Melodramatic Synonym

When my family went bankrupt, I was drugged and sent to the bed of my childhood sweetheart, Craig Kennedy. From that night, he brought women home every evening, tossing a divorce agreement in my face. "Beg me, and I won't leave you." He stood above me, watching as I humbled myself to dust, pleading to preserve our marriage. He even ordered me to kneel in his office and massage the feet of his secretary, Lucia Langston. On the day the Moore Group needed ten million to survive, she blocked all my desperate calls for help. I waited 24 hours, watching my family's legacy collapse and my parents take their lives. Craig, with Lucia at his side, entered the house and threw the signed divorce agreement at me again. "You wanted money to save your family, didn't you? Beg me, and as long as I don't divorce you, no one will touch them." But I signed it with calm despair. "Don't bother. We no longer need your help."

It all started when my sister made an offhand remark while sponsoring a poor student. She told him it was a coincidence that we were born on the same day, at the exact hour too. That comment made him convince himself that he was the real heir, that we were switched at birth. Soon after, he showed up with two thugs, kidnapped me, and planned to kill me to reclaim his life. I called my fiancée for help in desperation. Instead of saving me, she told me impatiently that I deserved to die for stealing his life. Her friend showed up to save me, but neither of us made it out alive after I was pushed into the river. I was back on the day when I was kidnapped when I opened my eyes again. When the poor student laughed and told me to pick someone to leave my last words to, I did not hesitate to call my sister. Their fates were sealed, with another chance at life, I would make sure to make them pay, and show them who the real heir was.

My sister, Yvette Chandler, and my boyfriend, Gabriel Johnson, have never gotten along. She doesn't believe that he, a playboy, will settle down and be faithful to me. She even tries to stop us from being together after he proposes to me. To convince her of Gabriel's loyalty, I sign up for a new WhatsApp account to test him. He's frosty toward me and keeps me at arm's length. I'm gleeful over this when he suddenly sends me a voice message. "I already told you I won't fool around with anyone other than you and your sister. Who's going to satisfy you once I'm married when you're so insatiable, Yvette?"

The night before the entrance exams, my childhood best friend, Tyson Sutherland, receives a text message from his girlfriend, Isabelle Landon, saying she was attempting suicide by jumping off a building. He immediately gets anxious and brings along a few male classmates with him to go and save her. In my past life, I learned that it was fake, and that Isabelle never planned to kill herself. That was why I was against them going to save her. I called up my teacher, Mr. Fred Nielson, and asked him to inform the boys' parents, successfully stopping them from going. … The next day, everyone sat for their entrance exams as usual, and we all got accepted into Rayward University, one of the most prestigious universities in the country. Meanwhile, Isabelle survived the jump somehow, but she became a cripple. As revenge, Tyson hacked off my arms and legs and buried me alive. "It's all your fault! You were the one who turned Belle into a cripple! I'm going to kill you!" All my classmates did nothing as they watched him kill me under their watchful eyes. They all told me that I deserved to be killed. … When I open my eyes again, I realize that I have returned to the night when Tyson tells me he wants to save Isabella. I don't stop him or the others from going anymore. Instead, I sit for the entrance exams alone. I refuse to interfere in other people's fates again.

In my final year of high school, my parents died, leaving me nothing but a crumbling brick house. And yet, I somehow got myself a younger brother. He was a second-year student at our school, at the top of his grade. But no one respected him. Even when he was bullied, the teachers turned a blind eye. Why? Because even if others didn't beat him, his drunken father did it every day, while his cowardly mother never dared to fight back. I dragged him home with all my strength, patched up his wounds, and kept him with me for several days. Later, when his mother was beaten to death, I called the police and had his father arrested. "Hey," I told him, "from now on, live with me. I don't have any family left. Call me sister, and I'll put you through school." He dreamed of getting into a prestigious university. So I dropped out, set up a street stall, sold my own blood, and even took illegal jobs just to support him. When he graduated, he said he wanted to start a business. I gave him every cent of my savings. And then one day, I watched him stand beneath the dazzling lights, a radiant girl at his side, holding a trophy for a youth entrepreneurship award. I looked down at the cancer diagnosis in my hands. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. In the end, I had raised him into someone I could no longer reach. It was time for me to leave the stage.

