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I woke up on the day my legal guardian, Beau, became delirious from painkillers. This time, I didn’t stay by his side. I did as he asked and called Claire. In my previous life, I’d fallen in love with Beau—the man who raised me. That day, he’d had an accident and taken too many painkillers, losing himself completely. Instead of calling Claire, I’d stayed with him. A month later, I found out I was pregnant. Beau married me for the baby. On our wedding day, Claire was in a horrific car accident while traveling overseas. Before she died, she called Beau one hundred and ninety-nine times, begging for help. He didn’t answer a single one. Later, Beau stared at those one hundred and ninety-nine missed calls in silence. He didn't break that silence until the day I went into labor, when he locked me in the basement. I begged him to take me to the hospital. He just stood there, watching as our child and I died together on the cold floor. The last thing I heard him say was, “If you hadn’t gotten pregnant, I never would have married you. I wouldn’t have missed Claire’s calls, either. You deserved this.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that day. ... “Xenia, call Claire. Now.” Hearing those words again jolted me back to reality. I was really back. I grabbed my phone and dialed Claire’s number without a second thought. Beau Mercer’s face was flushed, his breathing shallow and ragged. His eyes were unfocused, lost in the haze of the drugs. Last time, that look had been enough to make me disobey him. It had ended in my own brutal death. This time, I avoided his gaze and slipped out of the room. “Just hold on, Beau. Claire will be here in ten minutes.” The door clicked shut behind me, and I heard him murmur my name. I didn’t answer. I just stood outside the door and waited. Ten minutes later, Claire arrived. Her eyes landed on me first, her expression a complicated mix of suspicion and relief. She scanned my clothes, and only after confirming I was untouched did the tension leave her shoulders. Before pushing the door open, she threw a sentence over her shoulder. “You can go. You’re not needed here.” I turned and went upstairs to my room. It wasn't until late that night that the sounds from downstairs finally faded. I sat on the edge of my bed, the memories of my last life replaying in my mind. Back then, I’d been so in love with Beau that I’d stayed to take care of him myself. A month later, I was pregnant. He married me. But on our wedding day, Claire died in an accident. He lost the woman he’d always wanted to marry. He didn’t lash out right away. He held all that rage inside until I was about to give birth. Then he locked me in the basement. The pain was so blinding I nearly passed out. I cried. I begged. I told him I didn’t care if I died, as long as he saved the baby. But he didn’t move. He just stood there and watched me bleed out, watched our child die before it could even be born. In this life, I did what he wanted and called Claire. And soon, I would leave this place for good. The next morning, Claire was at the Mercer breakfast table. Beau took a bite of his eggs and a sip of coffee before speaking. “Claire is my girlfriend, and I intend to marry her. You will all treat her with respect.” His gaze landed on me, and he tapped his fork against his plate. “Especially you. Show my future wife some respect. Don’t make trouble.” I nodded. The corner of Claire’s mouth twitched into a smug little smile. I ignored her and stood to go back to my room. I’d barely pushed my chair back when Claire’s voice, thick with crocodile tears, stopped me. “Beau, does Xenia not want me here? I know how important she is to you. If she doesn’t like me, maybe I should just go.” A few tears slid down her cheeks as she spoke. Beau’s brow furrowed, his eyes snapping to me.......

Grant and I were secretly married for six years. At his family foundation’s gala, he slipped off his wedding ring to lead the opening dance with Meredith, his pregnant ex-fiancée. He told the press she was the one who had always understood his dreams. Every newspaper in Boston celebrated them finding their way back to each other. When he came home, he warned me, “Don’t make a scene.” I didn’t. On our wedding anniversary, I left a gift for him in his study. A velvet box, the kind meant for a celebratory gift. Inside were the divorce petition I’d already signed, the property settlement agreement, and the eight-week ultrasound of our baby, tucked beside an appointment confirmation for a termination procedure. He never even glanced at it. He was already out the door, rushing to comfort his ex, who had supposedly “had a nightmare.” He didn’t know he’d just thrown away his last chance. ... I looked at him, at the bare finger where his wedding ring should have been. Grant rubbed the pale indentation, an unconscious gesture, as if soothing a phantom limb. “The gala was crowded. My grandmother was there,” he explained, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather. “It would have caused unnecessary complications.” The excuse was so lazy it was almost laughable. In the past, I would have pushed. I would have demanded to know where he’d put the ring, made him fish it out of his suit pocket, and watched him slide it back on his finger. This was, after all, the man I had once fought so hard for. Over the years, I’d grown adept at making excuses for him. Just like six months ago, when Meredith returned to Boston after her own divorce. He’d left me burning with a fever to drive halfway across the state to pick her up from the airport. When he got back, he ignored my protests and insisted on hiring her as a consultant for the family foundation. Back then, I’d chalked it up to his sense of responsibility, to the pul......

