Multiple Pov Twists

Nasa palengke ako ng may matandang babae na hindi ko kilala ang humawak sa kamay ko ng mahigpit. Agad ko na pinrotektahan ang baby bump ko, pero sinabi niya, “May naglagay ng swap spell sa iyo. Malapit na ilipat ang patay na bata sa katawan mo.” Sa tingin ko sinungaling siya, pero sinabi niya, “Bilisan mo at subukan pasukahin ang sarili mo. Dapat mo subukan isuka ang isdang kinain mo hanggang sa kaya mo.”

I found out I was pregnant in the middle of a fight with my husband. How should I tell him without embarrassing myself too much? I decided to ask the Internet, and the netizens gave me a ton of advice based on their years of experience reading novels. One, run away with your unborn baby. Two, pretend to gag over lunch. Three, put his number into the abortion registration form… When he came to me in a frenzy, I belatedly realized, ‘Crap, I think I went too far!’

The day I recovered from my mental illness and got discharged, my parents held me in their arms with tears of happiness. My sister gave me a teddy bear and said she had been waiting for me to come home. I comforted my parents who were crying and accepted the gift from my sister. I slowly got used to ordinary life and became the real daughter of the Schmidt family. To show their preference for me, my parents transferred the family business into my name on my sister’s 18th birthday. But I cruelly murdered the family of three who cherished me on this day.

By the second year of my marriage to Quentin Lambert, we had a son. Fast forward five years, and I was basically a human cookbook, agonizing over every pinch of salt like it was rocket science. One night, Quentin tossed out, "Too much salt." And our son? He didn't even blink—he dumped the whole pot down the drain right in front of me. That's when it hit me—pure exhaustion, like a tidal wave. I told Quentin I wanted a divorce. He didn't even bother looking up. "Is that really necessary?" I nodded, my voice flat. "It is."

My sister, Cherry Nicholson, called me nine times before she jumped into the sea. But I didn't pick up once. Now everyone says it's my fault she's gone—even my fiance, my Alpha mate—Samuel Carver. He used to stay by my side through every painful treatment for my wolfsbane fever. Now, he shoves me to the ground like I'm nothing. His once gentle face is now twisted with contempt as he looks down on me and warns, "You don't deserve to be happy!" And truth be told, it isn't just them who believe that. Even I do. Since then, I've stopped going out, stopped dressing up, and stopped meeting anyone's eyes. Even when I run into Samuel holding hands with another she-wolf, I lower my head and walk past silently. But when the wolfsbane fever comes back, I drown in agony and despair. I decide to give my life to atone for what happened to Cherry. That's when they all start to regret it.

At the height of my love for Seth Scott, he gave his heart to someone else. The winter chill seeped through the walls, and I lay beneath my blankets, trembling through the long, dark hours. He was out there, holding another woman close, warming her feet against his chest. He dismissed me as dramatic, refusing even a final glance. But what he didn’t realize was that I was dying. And he would never have the chance to see me again.

The little boy I had saved when we were kids grew up to be a possessive, obsessive CEO. For ten years, he kept me by his side, using my grandmother's illness as a bargaining chip to force me into marrying him. He tried everything to win my heart, pulling every trick in the book, but no matter what he did, he could never make me love him. In a fit of rage, he found a woman who looked almost exactly like me to take my place. They flaunted their relationship for everyone to see, and people whispered that the CEO had finally found his true love. But that day, the woman, riding on his affection, barged into the villa with her entourage. She broke my fingers one by one, slashed my face with a utility knife, and removed my clothes to humiliate me. "Even though you had surgery to look like me, I'll let that slide. But you even learned to paint like me, too? You really did your homework. Let's see how you try to seduce men now!" Just as I was bleeding out and on the verge of death, the obsessive CEO finally showed up. The stand-in grabbed my hair and dragged me in front of him, smugly reporting, "Honey, this wench was hiding in the villa trying to seduce you. I've made sure she can't succeed!"

My newlywed husband wants to kill me. He's backing me to the balcony with a knife in his hand. The blade pierces my heart, and he shoves me off a 20-story building. At the same time, I see the tear streaks on his face. He says, "Long time no see, my perfect lover."

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.

I was a soldier's wife. Less than two years into our marriage, I asked Lucian Summers for a divorce because I found a little handmade bracelet at home. It was not mine, and Lucian had never bought me cute little trinkets like this before. Lucian scoffed and said, "All because of that little thing?" I could not be bothered to explain this time, so I replied coldly, "Yeah. It's exactly because of that little thing."