I, Estella Stanley, and my sister, Caroline Percy, gave birth at the same time. Caroline had a healthy baby boy, and her husband, Bernard Percy, the Prince of Goldencrest, was elated. The entire Percy Manor was lit up in celebration for three days straight. I, however, delivered a stillborn. I was branded as a bearer of bad luck, and my husband, Crown Prince Lancelot Stanley, was stripped of his title and passed away in despair shortly thereafter. Caroline came to mock me at the desolate estate where I was cast aside. She said I was a jinx, a cursed woman who couldn't even bring a child into the world. With my last ounce of strength, I fought back against her, but she forcefully pushed me into a pond and drowned me. It was only after my death that I learned the stillborn was, in fact, Caroline's child. She and her mother, Donna Gordon, had colluded to swap our babies, destroying my life and my family. When I regained consciousness, I was back to the day of my labor.

My husband, Tom Swift, was "blessed" with a mother, Kate Swift, whose understanding of basic human discourse seemed as fathomless as the abyss. I had implored her, time and again, not to be excessively frugal, lest her penny-pinching led to the disastrous cutting of corners. Yet, she continued to employ her husband, Paul Swift's old, unworn underwear as a makeshift dishcloth for washing milk bottles, a practice that reeks of both absurdity and peril. Alas, my one-month-old daughter, Mia Swift, contracted a fungal infection as a consequence, her tender skin was marred by the insidious blight. Enraged beyond measure, I lashed out at her, branding her a dimwit, only to be met with a stinging slap from Tom. He vehemently asserted that I had no right to address his mother with such disrespect. Later, during Mia's delicate fungal surgery, the doctor's repeated admonitions echoed in our ears, warning that no food should be given. But Kate, in a covert act of defiance, surreptitiously fed my daughter a few morsels anyway. The outcome was catastrophic. During the surgery, Mia suffered from food reflux, and her airway was obstructed, leading to her suffocation and ultimate demise. Consumed by a torrent of hatred, I lunged at Kate, demanding she pay for my daughter's life with her own blood. But Tom and Paul, arriving in haste, declared that regardless of the circumstances, laying hands on an elder was beyond the pale. They violently pulled me away, causing my body to collide with the back of my head on a fatal spot, resulting in my instant death. In the end, they manipulated Tom's role as my husband to devour my family's assets, greedily siphoning off every last drop of our inheritance. Upon reawakening after a rebirth, I vowed with a fiery determination to make each and every one of them pay in blood for their heinous crimes.

In my previous life, it all started with a broken comb. My roommate, Paris Clarkson, snapped mine and then tried to make up for it by giving me a replacement—a wooden one, delicately carved with patterns. That same night, our dorm caught fire. The flames started right at my bed. I was the one who got blamed. The school gave me a formal warning, a black mark on my record. By the fifth day, my world started to crumble. My mom called, her voice shaking as she told me the news: our family was bankrupt. I sold everything I could—jewelry, bags, clothes—but no matter how hard I tried, it wasn't enough to stop the bleeding. On the tenth day, I woke up barely able to breathe. My body was ravaged by a sudden illness that left me on the edge of death. As I lay there, gasping for air, Paris stood over me, her eyes full of contempt. "Why did you get to be born rich?" She held up a black card, smirking. "But now, it's all mine." When I opened my eyes again, I was back to that day—the day Paris broke my comb.

