Perfect Gold Yuri Visual

The human traffickers were apprehended, and after DNA verification, the police returned me to my affluent parents. My parents gave a cold nod, thanked the officers, and instructed the butler to make me comfortable. Two months after returning home, the fake heiress, Irene Burrel, secretly signed me up for a wilderness survival course. My parents gently stroked her head. “Since you want to play, let her accompany you.” They did not care one bit if I died out there. Irene smirked triumphantly at me. “What does it matter if you’re the real heiress? I can still do whatever I want with you! “Survival training is my daily routine. I’ll make sure you leave that competition on a stretcher!” When we arrived at the wilderness training grounds in the mountains, I laughed. I grew up in these very forests. Did she think I did not know this place?

As the end of the year approaches, my wife, Sylvia Small, who is five months into her pregnancy, accidentally falls into a lake. Our neighbor who is a police officer, Raven Weber, jumps in and rescues her. Unfortunately, she slips into a coma after her heroic feat. As I rush over, I see that a crowd has gathered at the scene. Sylvia is drenched from head to toe, wrapped up tightly in a blanket. Water droplets keep dripping from the tips of her hair. "Are you alright, Sylvia?" I ask, drawing near. The moment Sylvia sees me, she moves toward me and burrows herself into my arms. She clings to me like she is clinging for dear life. "You're finally here, Zach!" she exclaims emotionally. I frown and push her away. "Just say what you have to say. This suit is expensive. Don't dirty it," I said indifferently. My words make Sylvia's eyes go wide with disbelief and shock. But that only lasts for a second before an anxious look replaces it. She holds my arms firmly and says in a choked voice, "Officer Weber is in a coma because of me. Please transfer a sum of money to me so that I can thank her for saving my life." I glance at Sylvia impatiently and reply, "What's that got to do with me? Why should I transfer you my money so that you can give it to her?"

My sister-in-law, Cynthia Ziegler, has my name written on her cancer diagnosis report. As such, the entire Ziegler family assumes that I'm the one with cancer. Overnight, my husband, Leonard Ziegler, sends a text message to his mistress, Irene Ludlow. "Our time will soon come! That old bat is about to die at last, so I'll finally be able to marry you!" My grandmother, Amanda Powell, cries and clings onto my hand, begging me not to seek treatment. She is not only discussing with Leonard on how best to split my insurance money after my death but also employing various methods to hasten my death. However, they are all unaware that Cynthia used my medical insurance card when she went for her physical examination. I feign sadness and nod with tears in my eyes. "I won't seek treatment, Mom. Let's not seek treatment no matter who is diagnosed with cancer."

I grabbed an extra work meal to entertain a client. My boyfriend's sister saw it and went ballistic, docking my entire $500K commission. She pointed at my nose and screamed, "Are you taking me for a fool? You're just hiding behind 'client entertainment' to rip off the company! It's shameful, damaging the company's image! All of your commission for this month will be deducted as a warning to others." The client looked at me, wide-eyed in shock. I shrugged. "Do what makes you happy. Just don't regret it later." From then on, I started slacking off, and she freaked out.

I am having a heart attack when Scott Lakin locks me inside the car. It's because my pain is frightening his childhood sweetheart. In response to my desperate pleas for help, he merely utters coldly, "I'll let you out when you apologize." I go into shock and have to be rushed to the hospital. I call Scott a dozen times, but he just blocks me. Finally, after I get discharged, I see him carefully feeding his childhood sweetheart chicken soup. "Have some food, darling. What if the baby in your belly is hungry?" After that, I return to my hometown without saying a word and stay there for half a month. After blocking me everywhere except the music streaming platform, Scott suddenly starts frantically searching for me. "Jennie, why didn't you add me back on Facebook this time?"

