Novel & Cerita Skylar Astin In Pitch Perfect

After eight years together, I took a hit for my surgeon boyfriend. Milton Woodard vowed I could ask for anything. Everyone assumed I'd seize the chance to propose, locking him down for good. Instead, I looked him in the eye and said, "Let's break up." Then I walked away without a backward glance. Milton smirked, betting with his buddies that I'd come crawling back in under three days, calling me a desperate lapdog chasing his attention. He was dead wrong because I'd been reborn. In my last life, I proposed to him and won. Overwhelmed by the news, his first love threw herself off a rooftop and killed herself. Milton unleashed his grief-fueled rage on me. On our wedding night, he slashed my face and locked me in a dank, claustrophobic basement. When I got pregnant, he force-fed me supplements until the baby grew too big for me to deliver. I hemorrhaged, torn apart, and died in agony on the birthing table. Now, reborn on the day I saved his life, I was done playing his fool.

“Who the hell changed the screw tolerance by 0.007 mm?” “I did. Is there a problem?” Kimmy Zabel, our department’s “good-luck charm” and full-time slacktivist, did not even look up from her compact mirror, where she was carefully applying lip gloss. “It just didn’t look right, so I tweaked it. Do you really have to yell at me?” The production line had been running on the wrong spec for twenty-four hours. I hit the emergency stop. Keeping my voice steady took some effort. “These parts no longer meet export standards. If we miss tomorrow’s shipment, even a month of overtime wouldn’t cover the penalties.” “It’s one tiny number. You’re being so dramatic!” Kimmy snapped her makeup case shut. “Anyway, it’s New Year’s Eve. I’ve got a date. I’m not staying here to suffer with you people.” Before she even reached the door, I gestured to the staff to pull the shutters down. “For precision components like these, one number translates into a million-dollar loss. You can take these defective units and explain them to the regulators.”

I was a streamer famous for doing random, unhinged stuff online. And now the richest woman in Bayford wanted me to seduce her son. "Make my son fall for you. I'll give you ten properties. Houses, apartments, condos." For a second, even I thought, 'Okay, this is insane.' Marianne Jensen looked at me like I was her last hope. "Please. I'm out of options. Ever since he was little, I kept pretty girls around him. When he got older, I introduced him to every type of girl possible. But he's thirty now and has never dated anyone." Then she lowered her voice. "I think something's wrong with him. Like those billionaire guys in drama shorts. Maybe he only likes weird girls from the bad side of town." I just stared at her. Wow. Appreciate that. 'Did I just meet a crazy person?' I was about to say no when she shoved ten property deeds and a photo across the table. "Go seduce my son. If you pull it off, the ten properties are yours." I looked at the deeds, then the photo, and instantly decided to help this desperate but incredible mother. Forget something being wrong with him. Even if he liked men, I'd still make him fall for me. Thanks to Marianne pulling strings behind the scenes, I became the personal assistant to Jace Jensen, Bayford's golden boy. And the first thing he said when he saw me was, "How much did my mom pay you? I'll double it. Now get out." Two months later, the job was over, but Jace stood there with red eyes, crying. "How could you use me and throw me away? I don't care. You're taking responsibility for this."

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?"

Caleb Smith's best friend, Kevin Baker, calls me in a panic and tells me that Caleb has been in a terrible racing accident. Without a second thought, I rush to the hospital and donate two pints of blood to save him. As I walk past a hospital room, I freeze. There's Caleb—standing perfectly healthy beside a hospital bed. Kevin throws his head back and howls with laughter. "It's April Fools' Day. We actually managed to trick Winnie Jewel into donating two pints of blood. Too bad that it's useless, though. We might as well feed it to the stray dogs." Vivian Jewel, lying in a hospital bed, looks up at Caleb. "Caleb, don't you think that's a bit much?" A fond smile curves Caleb's lips as he replies, "I can't help it. Where does Winnie get the nerve to take your place? She should have stayed in the orphanage, but since she forced her way back into the Jewel family, she can't blame us for taking your side." Kevin jumps in eagerly. "This year marks the eighth year since she returned to the Jewel family, and the eighth year we've been pranking her." Their undisguised mockery spills out of the room. I pull out my phone and contact my aunt, Gianna Jewel. "Aunt Gianna, I’ve decided. Let's leave the country."

I went on a graduation trip with my boyfriend, Marcus Hale, only to have my shameless roommate, Vanessa Quinn, tag along. On the way to Rybia, our plane was caught in violent turbulence and plunged toward the Egete Ocean. Because of a malfunction, only half the oxygen masks dropped. The spiteful Vanessa snatched the oxygen mask meant for a Rybian socialite, Layla Al-Farouq. Unable to stand by, I shared mine with the woman, saving her life. After the emergency landing, her powerful oil tycoon husband, Khalid Al-Farouq, adopted me as his goddaughter out of gratitude, while throwing the vicious Vanessa into the Kibera Slums. Later, I married Marcus, but on the day we went skydiving, he suddenly unbuckled my parachute and shoved me from ten thousand meters above, leaving me to crash into nothing but broken flesh. "If you hadn’t meddled and saved that old woman, my darling Vivi would still be alive!" Only then did I realize the two of them had been betraying me all along. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the exact moment the plane first took off.

To cheer up their depressed adopted daughter, Ashley Reid, my parents don't dare to treat me nicely. They've even locked me in a pitch-black room more than 700 times, just to put a smile on her face. At first, they feel guilty toward me. But eventually, even my older brother, Liam Reid, who used to care for me the most, treats it like it's all perfectly reasonable. When Ashley's depression finally starts to ease, I work up the courage to kneel and beg them to seal off that room for good. But at her birthday party, simply because I'm wearing the only T-shirt I own, she starts tearing up and asks my parents if I don't like her. My parents and Liam rush to comfort her and, yet again, lock me away in that dark, endless room. "Summer, you're her elder sister. You have to be more considerate of her feelings." "If you hadn't insisted on wearing something so tacky for her birthday party, she wouldn't have gotten so upset." "You've gotten used to it after all these years, right? One more time won't matter to you." I curl up in the corner, gripping my hair, unable to say a word. Three days later, they finally let me out. They remind me not to upset Ashley again. But I just stare at them blankly. "Sorry, who are you?"

The intern secretly submitted a voluntary pay-cut application on my behalf. As a result, my salary dropped from $10,000 to $2,000. When I found out and confronted him, my boss and colleagues all defended him. "The company is not doing great right now. Oscar was just trying to save costs for us. Do you have to nickel-and-dime over this?" With my salary so low, I couldn't afford the special medication for my chronic migraines, and one day I passed out at my desk during an attack. But the intern snuck a video of me unconscious and posted it on the company's website. He even whipped up a detailed 100-page slideshow breaking down how I was slacking off on the clock and dumping all my work on him. Overnight, I was labeled a workplace bully. My boss gave me the cold shoulder, and my colleagues whispered about me. Even worse, some extreme "anti-workplace-bullying" activists tracked me down to my home, showed up with two cans of gasoline, and burned me and my parents alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that very day when the intern had submitted my pay-cut form. In this second chance at life, I would make sure everyone saw the intern for who he truly was.

The night I got back from my work trip, the drugstore called—said my rewards card got declined that afternoon. I needed to reload it. Adrian was in the kitchen, laser-focused on dinner. I asked what he'd bought. He grinned, pulled out a box of supplements. "Been working late. Heart's been acting up, so I grabbed some support vitamins." I didn't say anything. He sighed, dug out a bank card. "I know you're all about money. Used your rewards card by accident. I'll pay you back ten times. Deal?" Normally, I'd take it. This time, I didn't. I just looked at him. "Let's get a divorce."

I won a hundred million. Without a second thought, I quit my job, the one that paid me twenty thousand a month. My husband, who earned barely six thousand, assumed I had been laid off, and in that instant, he showed his true colors. "Let's get a divorce," he said calmly. "You're not good enough for me anymore." Even my mother-in-law, who had always seemed so gentle, turned on me without hesitation. "Get out of this house," she snapped. "And take your sick daughter with you. From now on, you're on your own." That was the moment I gave up on both of them. I did not argue. I did not try to stay. Meanwhile, they were thrilled, convinced they had finally rid themselves of me and my daughter, the burdens they no longer wanted. What they did not know was that inside my bag was not just a lottery ticket worth a hundred million. There was also a diagnosis. My husband, Wade Zeller, had late-stage stomach cancer.