Just before Thanksgiving, someone suddenly mentioned me in the long silent high school class group chat. [Aria, why haven't you said anything about Tessa's wedding? Don't you dare turning a deaf ear on us!] Glancing at the dozens of unread messages, I realized that Tessa Caldwell, our highschool's most popular girl, was getting married on Thanksgiving. She'd invited the whole class. [I'm out. Sorry, I'm currently in another country. ] No sooner had I sent the message than her loyal supporters in the group jumped at the chance to attack me. [Aria, are you too scared to show up?] [Yeah, we all remembered you stealing Tessa's five grand tutoring fees. She never even held it against you, and now you're even stingy with a simple congrats? And you even pretend to be abroad. Ugh, how ungrateful!] Tessa swooped in, playing the peacemaker. [Oh, that was such a long time ago. I've already forgotten about it. Aria, don't take it to heart. I really hope you can make it to the wedding!] Her comment set off a chorus of praise in the group, everyone gushing about how kind and forgiving she was to a thief like me. How ridiculous. I still hadn't settled the score with her for framing me all those years ago, and now she was putting on a show, acting all magnanimous. Scrolling up through the chat, I found the name of her fiancé. But the more I looked at it, the more familiar it seemed. Wasn't that Dorian Sinclair? Technically, he was my nephew! A cold smile tugged at my lips. I typed out a response. [Oh, I'm definitely coming to your wedding!]

Just before Thanksgiving, the new intern strutted in, claiming herself to be the CEO's daughter. The second she saw me, she laid into me, accusing me of trying to seduce her dad. Everyone in the office instantly jumped on her bandwagon. They sucked up to her while throwing shade at me, calling me names and giving me a hard time. She was loving it, feeling all high and mighty. To show off, she booked a fancy dinner at a luxury hotel for the whole team, running up a huge tab. But when she confidently whipped out her card to pay, her face dropped. The card was completely maxed out. As she started to panic, I calmly stepped up and waved my card at the waiter. With her face turning pale, I gave her a small, satisfied smile. "Yeah, about that... My mom said we're not bankrolling randoms. "So I froze all the cards you and my dad were using. Oops!"

Before Thanksgiving, my colleague Fiona Steele made a grand announcement that she was getting married to our company's CEO. The excitement in the office was palpable as she handed out invitations to everyone except me. Before I could even voice my confusion, she stormed up to me, eyes blazing. "I knew you, you were that mistress got out of my fiancé's car last week, right? "I'm warning you. Stay away from him! You're still young. There are plenty of better things to do than playing the role of a homewrecker!" The atmosphere thickened with tension as my colleagues chimed in, some praising Fiona's kindness while others sneered at me, suggesting I was dreaming if I thought I could ever compete with her. From that moment on, my meticulously organized files began to vanish overnight, and someone even wrote "slut" in bright red lipstick across my desk. When the wedding day finally arrived, I found myself at the venue. The moment my colleagues saw me, they couldn't hold back their laughter and jibes. Fiona, furious, called for security, demanding I be kicked out. But I simply sauntered over to the main table, a confident smile on my face. "Fiona, today you're marrying my dad's adopted son. How could I not come and wish you well?"

My husband, Diego, insisted I take his spot on the company retreat to a virgin forest, acting like he was doing me some big favor. Little did I know, a casual lottery ticket I'd bought on a whim turned into a 50 million-dollar jackpot. Excited beyond belief, I rushed home on the first flight available, thinking of how I would surprise Diego with this life-changing news. But just as I reached the front door, I heard his familiar voice, dripping with smugness. "That jacket was Ellie's—there's no mistaking it. That idiot really did get eaten by a bear! All that planning with Carly paid off—sending her off to that forest worked like a charm." I froze. My blood ran cold as I glanced at my phone. The retreat group chat had just shared a horrifying video—someone in my jacket, drenched in blood, being torn apart by a bear's vicious teeth. But the person in that jacket wasn't me. It was Carly.