My parents used the compensation money from my sister's car accident to buy a four-room house, but they only let me stay in the bathroom. My twin brothers, who were not even a year old, each had their own room. When the twins grew up, they got into a car accident. One of them needed a corneal transplant, the other needed a heart. My parents begged me to donate and save them. When I tried to escape, they betrayed me. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back to the time just after my sister's death. I sought justice for my sister and myself, and made my parents pay for what they had done.

Imagine my shock when I found out that my husband, a professor who had proudly embraced a childless life for half of his years, had an affair with one of his own students. She even had his six-year-old son. The day I planned to report him to the university, Zia Thompson came to my door with the child and knelt in front of me. "Maybe you and Zeke were in love once," she said. "But he's over forty now. Who doesn't want to have a child? A legacy?" "I don't need a title," she went on. "I can give up the child too. I just beg you, don't tear our family apart." I looked at my husband, who stood protectively in front of them. I felt terrifyingly calm. "Cut ties with them," I said, my voice flat, "or prepare to be reported to the university. You choose." Without a moment's hesitation, he tore the report letter into shreds. I thought that was his answer. But on the fifty-second night of a bed grown cold and a home echoing with silence, he still hadn't returned. Instead, I received news that Zia was pregnant again. She had graduated by then. The report I never sent no longer posed any threat to them. Zeke didn't bother to hide his fatigue and irritation anymore. "Treat Zia and the kids well," he said, "or keep living alone in that empty house. It's your choice." My heart was already a wasteland. "I have one more option," I said. "I choose divorce."

Lagi akong ikinukunsidera ng pamilya ko na tagapagdala ng kamalasan. Dahil ito sa nakikita ko ang countdown bago mamatay ang mga kamag-anak ko. Sinabi ko sa kanila kung kailan mamamatay si lolo, ama, at ina. Nagkakatotoo ito dahil sa iba’t ibang mga aksidente. Ang tatlong mga kapatid ko ay kinamumuhian ako mula sa kaibuturan nila dahil sa tingin nila isinumpa ko ang mga magulang ko at lolo. Ang nanay ko ay namatay matapos iluwal ang nakababata kong kapatid na babae, pero ang mga kapatid ko ay walang tigil siyang iniispoil. Sinasabi nila na siya ang suwerte nila dahil nagiging okay ang lahat para sa pamilya sa oras na iluwal siya. Pero hindi ba’t namatay si Ina noong iniluwal siya? Sa ika-18th kong kaarawan, nakikita ko ang death countdown kapag tinitignan ko ang sarili ko sa salamin. Bumili ako ng urn at naghanda ng pagkain. Gusto ko kumain ng huling beses kasama ang mga kapatid ko, pero walang nagpakita sa kanila noong nag zero na ang timer...

I was finally pregnant after three years of marriage. I was going to head to where my husband works with a lunchbox in my hand to tell him the good news. But I ended up being mistaken as a mistress by his secretary. She dumped the food I had prepared on my head, stripped my clothes off, and continued to hit me until I had a miscarriage. “You’re just a servant. How dare you seduce Mr. Gates and bear his child? “Today, I’ll make sure you suffer the consequences of being a mistress!” She then went to my husband asking for a reward. “Mr. Gates, I took care of a servant who wanted to seduce you. How are you going to reward me?”

For the sake of my happiness with my boyfriend, I decided to go to the hospital to treat my congenital narrowness. But the attending physician turned out to be my boyfriend's friend—and the treatment plan itself made my face flush and my heart race. "During the course of treatment, there will be a great deal of intimate physical contact. That's unavoidable," he said. "For example, kissing, touching, and…"