Zabuza Face

In my past life, I walked away from an invitation to the elite Academy just to take the fall for Luca. He held my hand, swearing he’d get me out. Swearing he’d keep me safe for the rest of my life. Instead, I rotted in a cell until I died. While I was bleeding out on the cold floor, Luca was marrying the Don’s daughter, living the high life. When I opened my eyes, I was back. Luca was sixteen again, face pale as a sheet, shoving a bloody gun into my hands. "Elena, you're a lifesaver." I slapped the piece away. "Dream on. I ain't taking the rap for you this time."

In his bid for perpetual life, the first Don of the Bryant family annihilates the witch clan and violently takes possession of their most sacred relic. In the moments before her death, the head of the witch clan places a curse on every descendant of the Bryant family. Every descendant will suffer a sudden mutation at the age of 23, where their bodies would be covered in thick, black hair, and fangs would sprout from their mouths, turning them into monsters. They can only lift the curse if they marry a descendant of the witches. Ella Crawford—my sister—and I are the last remaining descendants of the witch clan in the human realm. In my past life, Oliver's lottery selection fell on the attractive Ella. I was aware that Ella lacked the power to lift the curse, so I secretly swapped the lots, and Oliver ended up married to me. In the end, during our wedding night, Ella set herself alight, proclaiming that she had lost her eternal love and didn't want to face life without him. As a result, Mom and Dad drove me out. Oliver, however, took me in and showered me with affection. It wasn't long before I conceived his child, and he successfully survived his 23rd birthday. Yet, barely a day later, Oliver pushed me into the fire pit. I pleaded with tears streaming down my face, "I freed you from the curse and am currently carrying your baby, Oliver, so please don't treat me like this!" Oliver merely responded with a malicious grin as he tossed the torch aside. "If it weren't for your interference, Ella would have lifted the curse for me! I would have been able to spend the rest of my life with her, Cynthia!" In the end, I was completely consumed by the flames. I suddenly open my eyes and find myself returning to the day Oliver chooses his bride by lot. I immediately snap the tampered lot, as I'm eager to find out how Ella will save Oliver without any witch powers in this life.

On Christmas Day, eight months pregnant, I struggled through the kitchen,cooking for my husband and his secretary. When I finally sat down, hoping to taste a piece of turkey I didn’t even get during Thanksgiving, my husband shoved me aside like I was nothing. He slid the turkey in front of his secretary instead. “Alison,you’re already so fat. Stop eating. Let Daisy have it—she deserves to enjoy your cooking.” Daisy，chewing on the turkey I had painstakingly prepared, had the audacity to mock me under the guise of playing truth or dare with my child. “So, what do you think your mom looks like?” “Mommy looks like a fat pig on a farm!” “Her stretch marks? They’re like disgusting worms crawling all over her. Even Santa would run for his life!” Their laughter erupted like daggers piercing me from all sides. Humiliation and rage burned through me as my dignity was stripped bare. I demanded an apology from that vile woman, but my husband—my husband!—turned his cold, cruel face toward me and said, “Get out of here.” Pregnant, exhausted, and humiliated, I stood there in shock. Then I snapped. I grabbed the Christmas cake and turkey and threw them in the trash. I walked out without looking back. This wretched family doesn’t deserve a second of my effort or a single ounce of my love!

On the night before the wedding, my fiancé’s female best friend, Marisol Vance, sent me a set of photos. In the photos, she wore the custom haute couture wedding gown I had commissioned, leaning into Lucian Drake’s arms, with a caption meant to provoke me: [Borrowing your groom and your dress for a moment—after all, Lucian said I look better in this than you do.] Soon after, my social feed was flooded with their so-called wedding photos. In the images, the two of them staged a mock kiss, the caption reading: [More than friends, not quite lovers. If we had been born ten years earlier, there would have been no place for anyone else.] I held up the photos and confronted Lucian, yet he played his game indifferently, then tossed his phone aside, his face full of impatience. “I told you, it was just for fun—a way to commemorate our youth. Can you stop acting like a shrew? She was just diagnosed with depression. What’s wrong with me comforting her?” Looking at his self-righteous expression, I smiled. “Fine. Since your bond is so unbreakable, I won’t play the villain.” That very night, I drafted a withdrawal agreement and halted the arrangements I had been making with a top-tier overseas medical team for his mother. “The wedding is off. Don’t expect me to keep patching up your bankrupt company, and don’t expect me to save your mother either. “Your youth is precious—I hope you can afford to pay the price to keep it so.”

I run into my former sister-in-law, whom I haven't seen in ages, during a prenatal checkup at the hospital. Wynne Jenkins glances at my belly. And just like she always does, her face crinkles with disdain as she starts nagging me. "Look at you, wandering around with a pregnant belly at your age," she hollers. "What if something happens to my baby nephew? Can't you be a little more sensible and stop making Sean worry all the time?" She must have forgotten. A year ago, Mom was gravely ill. Her only wish was to see me married with children. I staked everything and proposed to Sean Jenkins. On our big day, I waited from dawn until nightfall—only to receive a 30-second voice message from him. "I won't show up at the ceremony, and I won't marry you. This is what you get for bullying Lav." Mom was so enraged by Sean's recklessness that she suffered a heart attack and passed away. After taking care of her funeral, I erased every trace of myself. With what little I had left, I fled Horton—while Sean was still abroad, skiing with Lavender Quinn. And yet now, Wynne says, "Sean spends more than two weeks every month flying around looking for you. He's lost nearly 20 pounds in less than a year. "He's been waiting for you, Janelle. Now that you're back, please stay and build a family with him." I smirk and raise my hand, flaunting the ring on my finger. "Sorry, I like to keep a low profile. I'm already married, but we kept the ceremony simple. That's why you didn't know."