In the twilight of our eighth year together, I stepped in front of a blade aimed at my doctor boyfriend, Ethan Moore. In the aftermath, he said, "You can ask for anything. Anything at all." The onlookers, a crowd of curious faces, whispered among themselves. They assumed I'd seize the moment to force a proposal, to demand the ring that had always seemed just out of reach. But with a serene composure, I merely stated, "Let's break up." And with that, I pivoted on my heel and strode away. Ethan, with a contemptuous smirk, wagered with the crowd. "A simp like her is just doing it for attention. I bet, within three days, she'll come back around and plead for my forgiveness. Just you wait..." His words dripped with arrogance, a reflection of the man I had once idolized. He was utterly mistaken. For I harbored a secret—I had been granted a second lease on life. In my previous life, I had maneuvered Ethan into proposing, thinking that would secure my place in his heart. But his true love, driven to despair, had leaped from a rooftop, ending her life in a tragic swan dive. His wrath, once a simmering fire, became an inferno. On our wedding night, he marred my face with a blade, etching scars into my skin that mirrored the wounds in my soul. He confined me in a dark, enclosed basement, a cell of my own making. When I got pregnant, he compelled me to ingest excessive amounts of tonics everyday. By the time I was due, the baby had grown too large for me to endure the birth. My body, a frail vessel, could not withstand the strain. Ultimately, I perished from a catastrophic hemorrhage during labor, my life ebbing away like the final notes of a symphony. Reborn, I found myself back on the very day I had taken the knife for Ethan. The memories of my past life were a heavy cloak, but I wore them with a newfound resolve. This time, I shall grant him his heart's desire.

Upon discovering my pregnancy, an inexplicable sense of trepidation washed over me. As I stood there, clutching the test report in trembling hands, I inadvertently caught a glimpse into the twisted machinations of Denzel Evans' mind. "This idiot is still riding that pregnancy high, completely clueless we swapped her IVF embryo. "Honestly, she's just a fancy incubator for Jenny's kid. If it weren't for Jenny freaking out about the whole childbirth thing, I would've kicked this pathetic woman to the curb ages ago. Just looking at her makes my blood boil. "Once she pops that baby out, I'll make damn sure she never gets off that operating table. Then I can finally tie the knot with my Jenny." As these loathsome thoughts reverberated in my mind, my vision blurred with a mixture of disbelief and despair. The IVF test report crumpled in my grip, mirroring the fracturing of my naive hopes and dreams. Denzel's visage loomed before me, a mask of tender affection plastered across his features. "Alright, babe, let's head home. Over the next few months, I'm gonna take care of you and the little one, no doubt about it. I've got your back, every step of the way. Don't you worry, you're in good hands," he cooed, his voice dripping with insincere warmth. Simultaneously, his true intentions reverberated in my consciousness. "I'll throw that pathetic woman in a dog cage and just sit back, watching her flail around trying to escape her fate. It's gonna be hilarious!" Shock and sorrow intertwined within me, threatening to consume my very being. The realization that Jenny, the target of Denzel's depraved desires, was none other than my own sister, tore through me like a jagged blade.

Our home burned as my husband, firefighter Leonard Graves, sent every available unit to rescue his suicidal first love, Megan Cooper. I didn't call Leonard. I just stood there, calmly watching my carefully decorated home turn to ashes. "I carry a secret. I've lived this life once before, but no one else knows." In my previous life, he answered my call first, rushing to save me and our unborn child. Megan's depression took a dark turn that day, leading her to leap from the eighteenth floor. By the time they found her body, it was unrecognizable. Leonard insisted he had no regrets about choosing me and our baby, and so, our wedding proceeded as if nothing had changed. But on our wedding day, he broke my leg and forced me to kneel in front of Megan's gravestone. "The fire wasn't even that bad, but you called, forcing me to leave Megan to die! You did it on purpose, didn't you? You stole my last chance to be with her!" "Megan was so kind. You should've died in her place!" He had lost his mind, cutting open my belly to rip out our child. I never even got a chance to see if it was a boy or a girl. Before I realized it, he had dropped our blood-soaked baby from the eighteenth floor, then set me ablaze. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day our home caught fire. This time, I thought, "If saving Megan is what he chooses, then I won't stand in his way." I decided to let go.

