjoyed. However, to my horror, I saw him going down on one knee to propose to his assistant, Marcella Hopkins. Right before my eyes, he placed the ring I had yearned for so long on her finger. When one of his buddies asked what he planned to do with me, Jason wrapped his arm around his new love and chuckled. "Dude, I don't think I can bring myself to marry a woman who wants to get married that badly. She's so needy. However, if I do get a second wife, I might consider her. After all, she is hopelessly in love with me." He was sure I would wait for him, and he even placed a bet with his friends that I would crash his wedding. However, on his wedding day, I never showed up. Moments before his wedding ceremony was about to start, he suddenly noticed me, fully dressed up in a wedding gown in a separate banquet hall. Seeing me about to marry someone else, he almost went crazy.

I am a pureblood succubus. Every seven days, desire consumes me. Stuart Newlin always complained that I clung to him too much, that I distracted him from his grand ambitions. Then, at the peak of my heat, when I needed him most, he blew me off. He chose to go to his female friend's prenatal appointment instead. The thing is, a succubus can't survive without being fed. Without that energy, that devotion… I wither. Unfortunate as it was to fall into the hands of a neglectful master, I had no choice but to seek another. My new keeper bore the bloodline of the Black Serpent. He had double the virility. Night and day, he poured himself into me. He worked tirelessly; I was more than satisfied. So when Stuart showed up with a massive bouquet of red roses, hoping to coax me back, what greeted him was the sight of me, flushed and glowing, curled up in another man's arms. His eyes burned with rage as he went mad, smashing everything in the house, raging that I was unfaithful, that I dared take another man to my bed. Smiling, I leaned into my new master's embrace and introduced them. "Let me make the introductions. You two have more in common than you think. After all, I've slept with both of you."

I receive a message one day. "Your condoms have been delivered. Total to be paid: XX dollars." I distinctly remember that I've never made such an order, but the address and phone number are mine. I call my husband, but he only says differently, "My godsister ordered them. She's too shy to use her details, so she used yours. It's not like it'll affect you." I nod silently. She might as well not have them if she can't afford to pay for them.

I had been in a relationship with Zachary Dawson for seven years and engaged for three when, out of the blue, Ruby White, the daughter of his mentor, moved into our home. Sitting casually on the bed that Zachary and I shared, Ruby lounged with an air of nonchalance, her voice playful and teasing. "Zachary, the dental god, sure has a nice bed," she remarked with a smirk. "I can only imagine what it would be like to spend the night with him in this bed." I captured the scene on my phone and sent the video to our family group chat with a brief message: Looks like Zachary might have a new girlfriend Zachary rushed home, wrapping his arms protectively around a tearful Ruby. He pointed at me, his voice seething with anger. "My mentor's dying wish was for me to take care of Ruby! If you can't accept that, then move out!" Honestly, my brows furrowed deeper than the wrinkles on the bedsheets Ruby had sat on. Fine. I didn't need the bed, and I didn't need a fiancé anymore.