Open Ending Story

After a full week of night shifts, I make a fatal mistake—injecting my son, Ricky Lambert, with phenobarbital, mistaking it for an antibiotic. The injection stops his breathing instantly, and the hospital soon declares him brain-dead. My husband, Terence Lambert, completely falls apart when he hears the news. The only thing that calms him is holding his nephew, Ryan Lambert, who looks so much like Ricky. So, I give up my transfer to Harborstone to Wendy Larson, my brother-in-law's wife. I even agree to adopt her son. Because of that mistake, I work hard and endure Terence's coldness day after day without a word of complaint. Ten years later, when Wendy returns home a success, that's when I accidentally overhear her speaking with Terence. "Back then, to help me get residency at Harborstone, you swapped the medicine and killed your own son. Do you really not regret it?" Terence sneers. "Of course not. I promised I'd help you rise above the rest. And I know Rosalie too well. If she knows there is a chance to go back to Harborstone, she'll fight you for it to the bitter end. "I have to use Ricky's death to trap her for good. It also gives me the perfect excuse to make her raise our son, so you can focus on your career without any burden." I can't believe what I'm hearing. I run out the door and accidentally fall into a raging river. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the very day the hospital declares Ricky dead.

Susan Miller, my father's caretaker, often complains that the supplements keep running out. The wild kingroots that are worth 500 thousand dollars are completely used up even though Susan has only made soup with them twice in a row. As I filter through the medicinal residue with a frown on my face, Susan sinks down to her knees and begins slapping herself. "They must have melted in the soup because of my lack of attention! Please dock my pay, Ms. Lawson, but please don't fire me!" But that night, I come across a post uploaded by Susan's son, Roman Cox, on Instagram. "Hi everyone! Today, I'm challenging myself to eat two wild kingroots in one go!" When I see Roman picking up a familiar-lookng giftbox, I feel my temper flaring instantly. Then, I order a packet of potent aphrodisiacs meant for animals on the spot. It turns out that Roman intends to chug down my prized Romanee-Conti in the next episode of his stream. Well then, I'll let him have his feel of drinking something else!

"Miss Hudson, we have prepared a corpse identical to you, just as you requested. It will be delivered to your wedding with Mr. Warhol in ten days." Hearing the voice on the other end of the line, Violet Hudson felt a small knot of tension unwind inside her. "Alright. Thank you." "You're welcome. This is our job. Please rest assured—no one will ever suspect a thing." With that guarantee, she exhaled, the weight on her chest easing just a little. After confirming the final details once more, she ended the call and pushed open the door to the private room. The noise inside had been a constant hum, a mix of voices overlapping, but the moment she stepped in, silence fell like a curtain.

It's my first day undercover at my future husband's dessert shop, and chaos walks in with fake lashes and two-inch nails. "I want an ice cream. Heated." I paused. "Just checking... You want your ice cream hot?" She gave me a look like I'd failed kindergarten. "Yes. Hot ice cream. Are you slow?" Deep breath. Zen mode. Customer-first service smile. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Ice cream has to stay frozen, or it just turns into—well... milk. If you want something warm, we have hot tea or coffee." "I'm pregnant!" she screeched. "Pregnant women crave weird things! Plus, my doctor said I can't eat anything cold! Are you trying to kill my baby and me? Is that what this is?!" People started turning their heads. Fantastic. A whole audience. I kept my voice low. "Ma'am, I can refund you." She suddenly smacked the counter, knocking the scanner sideways. Her nails shot past my face like tiny knives. "What kind of attitude is that?! A pathetic cashier talking back to me? I'll call my husband and get you fired!" Then, she leaned in like she was about to reveal a royal bloodline. "Guess what? I'm the boss's wife." I blinked. If that was true, I really needed to stop thinking about helping my boyfriend to open 3,000 franchise stores.

My husband, Julian Sutton, is busy with work on the day of my prenatal checkup. His childhood sweetheart, Vera Levine, with whom he's been amorous for years, offers to drive me. On the way there, she suddenly swerves and rams into the back of a truck. The car is flattened. Julian is a doctor in the emergency room, but I don't call him. Instead, I dial 911 and wait for assistance. Why? I called him in my past life, and he took me to the hospital. Our child was saved, but Vera died due to significant blood loss. Julian claimed not to blame me and even arranged for me to stay in a private hospital ward. But on the day I was discharged, he dragged me to Vera's grave and stabbed me. I lost the child and was on the verge of death as I stared into his bloodshot eyes. They were filled with unbridled hatred as he snarled, "Vera wouldn't have died if you hadn't grabbed the wheel! Don't think I'll believe you just because you're acting innocent! An eye for an eye—I want you to die for her, but only after experiencing the pain she felt in a hundredfold!" He twisted the blade and stabbed me repeatedly. My blood splattered on Vera's gravestone, dying it red. When I open my eyes again, I find that I've been taken back to the scene of the accident.

Isabel Queens chose love over her legacy. She wanted a fairytale ending with her Prince Charming, Leo Hunters, even if it was going to cost her everything. Her perfect marriage to Leo crashed when he started maltreating her, abusing her, cheating on her and finally requested to open up their marriage. Isabel was scorned. The man she abandoned her family for and walked away from her legacy ended up stabbing her in the back in the most brutal way possible. She was twisted with revenge, vowing to get back her pound of flesh. Thus, she accepted to open up her marriage and made sure he witnessed her getting banged by three hot male billionaires. What started as a means to get back at her selfish husband ended up with her getting tangled amid three close friends, who were best of friends and business partners; Ares Blackville, Marcos De Santos and Harvey Smith. Will Isabel get carried away by their attention and choose one of them or give in to what she felt for three of them?

At the company holiday party raffle, I'd barely stepped on stage when my superior, Victor Grant, shoved a crumpled slip into my hand. "Special prize for our top sales guy. Go on, open it. Let's show everyone." All eyes were on me as I unfolded it. Scrawled across the paper: [VIP janitor status unlocked—every toilet in the company, three days.] The room lost it—laughter everywhere. Victor crossed his arms, grinning. "Fair, right? Everyone knows you climbed the ranks hooking up with rich cougars. Gotta avoid hard feelings for the others, yeah? While the rest of us take a break, you can get busy. You're not gonna back out, are you?" The crowd cracked up. My girlfriend—and CEO—Rachel Sullivan stood off to the side, watching. Didn't say a word. Everyone waited for me to explode. Instead, I just nodded. Next day, over 300 refund requests hit. Cash flow flatlined. Victor and Rachel begged me to talk the buyers down. I shrugged. "Nah. Don't wanna save the company and make my performance too good. That'd just cause more ' hard feelings,' right?"

On my birthday, my mother-in-law had barely been wheeled out of surgery when she was rushed straight into the ER again. Then, a newly posted video from an intern went viral. In it, the intern held a scalpel and sliced open my mother-in-law's abdomen, while the surgeon who was supposed to be leading the operation, my husband, was nowhere in sight. 'People say an intern has no business being in the operating room? That's all right. My man, the department head, indulges me.' My husband's coworkers reacted warmly, saying the two of them made quite a pair. I forwarded the video to the hospital director without hesitation. … Before long, my husband called. His breathing came hard and uneven, his voice breaking between words. "I forgot your birthday. Big deal. Did you really have to run to the director and accuse me of breaking hospital rules? I'm done with you and your ridiculous tantrums. Even if my mom takes your side this time, I'm still divorcing you." He hung up before I could say a word. What he didn't know was that his mother would never take my side again. Because the patient who hemorrhaged and died after being operated on by that intern was his mother.

A medical report shows me my husband's true colors. I've been diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer. Yet, my husband gives our life savings to someone else. I lunge at him to take my anger out on him, but he shoves me to the floor. "Lillian needs the money to open up a shop, you madwoman! So what if I've given her the money? "You have late-stage stomach cancer, so it's the end of the line for you! Why are you trying to compete with someone who has a long life ahead when you already have one foot in the grave? You can't expect Mom and I to lose everything because of you, right?" I sit dazedly on the floor. I've never found him more unfamiliar. After that, I sneak all my wedding gifts out, wanting to sell them for money. However, I'm told they're all fakes. My husband sneers. "I'm glad I had the foresight to switch them out for the real deal. You would've taken all the money if not for that!" Later, the hospital called to say there was an issue with their system. The names on the medical reports were wrongly indicated. I ask my husband, "Why are you competing with someone who has a long life ahead when you already have one foot in the grave?"

Connor Greene, a golden boy in Brookhaven, is unwittingly drugged, and I end up being the cure for his "predicament". It's exactly a month later when I discover that I'm pregnant during a routine medical examination. Upon learning the news, Connor offers me 50 million dollars to carry the baby to term, and then another ten million dollars to take full custody of the child. It's then that Julie Sutton, my so-called righteous friend, persuades me to terminate the pregnancy, saying, "You ought to know that money isn't everything, Queenie. If you throw away your dignity for just 60 million dollars, then you're no better than those women who entertain men in clubs!" In my past life, I had an abortion at Julie's suggestion and pursued legal action against Connor, accusing him of assault. I later sought financial assistance and support from Julie after my parents fell gravely ill, but Julie slapped me hard across the face instead. "Your parents are seriously ill, and instead of figuring things out on your own, you come running to me, huh? You're truly shameless, Queenie!" Julie broke off our friendship right then, and I also lost the lawsuit against Connor. I couldn't afford the treatment, so my parents' lives were cut short by their illnesses. In the end, the grief of losing them was too much, so I decided to take my own life by jumping off a rooftop. When I open my eyes, I find myself returning to the day Julie tried to persuade me to get an abortion.