I had been in a relationship for ten years with my boyfriend, Charles Brown, a forensic pathologist. But on our wedding day, tragedy struck. My mother was killed in a hit-and-run accident, and the ceremony came to an abrupt halt. Charles, who was assigned as the lead forensic expert on the case, performed multiple autopsies on my mother. But the truth remained elusive, and I didn't find out who was responsible for her death until a year later. I was pregnant, and on the day of my prenatal appointment, I saw Charles at the obstetrics clinic with Jessica Dixon, his old flame. He had his arm around Jessica, speaking softly to her. "With me around, Lydia Harper will never know you killed her mom," he murmured. When Charles found out I was pregnant, he was so furious that he demanded I should get an abortion. "This is a bad time to get conceived. You know it's a critical time for my career. A baby will only hold me back! Besides, I'm about to find the real culprit. Don't you want to know who killed your mom?" Seeing me silent, he softened his tone and continued patiently. "Don't worry. I'll find the person responsible for your mom's death. Just get rid of the baby. I'll make up for you on our first wedding annivesary, I promise." I smiled at his words. Because I had a bigger surprise for him.

The very first thing I did after being reincarnated was to schedule a doctor's appointment for a hysterectomy. Yes, you heard me right. I had my uterus removed, on my own will. In my previous life, my boyfriend Kenneth Parker's old flame, Dorothy Bell, started a live-streaming channel to boost her image as the Gynae Expert. When I began feeling nauseous, she deliberately announced on a livestream that I was pregnant. Kenneth immediately denied it, claiming he had never slept with me. I tried to explain, but Dorothy handed me prenatal medication, telling me to take care of myself and take the pills on time. The audience watching the stream mocked Kenneth for being cheated on. In a fit of rage, Kenneth broke up with me, and my personal information was leaked online. Countless men started messaging me, trying to hook up. Unable to endure the harassment any longer, I jumped from a building and ended my life. On the other hand, Dorothy rode her newfound fame as the Gynae Expert and became an internet sensation adored by her followers. But this time, what blames could she put on me when I didn't even have a uterus?

I met Andy Ford through a blind date, and he wasted no time trying to impress me. He insisted on taking me house shopping, claiming it was the next step toward our "future together." We went straight to the most exclusive area in the city, where each villa screamed wealth and status. He confidently pointed at the priciest one and asked the agent to bring over the contract. The moment we were about to sign, he suddenly decided to prove his loyalty. "Babe, from now on, you're in charge. You call the shots. So why don't you sign the contract in your name?" I should've seen it coming, but I played along. As soon as I signed, his smile was replaced by a mocking sneer as he forced me to pay. "You didn't actually think I'd marry someone like you, did you? We've known each other for what—days? You're just another old woman hoping to catch a break." Andy laughed, his voice sharp with malice. "But don't worry, since the house is under your name, why don't you be a good girl and pay for it? Can't afford it? I hear nude loans are quite popular these days." Behind him, his phone was propped up, streaming live to a cheering audience. A flood of comments rolled in, with faceless viewers egging him on to humiliate me further. But instead of crumbling, I smiled. Calmly, I took out my phone and paid for the house in full. The transaction was done in seconds. Before he could recover, I made another call—to the police, reporting him for harassment and causing a disturbance. As he begged, his arrogance evaporating, I silently cursed his stupidity. Clearly, he had done no research. If he had, he'd know I wasn't just anyone—I was the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in town.

It all started because Olivia, the adopted daughter of my family, burned her finger on my birthday candles. My brother lured me to our old childhood hideout. He locked the door behind me and then set the place on fire. "You hurt Olivia on purpose to steal attention. If I don't teach you a lesson, you'll never learn!" He left, locking me on the third floor with only a ladder by the window. However, I had a crippling fear of heights. I couldn't even go near the window, let alone escape. The fire raged all night, the flames swallowing me whole. My skin blistered and burned as I screamed for my parents and my brother—anyone to save me. But no one came. I died in that fire, abandoned. When my spirit drifted back to the house, I found my parents and brother surrounding Olivia, celebrating the fact that her tiny burn had healed. They even bought her a cake. "We won't let our precious girl get hurt again," they promised. Olivia pretended to be innocent and asked where I was. My parents exchanged glances with my brother and said, "Don't worry about her, Olivia. She's been sent away to learn her lesson. She won't be bothering you anymore." Hearing those words, I finally lost all hope. But when they discovered I had died, they all went mad.