I didn't know I was my sister's stand-in until I found the love letters my husband had written to her. Reborn, I handed him over to my sister. But he went crazy… "Miss Windsor, have you finished signing your form?" Clara Windsor stared blankly at the City Hall before her, then heard the staff member's urging voice again. Only then did she finally realize. She had been reborn? Reborn on the very day she was supposed to get her marriage license with Caspian Blackwood. In her previous life, she had been overjoyed that morning—waking early, eager to drag him to wait in line. Now she fingered the registration form in her hand, but there was not a trace of happiness on her face. The Blackwood Family was the most powerful noble house in Kingsbridge—strict, ritualistic, and unforgiving. As the heir, Caspian needed a wife who would be his steadfast support: gentle, utterly devoted to him and the family, and able to leave him with no worries at home. So in her past life, to be the perfect wife, she had abandoned her future, her sense of self. She resigned from her post, bore children, managed the household, and sacrificed everything. By the time she was barely past fifty, illness had worn her down. Lying on her deathbed, she discovered the love letters he had written to her younger sister. "You are a free bird, meant to soar across the blue sky. Because I love you, I cannot bear to trap you." "Your sister resembles you a little. Whenever I look at her face, I can fool myself into thinking the woman spending her life with me is you. In the future, let your sister handle the children, the elders, the housework—I only want you to live happily, freely, and brilliantly every single day." Only then did she understand: Caspian Blackwood, the man she had grown old with, had always loved her sister, Vanessa Windsor. He had married her only because she served another purpose. After discovering the truth, she was consumed by agony. Her son rushed back, but instead of comforting her, his face lit up. He kept urging her at her bedside. "Mom, since Dad really loves Aunt Ness, you should just divorce him already." "All these years, you've never measured up to Aunt Ness. She's a diplomat, while you've just stayed home doing chores. You don't suit Dad at all. You've kept the whole family running smoothly—now Aunt Ness can marry in without a care and live blissfully with Dad. Just let go and make way for them." That day, she died from sheer rage, slipping from the world. Opening her eyes again, she was back on the day she was supposed to get her marriage license with Caspian Blackwood. To love others, you must first love yourself. In this life, she would not repeat her mistakes. She was about to speak when the phone in Caspian's pocket rang. It was Vanessa. Seeing the caller ID, his cold expression instantly softened. He stepped aside to take the call. A minute later, he returned. "Clara, your sister sprained her ankle. As her brother-in-law, I should go see her. After you sign, just go home by yourself." Without waiting for her reply, he hurried out. His assistant, Danny, chased after him. "Mr. Blackwood, the board meeting is about to start—this contract is worth hundreds of billions. You—" "Cancel it." Caspian stepped on the accelerator, and the car vanished into traffic. Watching his receding figure, Clara felt nothing but sorrow and irony. In her past life, her eyes and heart had been full of Caspian Blackwood. She had never known that his eyes and heart were full of Vanessa. Such obvious affection—how had she missed it? She had wasted an entire lifetime. At the counter, the staff member tapped on the glass. "Miss Windsor, are you still signing the form?" Clara curved her lips, but the smile did not reach her eyes. "Yes." She picked up the pen and, stroke by stroke, wrote a name: Vanessa Windsor. Then she slid the corresponding page from the family register across the counter. Caspian Blackwood, since you love her so much, I will grant your wish. Stepping out of the City Hall, she looked at the marriage certificate in her hand and smiled bitterly. Groom: Caspian Blackwood. Bride: Vanessa Windsor. She wondered what face Caspian would make when he saw these two certificates. She had just tucked them into her bag when her phone rang. Minister Sterling's voice came through, tinged with regret. "Clara, have you really decided to resign from your diplomatic post?" "The Ministry of Foreign Affairs chooses only the best. You're someone I've always had high hopes for—limitless potential. I was planning to give you an overseas assignment, and then you suddenly said you wanted to quit." "I know family matters to you, but I have to say a few more words—" Before he could finish, Clara's resolute voice cut in. "Minister Sterling, I'm sorry. I was confused before. I'm not resigning. I'll take the overseas post." In her previous life, she had resigned from the Foreign Ministry, and right after that, the overseas post went to Vanessa. She had naively believed that sacrificing her dreams for love would earn her his love. Instead, she had spent the rest of her life trapped inside the Blackwood mansion, her spirit and talent wilting like an ephemeral flower. Meanwhile, Vanessa went abroad, made a name for herself, became a role model for students, and a national pride. In this life, she would never be hindered by love again. She would never sacrifice her future for Caspian Blackwood. From now on, she would live only for herself, shining brilliantly on her own terms.

Four years into our marriage, I learned Maria made an extra meal every day. The pricey nutritionist packed it up and shipped it to a strange place in Brooklyn. The meal plan on the kitchen iPad was perfectly clear. Organic bone broth, wild salmon rich in DHA, leafy green salads packed with folate. They were all pregnancy meals. Each meal had a note: low salt, likes lemon, no nuts. The notes were more detailed than the ones she wrote for my own recovery meals. I took a screenshot and sent it to my husband, Rafael, via iMessage. Two minutes later, he replied, “In a meeting. We’ll talk when I get home.” Rafael came home at ten that night. He sighed upon finding me still seated at the dining table. “What is it now?” I pushed my phone across the table toward him. “Brooklyn. Williamsburg. 7 North Seventh Street, 18B. Who lives there?” He glanced at the screen, erased the photo on my phone and put it back. “Maria took on a private client. It has nothing to do with me.” “Rafael, I pay her six figures. ” “Do you think she’d dare cook for someone else here, using my things, without my leave?” He said nothing. Just then, the electronic lock chimed. Someone was entering the passcode outside. The door swung open. A young woman stood in the doorway, about seven months pregnant, holding an empty chilled delivery box. She looked at me first, then at Rafael. “Darling, didn’t you say she was moving out by the end of the month? ” “I’ve already measured the guest room. It’ll be perfect for a nursery.” She lowered her head and touched her belly, her voice soft. “He’s been kicking all day. I think he’s looking for his daddy.” Rafael’s face went white. I leaned back in my chair and let out a sudden laugh. Sometimes, when anger reaches its peak, all you can do is laugh. I paid her a huge salary, yet she cooked for the woman bearing his baby. That money had been spent with incredible preci......