Pool Scene Pitch Perfect

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.

The very first thing I do after I come back to life is find a pig and get married to it. In my past life, I was on the brink of getting engaged to my lover of ten years, Anthony Warner, who was a regimental colonel. In order to celebrate my engagement, Hannah Larson, my cousin, gave me a bracelet, and since it was a thoughtful gift from her, I wore it all the time. Yet, on our engagement day, Anthony didn't just call off our engagement, but he also berated me, calling me a tramp and a homewrecker who destroyed his relationship with Hannah. I was completely at a loss and tried to defend myself, but Hannah suddenly stepped forward and burst out crying. "I know my family and educational background surpass yours, but you can't just ruin my relationship with Anthony out of jealousy, Natalie! Anthony and I have already made a lifelong commitment to each other, so please just let it go!" Anthony turned and led Hannah away. They then got engaged shortly afterward. I was left standing there, becoming the subject of gossip from my relatives. They called me a shameless home-wrecker, and their scorn extended to my parents, who were shamed for raising such a child. They eventually took their own lives from all the rumors, and I couldn't bear the pain of losing them, so I ended myself, too. I suddenly open my eyes and find myself returning to the day Hannah presents me with the bracelet.

I accompany my husband, Michael Yates, to a stationed assignment on a remote island. Out at sea, a sudden storm hits. The ship capsizes and begins to sink. As the commanding officer, my husband gives the last life vest to his so-called godsister, Naomi Hollister. I don't cry or scream. I just watch silently as he carefully fastens the straps around her body. In my past life, I had clutched my pregnant belly and begged him for help. After a brief hesitation, he finally put the vest on me. But Naomi was swept away by the waves, and her body later washed up on shore. Only half of it remained. Michael insisted it wasn't my fault. He also said that saving me was his duty, both morally and professionally. He even took leave to stay by my side before I gave birth. But when my water broke in the dead of night, he pushed me into the sea. His eyes were bloodshot and burning with hatred. "Leah, if it weren't for you, Mimi would still be alive! Did you really have to force me to give you the vest when you were just pregnant? Couldn't you have waited a little longer? Why do you get to live? Go down there and die with her!" I drown, and fish tear my body apart. I die without even a full corpse left behind. And then, I open my eyes. I'm back on the day of the storm.

In my previous life, my boyfriend's younger sister came to the CT room for a check-up. As always, I asked the routine questions about whether she was pregnant or planning to be within the next six months. After all, CT scans involve radiation. It could harm the fetus. She had confidently said no. However, when I handed her the consent form to sign, her face suddenly changed. She immediately pulled out her phone and called my boyfriend, claiming I was putting on airs and making things difficult for her. Soon after, my boyfriend called me. “Don’t make things difficult with my sister over something so trivial. You’re putting me in the middle. I swear on my life she’s not pregnant!” Trusting him, I skipped the consent form and went ahead with the scan. However, the results clearly showed she was pregnant, and not just newly. His family dragged me into court. I lost everything, buried under debt. In the end, I died from the scorching heat while hauling bricks at a construction site. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day his sister came in for her check-up.

My best friend asked me to conduct a blood test on her before she got married to the richest man in the city. That was how I found out that she had AIDS. Due to patient confidentiality and her claim that her fiance would not mind, I did not tell him about her diagnosis. Later on, he contracted AIDS as well. When this happened, my best friend went online and pointed the finger at me. “Maya Sullivan intentionally kept the results of my blood test a secret. That’s why my husband got AIDS. It’s all her fault!” Even my boyfriend added fuel to the fire. “This isn’t the first time Maya has set Pearl up. She only got AIDS because Maya used an infected needle to take her blood sample!” No matter how much I insisted otherwise, everyone kept hounding me about it. To avoid the fallout, I was forced to move myself and my parents to another city to start fresh. However, in a fit of rage, Pearl’s husband crashed into our car and killed all of us. He was later sentenced to death, so Pearl inherited all of his assets. She then lived in luxury with my boyfriend. When I opened my eyes again, I discovered that I had gone back in time. It was the day that Pearl had undergone her health checkup.

After my crimes, I surrendered myself to the police. My fiance rushed over and questioned me, “You didn’t steal anything, so why’re you admitting it?!” I spread my hands. I decided to spend the rest of my life in prison. In my previous life, my fiance’s childhood sweetheart, Selene, had caused trouble everywhere after she returned to her home country. First, she stole things from a mall. Then, she dined and dashed. Finally, she ran a red light and killed someone. The mall manager, the restaurant owner, and the victim’s family all cornered me. I was puzzled. Why did they come after me for the things Selene did? Later, they accused me in front of the police of stealing, dining and dashing, and committing a hit-and-run. Apparently, they had mistaken me for Selene. But Selene and I looked nothing alike. I requested the surveillance footage as proof of their claims. The footage somehow showed that I was the one who had stolen things, dined and dashed, and committed a hit-and-run. My denial was useless without evidence. The footage, on the other hand, was foolproof. The victim’s family stabbed me to death out of rage. Even as I died, I could not understand why all the crimes Selene committed ended up becoming mine. When I opened my eyes again, I returned to the very day Selene stole things from the mall.

After my rebirth, the very first thing I did was ride from one blood donation van to another, giving blood until I nearly collapsed. Why? Because in my previous life, my fiancé's newly hired intern, Shirley Lynch, had bound herself to a blood-exchange system. Every milliliter she donated was siphoned directly from my own veins. In just a month, she transformed from an ordinary college girl into the nation's beloved Blood Angel, showered with fame and fortune, while I, suffering from severe anemia, was fired from the hospital for being unable to work. When I exposed her scheme to my fiancé, he looked at me with disgust and broke off our engagement. "You're selfish and cowardly," he sneered. "You refuse to donate your rare blood type, and now you slander Shirley? You call yourself a doctor, yet you believe in such ridiculous nonsense!" From then on, every time Shirley donated blood, I would suffer heart palpitations, dizziness, and sometimes collapse outright. I begged the doctors in my department for help, but my fiancé blocked every attempt, accusing me of jealousy and wasting medical resources. In the end, to steal my promotion ahead of schedule, Shirley donated a full 1000 milliliters of blood live on television. As her blood drained, so did mine. I went into shock and died. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day Shirley first claimed she carried my rare blood type.

My adopted daughter, Phoebe Marsh, possessed an evil ability. Whenever she got hurt, the pain would also be inflicted directly on my biological daughter, Maisie Shaw. She deliberately hurt herself, covering her body with wounds and bruises. Then, she would turn around with cold eyes, watching Maisie writhe on the floor in agony until she passed out from the pain. With no medical solution available, I broke down and held Maisie close, begging my husband, Brandon Shaw, to send Phoebe away. However, he would erupt in fury. "It's obviously Maisie who's been faking illness for attention, and you're making up this ridiculous story to get rid of Phoebe. She's just a fragile, helpless child. How can you be so vicious?" After that, Phoebe escalated her self-harm even more viciously. Meanwhile, Maisie spent every day curled up in the corner of her bed, refusing to let anyone touch her. On Maisie's birthday, Phoebe threw herself from the fifth floor. Just as Maisie was blowing out her candles and making a wish, she suddenly began bleeding from all her facial orifices, and she died instantly. Yet, Phoebe only suffered minor scrapes. I died from overwhelming grief shortly after. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to Phoebe's first day in our home. Maisie was playing with her Legos when she suddenly clutched her ankle and started crying. This time, I grabbed the broom from behind the door and swung it toward Maisie, shouting, "I'll beat you up for faking illness and seeking attention!"

After I got a second shot at life, the very first thing I did was enroll in an intensive weight-loss boot camp. In my past life, my boyfriend was always on my case about my weight. He flat-out told me he wouldn't put a ring on it unless I got down to a hundred pounds. I tried every diet and workout plan out there—I pushed myself to the edge—but instead of losing, I packed on even more pounds. Meanwhile, my so-called best friend ate cheeseburgers, fries, and pizza like it was her job and still dropped from 130 pounds to a hundred in less than a month. The second she hit that magic number, my boyfriend's head turned. They started sneaking around behind my back. When I finally confronted them, they shoved me off a rooftop. It wasn't until after I died that I discovered the truth: my "best friend" had linked herself to a weight-transfer system. Every single pound I struggled to lose went straight to her. And every ounce of fat she should have gained? It landed right back on me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the exact day my boyfriend gave me his hundred-pound ultimatum. With every memory of my past life intact, I couldn't help but smile. My best friend wants to be skinny, does she? Well then, let's see how she likes being nothing but skin and bones. Let's see if forty-five pounds is skinny enough for her.

On our fifth anniversary, Henry Judd—the guy who once swore he'd propose—rented out an entire mall for Cecilia Cheape's birthday. A diamond the size of a pigeon's egg sparkled on her finger. I'd been dumb enough to think it was meant for me. "Cece, I'm gonna give you a birthday you'll never forget," he announced, loud enough for the whole world to hear. Then he yanked the tab off a soda can and handed it to me. "Lulu, those gaudy things don't suit you. You deserve something unique." He slid the can tab onto my finger—his version of a proposal. Cecilia got the dream birthday. I got a piece of trash and a slap of reality. Later, when he found out I was marrying someone else, he got down on one knee with that same ring and begged me to say yes.