For ten years, my professor husband, Daniel Whitmore, and I loved each other deeply, treating each other with respect and care. Our only regret was that he had azoospermia, so we were never able to have a child. Then, on our tenth wedding anniversary, the housekeeper, Megan Wright, suddenly claimed she was pregnant with Daniel's child. I thought she was joking. Two days later, she threw a paternity test result in my face. The test proved that the child she was carrying was Daniel's. Megan sued us. On the day of the hearing, she cried in front of the courthouse, telling the media how Daniel had molested her. She said we were a pair of perverts who treated her like a breeding machine and kept her confined in our home. Daniel and I couldn't defend ourselves at all. The netizens labeled us demon employers and nailed us to a pillar of shame. Daniel lost his job at the university, and his students were ashamed of him. I was fired from my company that same day. In the end, Daniel couldn't withstand the pressure of public opinion and committed suicide in prison. I became a rat on the streets, hunted down and beaten by netizens. Driven insane, I wandered into traffic and died miserably in the middle of the road. Even at death, I couldn't understand how Megan had become pregnant with the child of my husband, who had azoospermia. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn to the day before Megan claimed she was pregnant with Daniel's child.

After being reborn, the very first thing I do is schedule a hysterectomy. In my past life, my boyfriend's first love started a livestream channel to build her image as a brilliant OB-GYN. The moment she saw me vomiting, she deliberately claimed on livestream that I was pregnant. Right then and there, my boyfriend insisted that he had never even slept with me. I tried to explain, but she handed me medication to help sustain the pregnancy. She even told me to take care of myself and take them on time. Viewers made fun of my boyfriend, saying I had cheated on him. Furious, he broke up with me. Later, my personal information leaked, and countless men began harassing me for hookups. I couldn't take it anymore and jumped to my death. Meanwhile, his first love rode the fame wave of her brilliant OB-GYN persona, gaining followers and being idolized by her fans. But this time, I don't even have a uterus. Let's see how she plans to fake a pregnancy scandal now.

I rush into work this morning and accidentally send the car photos meant for the dealership into the medical intern group chat. The new intern snaps at me. "Dr. Tyson, why are you sending me pictures of my car? Are you jealous and trying to steal attention?" I stop short and ask if she has mixed things up, because the car is mine. She fires back with a whole stack of photos of herself driving a G-class with one hand, plus videos to prove the car in my picture belongs to her. She even tacks on a snide little jab. "You're a shameless, broke wannabe. You want any spotlight you can grab. You think a picture of a car is going to make you the lady of the Reed family?" I frown and turn to my husband, Jackson Reed. "Since when does the Reed family have a second lady of the house?"

I gave my husband, Simon Fuller, a luxury cruise VIP card, one of only three ever issued worldwide. Yet, somehow, it ended up in the hands of a lowlife thug. Using the card, the thug strutted around the cruise ship like a king, barking orders and acting untouchable. No one dared to stand up to him. "This table is too low. You! Get over here. Kneel and hold the plate up while I'm eating." "With a skirt that short, who are you trying to seduce? Some big-shot CEO? Why don't you just come with me instead…" I couldn't take it anymore, so I spoke up. The next second, I was beaten by his men! The thug claimed to be my husband's brother-in-law. I was so angry I laughed. Then, I called my father. "Dad, please have the cruise turn back to port immediately. I want Simon Fuller gone and with nothing to his name!"

On Father's Day, I received a heartwarming gift. My one-year-old son called me Dad for the first time. But moments later, he convulsed, foamed at the mouth, and died before we could reach the hospital. My wife was shattered, and I was devastated. The doctors couldn't identify the cause of his death. Three years later, my wife emerged from her grief, and we welcomed our second child. But the moment this child called me Dad, they, too, died instantly. To spare her further pain, I suggested adoption. Yet, even our adopted children met the same fate. Unable to bear the losses, my wife divorced me. Everyone said I was cursed, never meant to be a father. Defiant, I remarried and had another child, vowing never to let them call me Dad. For years, we adhered to this rule. But when our daughter turned four, she came home from preschool, eager to celebrate Father's Day. Holding a card, she read aloud, "Dad."