(My fiancé cheated on me, so I made a plan to get back at him by cheating with his father) “Who do you belong to, baby girl? Me or Finn?” He buried his face between her legs. “You! I… belong to you… Daddy!” Maisie cried out ecstatically. “Ugh… so good.” He grunted. “You look so… good when… I touch you, Pet!” Becoming the submissive pet of her father-in-law was her twisted plan to get revenge on her fiancé, Finn, for cheating on her. She had vowed, "I'll fuck his father as much as I want for what he did to me. Then, I'll marry Finn, make him watch me fuck his father, and divorce him." It was a clear plan, one meant to mess with both Finn and his father. But she had no idea that this would spark an unending obsession from Rafael Caruso—her father-in-law, a secret mafia don, a man nobody dared to cross. "I was never a part of your silly games, baby girl," Rafael growled, his voice dripping with authority. "I wanted you even before Finn. You are my submissive pet. You signed the damn contract, and you will do as I fucking say." He gripped her hand, pinning her to the wall. "I will keep you as long as I want, for as the contract stands. You belong to me! There's no escape!”

I took the casino business Angelina, my stepsister, had always wanted. The very next day, the heir of the Corleone family who was Angelina's childhood companion knocked on my door. With that deep, captivating face, he asked, “Principessa Annelise, what’s the point of those bloody businesses? Why don’t I take you to enjoy a life of real pleasure?” So, I agreed without hesitation. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I sealed those lips I had long wanted to taste. After that, I began frequently skipping internal mafia meetings. I let the businesses in my hands fall into decline, little by little. I spent extravagantly. Every day, I only cared about indulging in pleasure with Lorenzo in high-end clubs and private yachts. That was until my father, the don, fell gravely ill. The night before the family leaders gathered to choose the new don, he served me in bed and asked me to hand over control of the family to Angelina at the meeting. I knew that was his true purpose for approaching me. However, this time, I only quietly touched the don’s ring hidden beneath my pillow, the symbol of the family’s highest power. “You’ve given me a great experience this past year. But the power of the don is too tempting. For the next game, I won’t be playing with you.”

Despite my parents' objections, I stay by Julian Grant's side for ten years. He goes from having nothing to building his own empire. The moment it's time to fulfill our ten-year promise, I proudly tell my parents I'm going to marry him. But then, he gives the vice president position meant for me to another woman. I confront him only to overhear a woman's hesitant voice behind the door. "Mr. Grant... you gave me the VP role, but what about Ms. Jones? Aren't you two getting married?" Julian's tone is cold and sharp, though his face is calm and unaffected. "Noelle's been with me for ten years. Who else would even want her? Relax—she won't dare make a scene." The words hit me like a slap to the face. Without another word, I turn and make a call to my arranged marriage contact. "Are you free?" I ask. "Let's get married."

My cousin, Myra Walsh, leaves a voice message in the family group chat in a mean and uncouth manner. "Mom, I'm not meeting that guy who drives a rundown car. One look at him tells me that he's a single pathetic loser." She then kicks my chair. "Hey Sam, that useless piece of shit is a good match for you. Why don't you take my place on the blind date?" I follow Myra's line of sight. There's an old-looking car parked outside, and the owner, Henry Quinton, is currently reclining against the car while smoking. My entire family thinks he's just an ex-convict who has just gotten released from prison and is unable to land a job yet. I'm the only one who knows that's not the truth. Last week, when I was carrying out my internship at a bank, I witnessed the bank manager inviting Henry into the vault. Apparently, the trail of numbers Henry has in his savings is as long as a phone number. After putting on some makeup on my face to make me pure and innocent, I put on an oversized shirt before heading out of the apartment. In the cold wind, I cower slightly from the cold as I hand a thermos flask over to Henry. "Sir, Maya said she's not a match for you, so I'm here in her place." Henry snuffs out his cigarette, his gaze fixing on my flapping hem for three seconds. "Lass, if you want to be with me, you'll have to suffer tremendously in life." "I'm willing to go through anything as long as I get to be with you." That night, Maya flaunts photos of the bag a rich scion has given her. As for me, I've gone over to Henry's apartment.

At the company team-building event, I got called out by my colleague Samantha Rowler for not removing my price tag—she accused me of being a "freebie chaser." "Oh wow, Carla, you drive a BMW 5 Series. Are you seriously planning to return your clothes within seven days too?" she sneered. I tucked the tag back in and ignored her snide remark. But after the event, as soon as I got home, my phone started blowing up. My chat apps were going insane. A friend had sent me a link: [Luxury-Car Executive Turns Out to Be a Return Addict!] Someone had filmed me leaving the price tag on and posted it to a short-video platform. I opened the comment section and was met with a barrage of insults. [Can't afford to live, huh? Tag warrior.] [Is this car a sugar-daddy gift? Those who know, know.] [OMG, does this woman have some kind of illness? Which brand is this so I can avoid it!] I immediately knew Samantha was behind it. I messaged her to delete the video. Instead, the next second, she blocked me—and pinned a comment to the top of the thread: [You can know a person's face but never their heart!] I was about to post a statement to clarify, my finger hovering over the send button, when I noticed the video's likes had already shot past ten thousand. I laughed. If they wanted a scene, fine—let's make it bigger. I quickly posted a new update: [The outfit is really nice. I'll wear it again next time.] The netizens erupted. The insults doubled, the heat skyrocketed, and the post shot straight to number one trending. I just put my phone down and went to sleep.