Unattainable

I am Charles Grant’s crush, and everyone said that he was really loyal to me. But on our third wedding anniversary, I found out that he had gotten a replacement for me. They even had a three-year-old child. I caressed my belly and tore apart the pregnancy report that I had brought to give him as a surprise.

Oscar Miller was Shirley Bishop's personal bodyguard, but when she got attacked on her birthday, he shielded her foster sister, Myra Bishop, with his own body. Shirley got cut three times—once across her face, once on her arm, and a third that stabbed her lower abdomen, leaving her unable to have children ever again. But even after all that, she still wanted to marry him. Later, Oscar did marry her—but he never touched her, not even once, all the way until his death. At his funeral, the insurance company showed up. "Mr. Miller purchased a large insurance policy before his death. The beneficiary is Ms. Myra Bishop." That was when Shirley realized that after all these years, Oscar had never gotten over Myra. Now, she had been reborn to when her father asked her to choose from four men she had grown up with to be her husband. This time, she decided to fulfill his wish and picked someone else.

I was about to get married, but my boyfriend of nine years had no idea. Why? All because his recently divorced ex-girlfriend waltzed back into town, and he threw himself into her life without hesitation. The knight in shining armor was back, ready to save the day. The moment they saw each other, it was like a scene from a bad romance novel. Their gazes lingered, sparks flying, the kind that screamed, “Oh, we’re soulmates reunited.” To welcome her back, he had 9,999 Juliet roses flown in to decorate her room. Why? All because it was a promise he had made to her long ago. How sweet. Except for one small problem: I’m severely allergic to pollen. When I woke up in the hospital after an emergency rescue, I didn’t cry, yell, or demand answers. No, I pulled out my phone and texted my parents, "Please help me arrange a marriage. I’m done."

As the only daughter of the Hawthorne family, I entered an arranged marriage with Adrian, the heir to the vampire ancient clan. Adrian was attentive, gentle, and deeply devoted to me. Until that day. His childhood sweetheart, Elara, became pregnant after getting involved with a lower-class vampire and turned to him for help. To protect her baby from being rejected by the ruthless vampire families, Adrian publicly claimed that Elara’s baby was his. As for me and the child I was carrying, Adrian told us to wait. At least until Elara could give birth safely, he said, he couldn’t acknowledge me or our child. His parents accused me of infidelity, saying I had disgraced the vampire bloodline and dishonored the Hawthorne name. They forced me to terminate my pregnancy. Meanwhile, Adrian was on the other side of the world, caring for Elara. By the time he finally returned, I had already disappeared from his world.

At our tenth engagement party, my girlfriend crushed my heart again, leaving my proposal ring dangling in the air. She had been chasing the ghost of her first love, and I was done being her fallback guy. When I finally opened my heart to someone new, she realized what she'd lost. Ten years together, ten engagement parties, and still, she wouldn't take my ring. Every time we reached the moment to exchange vows, she'd stare at the door, waiting for that man to swoop in and rescue her. She swore she'd only marry me if he crashed the party, claiming it would prove she'd truly chosen me. This time, I couldn't hold back. "If he never shows, are you just gonna keep stringing me along forever?" She shot back, "He still loves me. He'll show up to stop this. Besides, we've been together a decade. Does a ring even matter at this point?"

I was three months pregnant when my fiancé left me to marry his first love, Isabella Thompson. Soon after, I was in a car accident. I survived, but our baby didn't. My childhood friend, Daniel Smith, found out and insisted on marrying me despite his family's objections. He spent a fortune on the best doctors to ensure I recovered fully. Later, he arranged a grand proposal, confessing he had loved me for years. I was touched and agreed to marry him. But three years later, I overheard his conversation with his friend, Mike Perez. "Remember years ago when Isabella stole Jessica's fiancé? To avoid any future trouble for Isabella, you married Jessica and even caused that car accident, which killed the baby she was carrying. Now, can she even get pregnant anymore?" Mike asked. "No, I love Isabella," Daniel replied. "I just didn't want to have any babies with Jessica, so I put birth control in her water." I trembled, unable to believe what I had heard. It turned out Isabella was also Daniel's first love. I figured it was time for me to leave.

My husband, Alex Walter, was the head of the Bodyguard Association. When I was about to be killed by the kidnappers, he was comforting his childhood crush, Susan Miller, who was sobbing in his arms. While the kidnappers stopped for a meal, I called Alex five times calmly. He was angry when he finally answered. "Susan was just rescued from the kidnappers, and she needs me. If you want me to come home, stop using your own kidnapping as some excuse to compete for attention. It is pathetic!" Hearing Susan's sweet and delicate voice in the background, I had no time to argue with him. Instead, I called the Bodyguard Association. The operator informed me that Alex had pulled all the city's bodyguards away thirty minutes earlier to rescue Susan. When the kidnappers returned, they mocked Alex's heroic efforts to save Susan, mobilizing the entire force for her. If I remember correctly, this was Susan's twenty-eighth kidnapping this month. As the kidnappers approached me with guns and tasers, I closed my eyes in despair. Before I died, I used all my strength to send Alex one last text message, [No matter what, I loved you. Move on from me.]

Donovan Du Pont is not your typical rich boy toy from a wealthy family. He has big dreams and goals with his life. What he wants most of all is to break away from the mundane everday uptight lifestyle he has grown up in. Everyday it's piano lessons, dance classes, tutoring in the highest mathematics, sciences, language arts, and more. His family counts on him to carry on their legacy and get into John Hopkins to become a world-renowned surgeon. But what happens when you add in you add falling for the unattainable? What happens when the ones you trust the most cut you deepest. Some pains you never get over and you never see coming.

I was nine months pregnant when a man ambushed me, dragging me to the rooftop and repeatedly stabbing me. He had a grudge against my husband for replacing him. Meanwhile, my husband, a rescue team leader, was frantically coordinating efforts to stop his depressed ex-lover from burning down a rental apartment. I never called for his help. In a previous life, I had desperately called him, and he had abandoned his ex-lover to rush to my side. As a result, my child and I survived the attack, but his ex-lover perished in the fire she ignited. My husband seemed unfazed, even booking a VIP delivery room for me. Yet, on the day I was to give birth, he bound me and brutally stabbed our newborn multiple times. "You were in on this plot, weren't you?" he snarled. "Those wounds? They're nothing! You weren't even close to dying!" "Oh, you like being stabbed so much? I'll give you exactly what you want!" Suddenly, I found myself back on the day of the kidnapping. This time, I decided to let him go save his precious ex-lover.

When the flood hit, my husband, Patrick Holmes, who was part of the rescue team, stood between me and his first love, Victoria Clarke, torn with hesitation written all over his face. Without thinking twice, I shoved the only lifebuoy into Victoria's arms. In my previous life, Patrick had handed the lifebuoy to me instead and stayed behind with Victoria, choosing to die alongside her. Just before they both drowned, rescuers arrived in the nick of time and pulled him out, but Victoria didn't make it—she drowned that day. After that, he devoted himself completely to me, taking care of me in every moment of our daily lives. I had thought that the disaster made him cherish me more, but I was wrong—so terribly wrong. While I was hospitalized, Patrick unplugged my oxygen tank himself. He hissed, "If you hadn't insisted on going home to rest that day, I wouldn't have been torn on who to save, and she wouldn't have died. Now, you'll atone to her in the afterlife." I struggled helplessly as my vision blurred and death crept in. Then, everything went dark. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day the flood began.