The plane was going down. My fiancé, pilote-in-command, gave the only life vest to the woman he truly loved. I didn't argue or make a fuss—I just quietly agreed. Why? Because in my past life, when faced with the same impossible choice, my fiancé gave the life vest to me—his pregnant fiancée. In the end, the plane crash-landed. His lover, left without protection, died instantly from the impact. Afterward, with a child on the way, I naturally became his wife. But on our wedding night, everything changed. He locked me in the basement and beat me until I lost the baby. "If you hadn't forced me to give you the life vest because you were pregnant, Vinnie wouldn't have died!" he growled. He dragged me to her grave and forced me to kneel on the ground, making me beg for forgiveness. Every time I got pregnant, he'd force me to miscarry, saying it was punishment for my sin. In the end, I broke. I couldn't take the torture any longer and took my own life. Then, I woke up—with all the memories of my past life flooding back. This time, I'm going to give him exactly what he wants.

To fulfill my husband Albert Hunt's dream of having a child, I agreed to undergo IVF, as he was diagnosed with azoospermia. However, after becoming pregnant, my morning sickness hit me hard. I once joked about aborting the baby. Albert, furious, locked me in our bedroom and tormented me until I gave birth. After the baby was born, I made a shocking discovery. The child looked nothing like me. It bore a striking resemblance to Albert's so-called first love, Evelyn Harrison, a renowned fertility specialist dubbed the Fertility Goddess. It turned out that Albert and Evelyn had secretly swapped my IVF embryo, using my uterus to carry their biological child. Only because he couldn't bear to see her suffer through pregnancy. I died on the delivery table from an amniotic fluid embolism and severe hemorrhaging. Albert wasted no time marrying Evelyn, and they lived happily ever after with their child. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day Albert locked me away.

My son, Larry Harris, and my husband, Joseph Harris, would always handle all the housework before I came home. But just because they suggested bringing Joseph's first love, Ruth Palmer, home for Thanksgiving, I splashed boiling water right in my son's face. Then, I shoved them both out of the house into the nearly 104-degree Fahrenheit weather. Desperate to save Larry, Joseph knelt in front of the door, begging me for help. "Aura, please open the door and help Larry! He's your son. I invited Ruth because she saved your life once. I'm not up to anything, I swear!" Larry sobbed and screamed, calling for me. "Mom, it hurts so much. Please, mom. Kiss Larry, please!" But I sat there, eating chips and watching TV, utterly unbothered. Finally, Joseph had no choice but to take me to the Court for being a brutal and abusing Mother. But when my memories were revealed to the entire court, everyone wept in sorrow!

The crowd cheered as Vincent Ferry and his assistant made out during the kiss-cam of a concert. Handsome man, beautiful woman—it was a match made for social media. The video spread like wildfire, racking up millions of likes. And right in the middle of it all, my five-year-old son, Hector, clapped his hands, grinning from ear to ear. I turned away from the video, posted it to my feed, and added the caption: "So sweet." It didn't take long for Vincent to call, his voice ringing out for everyone to hear, scolding me for being jealous and narrow-minded. "Andrea, stop being so petty and jealous! It was for show, to get her ex's attention. Do you really have to make a scene about this?" My friends, the ones who knew the truth, were already laughing at me. They were betting on how long it would take for me to come crawling back. But this time, I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

My 7-year-old son locked me out on the balcony in the 109-degree heat just so he could steal money and give it to My husband's old flame, Pamela Collins. He said he needed the money to cure her cat. By the time Raymond and Timothy came back to let me out, I was already barely hanging on. Luckily, a neighbor found me in time and rushed me to the hospital. I survived, but when I woke up, still simmering with rage and waiting for an explanation from Timothy, all he did was pout and say, without a trace of remorse. "Mom knew that cat was Pamela's emotional support, but she wouldn't let Dad and me use the family's money to save it, I didn't have a choice. Plus, I only left her out there for a little while, I didn't know she was that weak, some heat could kill her." Raymond chimed in, agreeing, "Maybe you should listen to Timothy next time. Stop being so petty. Good deeds bring good rewards" But the money they took was the savings I had been putting away for Timothy's tuition... I've had enough of this family. If Raymond and Timothy wanna waste everything on Pamela's endless needs, then be it. I discharged myself the day before Raymond and Timothy were supposed to pick me up, and I cut off all contact with them.

My husband's mother, Emma Harper, lived alone. One day, her house suddenly caught fire, her life on a knife-edge. I dialed my husband, Gerald Harper, a firefighter, over a dozen times before he finally picked up, clearly annoyed. "What could possibly be so urgent? I'm busy helping Kimberly with her plumbing!" I quickly told him about the fire at Emma's house and that she was trapped inside. He just sneered. "You'd curse even my mother just to get me back home? You're a f*cking lunatic!" And with that, he hung up. Frustrated and helpless, I could only hope the other firefighters would arrive soon. Half an hour passed before they finally showed up, and when they did, their faces paled as they saw the blaze. "Didn't Mr. Harper say Seraphina was lying?" they murmured. Because of the delay, Emma perished in the flames. Gerald even missed her funeral, saying he was too busy with his old flame, Kimberly Foster. Crushed by grief, I filed for divorce. But Gerald tore up the papers, smashed Emma's urn, and spat, "Quit the act, Seraphina! You think I would believe this sh*t? If it weren't for my mom, I would've divorced you by now." I seered at him. This stupid man still had o idea that his mother was long gone.

My husband and I had decided long ago that we wouldn't have children, which meant my niece was set to inherit everything when we passed away. Upon learning this, my niece was so grateful that she moved into my home under the guise of being filial. Every day, she cooked extravagant meals, only to serve me a plate of salad, reminding me. "Aunt Isolde, you need to keep yourself in shape. Otherwise, Uncle Roderick might lose interest in you." She bought herself expensive skincare products but handed me a bottle of basic oil, saying, "Aunt Isolde, all those fancy creams are loaded with chemicals. You wouldn't want them to damage your face, right? Uncle Roderick might leave you!" When my husband had second thoughts about having kids, she made herself right at home in his bed, whispering to me, "Aunt Isolde, hurry up and go to hell already. I need your inheritance to raise my baby!" I died filled with anger and regret. But then, I was reborn.

My student, Alicia Duff, hailed from a background of gnawing struggle, and she timidly asked if she could find refuge in my home. Out of an impulse of kindness and perhaps a misguided notion of charity, I acquiesced. But a year later, she suddenly vanished from the academic scene, her presence receding like a shadow at dawn. Then, one fateful day, she reappeared at my doorstep, a baby cradled tenderly in her arms, and lodged a devastating accusation against my brother Cillian Hawke—that he had violated her. Police and reporters converged like vultures upon a carcass, and Cillian was subjected to a paternity test. To my utter shock and dismay, the results confirmed his fatherhood. We were decimated, our lives upended in a swirl of legal settlements and emotional damages. Cillian was sentenced to prison, a stark, cold reality that painted him as a criminal. I was expelled from school, and my reputation was shredded into irreparable tatters. Alicia, seizing the moment with the cunning of a predator, turned to social media, crafting herself into a tragic victim, her every word calculated to incite sympathy and attention. Her comment, "No girl would purposely get pregnant just to slander someone," stoked the flames of public outrage, thrusting my family into the cauldron of a media frenzy. I became the monster teacher, a predatory figure who had lured an innocent student into my home to satiate Cillian's dark desires. My parents, both retired police officers and stalwart figures of justice, could not endure the public humiliation. They chose a grim, final escape, their bodies found in the river, a silent testament to their despair. With nowhere to turn, I was relentlessly pursued by digital tormentors, and my spirit gradually eroded. In a moment of utter hopelessness, I leaped from an overpass, the world below me a blur of darkness. And then I awoke. To my astonishment, I had been granted a miraculous reprieve. I found myself back on the very day Alicia first came to stay with us.

Everything went disastrously wrong on a flight where I worked as a flight attendant. A fire ignited, transforming the cabin into a scene of utter chaos. Laura Steinfeld, the attendant assigned to open the emergency exit, froze in sheer terror. She collapsed on the floor, screaming for help, her fear so overpowering that she was rendered motionless. Her limp body blocked the exit, and the passengers' panic escalated, leading to a horrifying stampede. Ultimately, the flames consumed the cabin, and all aboard perished in the inferno. Desperation drove me to abandon caution. I managed to open the escape hatch, but at that moment, my fiancé, Captain Mark Cavill, shoved me aside to help Laura to safety. As I lay there, searing burns disfiguring my face, Mark knelt beside the trembling Laura, murmuring, "It's not your fault. You were just too scared. They will understand." When the higher-ups arrived to investigate, Mark lied for Laura, pinning the obstruction on my actions. They deleted the crucial cabin footage and cast me out to face the wrath of the grieving families. I became the scapegoat, reviled by all. As I lay in a hospital bed, swathed in bandages, the enraged relatives seeking justice ended my life. But then, I opened my eyes and found myself back on that fateful flight, the day of the fire.

On that fateful day, Scarlett Watson, daughter of my father Tobey Craig's beloved, was determined to prove herself a forensic genius by tackling a dissection all on her own. But as fate would have it, chaos unfolded in the sterile quiet of the lab. While cleaning the cadaver, a slip of her hand sent sulfuric acid splashing across the body. Panic surged through her as she clutched a false credential, panic-stricken and desperate. As a result, the real criminal remained at large, an innocent man was unjustly condemned to prison. When I encountered the aftermath during my second dissection and discovered what had really happened, I went to report it, only to be halted by Tobey, who stood like an unyielding wall in front of the truth. "Dad, please! We have to tell them what really happened!" I insisted, but my words hung impotently in the air. Scarlett, her cheeks streaked with tears, looked up at Tobey, her voice shaking. "Mr. Craig, what should I do? I swear, I didn't mean it!" Her desperation was palpable. In a shocking twist, to protect her, Tobey not only turned a blind eye to the truth but brazenly claimed that I had been the first one to dissect. He destroyed the crucial surveillance footage, shielding Scarlett from accountability while condemning me to a fate worse than death—I was not only facing imprisonment but also the revocation of my forensic license. At my sentencing, fury boiled over. The families of those wronged surged forward, their grief morphing into rage. Before I could comprehend my fate, a knife plunged into my side, ending my life in a single, brutal stab. But then came the unthinkable—I found myself reborn, back on the very day Scarlett applied to the dissection room.

My name was Emma Pitt, and I was a straight-A student when I entered college. But one day, everything changed. The world darkened around me like a storm cloud on a sunny day, leaving only chaos and confusion in its wake. I found myself accused of plagiarism for a paper I had so proudly published, and suddenly, I was the target of scorn from every corner of the campus. Students hurled insults at me, calling me shameless and a fraud. Their words were like knives, each one slicing deeper into my soul. Determined to clear my name, I tracked down the original work they claimed I had copied, only to discover that the paper was indeed identical to mine—only it had been published one day ahead of mine. My heart sank like a stone in a deep lake. But I knew deep down that my paper was the result of countless sleepless nights and endless experiments. The hours spent in the lab, the countless rewrites, the moments of doubt, and the moments of triumph—every bit of it was mine. I tried to explain my side of the story, but no one wanted to listen. They raged against me, launching a brutal online campaign that dragged my family into the chaos. The school administration quickly sided with the mob, labeling me as academic trash and expelling me without a second thought. My life crumbled around me like a house of cards. Overwhelmed by the weight of it all, I couldn't take it anymore. I leaped from the 18th floor of the academic building; my body shattered upon the impact. Even in those final moments, I couldn't wrap my head around what had happened. Why had my work been stolen from me and published by someone else? The world faded to black, and I thought that was the end. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back in time.

