Bias

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.

While cleaning Desmond Maynard's house, I accidentally knocked over his mother's keepsake. He once told me it was his most precious possession. But when I picked it up, hundreds of love letters spilled out. There were beautiful poems, passionate lyrics, and heartfelt confessions. He had written one letter a week without stopping. On the back of each one wrote a line: To My Love, Bunny. The nickname rang a bell. It was his junior in college. Things started to make sense. I slaved away for 13 years, running his household and caring for his family, but Desmond never even said he liked me. That was because he already had someone he liked. I sorted the letters by date, put them back, and grabbed my phone to make a call. "Mom, I'm in for the marriage proposal."

For eighteen years, my wife, Elizabeth Connerty, never once reached out to her first love, Lucas Ryder. She committed herself fully to me and cooked warm meals for me. She attended every parent-teacher conference for our daughter. She carefully planned our family trips year after year. That was how we lived—quietly, steadily, and happily—for eighteen years. But after our daughter celebrated her eighteenth birthday, I turned to Elizabeth and said, "Let's get a divorce." She stood in the doorway of our daughter's bedroom, staring at me in stunned silence. I added calmly, "When our daughter was born, you promised me that once she turned eighteen, we would divorce."

Before my crazy grandmother died, she gave me three walnuts. According to her last wish, I cracked open the first walnut on my twenty-fifth birthday. Inside the walnut was a slip of paper. 'Go to the skybridge and grovel at the first beggar you meet' was the instruction written on it. When I looked at the note, I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Still, I did as told. To my surprise, the beggar turned out to be an undercover cop. Only later did I learn that I had long been targeted by human traffickers, and the bow had saved my life. As for the second walnut, my grandmother told me to crack it open before I got married. When I put on my wedding dress, ready to marry the policeman who saved me, I happily opened it. This time, there was a crumpled old photograph inside. In the photo, my fiancé was smiling as he strangled another bride.

My mother was the Chosen Luna—the one who once conquered three powerful Alphas. When her mission was done, she vanished from this world, leaving behind only me, and the three Alphas who had once loved her with everything they had. My first father, Alpha Jeff Tanners, ruled the Silver Moon Pack—rich enough to buy half the continent. My second father, Alpha Kael Grey, commanded all the warriors of the Northern Alliance. My third father, Alpha Bran Theron, held every medical resource wolves and humans depended on. For eighteen years, I was their cherished little princess. Whatever I wanted, they gave—no questions, no hesitation. Until they brought home that girl—a fragile orphan named Arie Ryker. From that day on, everything changed. She told them I called her a filthy stray, unworthy of our pack. She said I led the young wolves at school to bully her. She said I tampered with her performance costume, that I caused her allergy, that I made her faint on stage. And they believed her. They stopped believing me. The ninety-ninth time they chose her over me, when they shouted, "Don't come back again!", I didn't argue. I just picked up my luggage and left. They thought I'd come running home like before—that my disappearance was just another way to make them see me. But when they found out I had left the pack for good, that my identity had been erased, that I could no longer be found, the three mighty Alphas finally broke.

I give up being with my family and follow my boyfriend, Leon Burton, to a research institute in the harsh land of Aetheris, just to take care of him. One day, he discovers an asteroid. According to the law in our country, the person who discovers an asteroid holds the right to name it. Without even stopping to think, he says, "I'll name it Phoebe." Everyone is stunned. Naming an asteroid is a significant event, but Leon makes his decision too hastily. The person in charge asked again, "Are you sure you want to name it that?" Leon nods without hesitation. Standing in a corner where no one can see me, I can't stop crying. Only I knew that "Phoebe" is the name of his first love, Phoebe Jones. Wiping away my tears, I call my mother. "Mom, I've decided to marry Nathan. I'm leaving Aetheris."

The day I died was the same day as my twin sister’s birthday party. She was in tears and was wrapped up in my boyfriend’s arms. My mom was seething with anger and kept calling me over and over again. My brother was clearly upset and sent me a text saying, "You’re so selfish. You just can’t stand to see anyone else happy." Even my usually quiet dad was furious and said, "She’s nothing but an ungrateful brat." I touched my chest. Thankfully, it did not hurt anymore.

It had been five years since I started dating Ross Jenner. His family invited my mother and me to their family home in Fellaton to discuss our wedding plans and to spend Valentine's Day together. It was past 10:00 PM when my mother and I landed, but Ross wasn't there to pick us up because his college junior, Laurel Elledge, had just arrived in Fellaton. He told me to figure out a way to get a cab to the house myself. In a strange place, unfamiliar with the area, it wasn't long before we found ourselves in danger. Just over ten minutes outside the airport, we were robbed. My mother was injured while trying to protect me, and she collapsed, bleeding heavily. Desperate, I held onto her, frantically trying to call Ross. Each call was abruptly cut off, and when I finally reached him, he sounded irritated. "Jennifer, you're an adult, so stop acting like a child. You couldn't even hail a cab on the street? Laurel just got to Fellaton and isn't feeling well. I need to take care of her." Without waiting for a response, he hung up. I tried calling again, only to find that I had been blocked. In the end, my mother's injuries were too severe, and she bled out before the doctors could save her. As I stared at her lifeless body, tears flowed uncontrollably. When I finally checked my phone again, the first thing I saw was a picture Ross had posted on Twitter. In the photo, he was kissing Laurel and holding a bouquet of roses. [Spending Valentine's Day with the one I love most.] I quietly threw the gifts I had brought from home into the trash. Then, I left a comment, which said, [Wishing you both a lifetime of happiness.]

The day Adrian Knight clinched a contract with our biggest client, I "accidentally" tipped a bottle of ink across the paperwork, voiding it on the spot. Because of that single blot, the project landed in Alex Lewis’s lap, and he won Chairman Henry Carter’s favor almost overnight, moving into the Carter mansion as their future son-in-law and watching his net worth rocket into eight figures. Adrian never blamed me. He just laughed that he’d never been executive material anyway and happily brought me home as his bride. Everyone whispered that, if not for my meddling, Adrian would already be sitting in the Carter family’s executive suite instead of scraping by in an ordinary life with me. Only I knew the truth: stopping him from signing that contract had saved his life. When Adrian learned I was pregnant, he locked me in the basement, fingers digging into my throat. "If it hadn’t been for you," he snarled, "I’d be Henry Carter’s son-in-law by now. You’re the reason I lost Rachel, the princess of the Carter family." That’s when I realized he’d been nursing this grudge for years. After he killed me, I woke up, reborn on the very day Adrian first reached for that fatal contract. This time, I’ll make sure Adrian Knight gets exactly what he wants.

My daughter, Annabelle Turner, was diagnosed with hereditary heart disease. I spent the past five years searching for a compatible heart donor for her. Now, I finally found one. