Perfect Cell Face

I came back to life the day Cedric Gramont got drugged. This time? I didn't offer my body to him. I called his so-called soulmate instead. In my last life, I stupidly fell for the uncle who wasn't blood-related. When I found out he'd been hit with something strong, I ignored his plea to call Elyna Humbert—and "helped" him myself. A month later, I was pregnant. He had to marry me. On our wedding day, Elyna, who'd gone abroad to "clear her head," got kidnapped and killed. Before she died, she called Cedric 199 times, begging for help. He didn't pick up once. Too busy sealing the deal with me. Later, he just stared at those missed calls, not saying a word. Then the day I went into labor, he locked me in the basement. I begged him to take me to the hospital. He just smiled, cold and empty, and watched me die screaming, the baby still inside me. Last thing I heard? "If you hadn't gotten pregnant, I wouldn't have married you. I wouldn't have missed Elyna's calls. You deserved to die." When I opened my eyes again, it was that same day—Cedric was drugged, but this time, I knew better.

When Father asks me who I want to marry, I resolutely give up on Prince Maurice Swain. I choose to marry his uncle, Prince Gideon Swain. Father is confused. After all, everyone in the capital knows that I'm desperately in love with Maurice. I've said more than once that he's the only man I'll marry. I only have a bitter taste in my mouth. I married Maurice in my past life, and I gave my all in managing the household. Yet he never came home and even took a mistress behind my back. When I eventually became bedridden after wearing myself out, he brought Camilla Chapman back and threw her a grand wedding. The children they'd secretly had together came with her. It was only then that I realized the tonics Maurice had given me had rendered me infertile and weak. They slowly ate away at me from the inside. I watched as Maurice and Camilla lived a happy life with their children. I chose to let them have what they wanted. Now that I've been reborn, I'm going to stay away from Maurice and marry Gideon instead. Yet when Maurice finds out, he goes berserk. He stands before me with his eyes bloodshot as he forbids me from marrying Gideon.

I wasn’t even pregnant, yet I ended up popping abortion pills like they were candy. It was all because in my past life, the moment my widowed sister-in-law got pregnant, every single side effect of her pregnancy became mine. She strutted around happily with her big belly, consuming spicy tamales, while I was rushed to the hospital for violent nausea and stomach pain; she showed off her flawless skin in crop tops every day, while my stomach broke out in hideous stretch marks. When I told my husband what was happening, he just shoved me away impatiently. “Enough with the jealousy! My brother’s dead, and she’s carrying his only child. Of course, I should look out for her. Do you really have to put on such an act?” After that, my sister-in-law went even further. She kept testing her limits during pregnancy and even ate a mango she was allergic to. And me? I went into anaphylactic shock, landed in the hospital, and nearly died. Doctors couldn’t explain it. They just brushed it off, saying I was overly jealous and it was all psychological. Later, my sister-in-law tried to brand herself as a “hot single mom”. She went live, belly and all, to show off her weight-loss workouts. She jumped around for three straight hours. And me? My uterus literally gave out, and I hemorrhaged to death. When I opened my eyes again, it was the exact day she first announced her pregnancy.

Every day, my son and husband finish all the house chores before I even get home. But only because they're bringing my husband's first love, Sally Sullivan, back for Thanksgiving, I pour boiling water on my son's face. I also kick both my son and husband out when it's 104°F outside. Desperate to save our son, my husband sprawls across the front porch, begging me to open the door. "Wanda, open the door! We need to save our son! I only invited Sally over because she saved you once back then. I didn't mean anything else by it!" "Mom, it hurts!" my son cries. "Mom, can't you kiss me? Mom…" Meanwhile, I'm slouching on the couch, snacking away as I watch TV. In the end, my husband can't take it anymore and brings me to the Bad Mom Court for trial. The moment my memories are extracted, the entire court bursts into tears.

The wealthy Hanson family makes it clear that whichever sister gives birth to the family's first grandson will inherit the billion-dollar fortune. In my previous life, my sister, under our parents' arrangement, married the strong and healthy third son, Jerome Hanson. I, on the other hand, was given to the gloomy eldest son, Lester Hanson, whose legs were paralyzed. Under my treatment, Lester regained full use of his legs. I became pregnant with the Hanson family's first grandson. Meanwhile, my sister was driven to madness by Jerome's abuse, becoming the laughingstock of every wealthy woman's dinner gossip. On the day I went into labor, my sister stabbed my belly with a knife. Then, she pulled me off a rooftop with her. Now, in this life, we start over. The moment Lester sends over a golden bridal bouquet, my sister snatches it without hesitation. "I want to marry Lester!" she declares.

When my four sons were finally old enough for preschool, I arrived at the school office with my marriage certificate and their birth certificates, ready to sign them up. But the lady at the counter frowned and said, "These documents don't check out. According to the system, your kids don't even exist." I felt as if the floor had dropped out from under me. I remembered when Sheldon Clem and I got married—he was the one who handled all the paperwork, the birth registrations, everything. I never imagined that when I tracked him down with our four boys, he'd be holding his childhood sweetheart in his arms, with her little girl snuggled against him. And then we heard him sweet-talking her right in front of us. "Don't be mad, babe. I've got everything set up for us overseas. Gigi is going to the most expensive private school, and you'll be living in the nicest penthouse downtown. "Sure, she gave me four sons, but all my love and money are with you. I only kept her around because I felt sorry for her. "What else do you need? My will's already signed. Everything goes to you and Gigi." Riley Anderson pouted, smug and satisfied. "If you don't love her, then she's the other woman, not me. She's got no right to fight me for anything!" So he never went bankrupt. When we got back home, Sheldon acted as if nothing had happened. "Honey, I've found this amazing project overseas, so I won't have time to come home much. I'll need you to hold down the fort at home." I smiled and nodded. "Sure, go ahead." If that was how he wanted to play this, then fine. I'd make sure he really went broke, and then I'd find my boys a new father.

I was reborn before I signed up for a scientific expedition tour to the South Pole. My boyfriend’s adopted younger sister used a system to forcefully exchange my physical senses with hers. She deliberately went out to do something good on a day with a temperature of 107.6 °F, like delivering water to the outdoor workers. On the other hand, I got so hot in a 60.8 °F air-conditioned room that I fainted from heat stroke. I begged Wendy Little to stop, but she feigned innocence. “You must make a good excuse if you want to lie like that!” Max Little sounded disdainful. “How selfish! You’re quite lucky to enjoy yourself in air-conditioned rooms every day. You can’t tolerate Wendy doing something kind.” Wendy took her time and basked in the sun for a month outside. People took photos of her and put them on the internet. Countless netizens were moved by her. But I died from heat stroke in an air-conditioned room. Nobody even found my corpse. If that was how it was, I wanted her to enjoy the coolness of -184 °F in the South Pole.

I suffer from a hereditary form of amnesia. By the time I found out, I had only seven days left. On the first day, I found my boyfriend had fallen for my younger twin sister. With a bitter smile, I suggested we break up. On the second day, my most treasured Lego set was smashed by my sister. Everyone laughed at me, saying I was disgraceful, unworthy of being a daughter of the Fleming family. On the fourth day, I forgot that my sister was allergic to mangoes. She ended up in the hospital, and my parents glared at me with resentment. Even my ex-boyfriend accused me of being heartless. On the seventh day, I woke up in a hospital bed to see my father walking in with a stern expression. He demanded that I quit my job and devote myself entirely to taking care of the family, as nothing more than a housekeeper. But I only looked at them in confusion and asked softly, “Who are you?” When they realized I had truly lost my memory, they lost their minds.

My husband's beloved lover suffered from menstruation complications. A traveling doctor claimed that a fresh placenta was needed to cure her. His gaze fixated on my seven-months-pregnant baby bump. And thus, I was pinned down on the bed as they ripped the placenta from my body. My son was carelessly tossed aside. He didn't even get the chance to cry before his tiny body fell silent forever. My husband pinched his nose in disgust, frowning as he looked at me—bleeding out, feebly reaching for my child. “It’s just a premature baby. He'll be fine after a few days of care. Why are you making such a fuss? Sandra is waiting for her medicine." He left and locked the door behind him without looking back. He claimed it was a lesson I needed to learn. By the time he finally remembered us, my son and I had long since bled dry, our bodies cold and stiff.

After Dad cheated and divorced Mom, I did not choose Mom, who walked away with nothing. Instead, I chose Dad, who clearly favored his illegitimate son, Oliver Brooks. It was only because after their divorce, Mom's obsession with reconciliation romance novels got me killed twice. In my first life, Mom was so desperate for Dad's respect that she willingly gave up everything in the divorce just to take me with her. In the end, my heart condition flared up, and without money for treatment, I died in agony on that hospital bed. In my second life, I went against Mom's wishes and asked Dad for the surgery money upfront. However, Mom was hell-bent on pushing Dad onto a so-called redemption path, forced me to go bungee jumping the day before my surgery. Dad tried to stop me from jumping, but he was speeding and ended up in a fatal car crash. Mom blamed everything on me. With pure hatred in her eyes, she shoved me off that cliff. "Useless piece of trash! Not only can't you help me win your father back, but you got him killed too. You might as well die with him!" That moment made everything crystal clear: Mom never actually loved me. She just saw me as a tool to get Dad back. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Mom demanded a divorce from Dad, for the third time.