We were playing an escape room game in a haunted house when the actor popped out, scaring both me and my best friend Bella. Instinctively, we both lunged for my boyfriend, Maxwell. Without a second's hesitation, he pushed me aside and wrapped Bella in his arms. He kissed her forehead softly and whispered, "I've got you." Then, he turned around and left me behind, trapped in the room with the actor. I was trembling so hard I could barely stand. We were supposed to get married in a few days. He'd always told me how much he couldn't stand Bella. For the past four years, from when we first met to falling in love, I had believed he was my only salvation, the light in my life. I kept compromising, giving up parts of myself to keep us together. But at that moment, everything came crashing down. It was time to walk away.

Before the wedding, I received my own call— from three years later. She warned me not to marry Dylan, saying I was nothing more than a stand-in for his dream girl. And his dream girl just so happened to be my best friend—the bridesmaid at our wedding. Of course, I didn't believe her. Not until the fire broke out, and Dylan abandoned me without hesitation, carrying the bridesmaid to safety instead. That was when I finally woke up to the truth: Dylan's heart had never been mine. On the day of our wedding, I tore off my veil, threw my ring aside, and decided to let Dylan and his dream girl have each other. Later, I heard that the once-proud heir of the Archer family crawled on the ground like a dog, desperately searching for the ring I had tossed away...

To save the woman he cherished, Noah bought a dismembered female corpse off the underground market. He gouged out a kidney with his own hands from the body and implanted it into her. To avoid being traced by the police, he threw the body into a vat of acid. What he didn't know... was that the body belonged to me.

I fell off the building with my fiancé's old flame, Jasmine. Gabriel, my fiancé, rushed to save her first, leaving me to bleed out on the cold, hard ground. In those final moments, I begged him not to leave me. But Gabriel just kicked my hand away. "Can't you have a shred of decency? Jasmine's unconscious because of you! I'll deal with you later for what you did to her." But he never got the chance to. Because as he turned and carried Jasmine away in his arms, I died. Our child died too.

After I died, my grandmother developed a mental illness. Whenever she had an episode, she'd forget that I was gone and would wander over to Adrian's house, knocking on his door. Lucky for him, he left the country right after I had broken up with him. But this time, the door opened. "Adrian, have you seen Violet? I can't find her anywhere," she asked, her voice trembling. Adrian's reply came sharp and cold from inside. "Don't mention her name to me. I never want to see her again." The door slammed shut. I watched as my grandmother's frail frame shook. She turned slowly and began to walk away, mumbling to herself, "Violet and Adrian had a fight... No, wait. Violet is gone. Why do I keep forgetting?"

My wife is a surgeon. Over her career, she's saved more lives than I can count. But when it came to saving me—she failed. We were both in the same car crash. Me and her precious "love of her life." And when the time came, she chose him over me. It took her three months after my death to realize that the person chatting with her on my account wasn't actually me. That's when it hit her. That's when she finally started to panic.

My dad hated my mom for pulling him away from the woman he truly loved. So it was only natural that he hated me too, the unwanted child with my mother's blood running in me. The year I turned eighteen, I was kidnapped. The kidnappers contacted my dad, a police chief, demanding a ransom. But he thought it was all a trap, a scheme I had cooked up to get his attention. So he told them to dismember me all they wanted. And they did. I was tortured until I perished, my body discarded to the fish, mutilated beyond recognition. As for my dad? He went insane. He hunted down the kidnappers and slaughtered them.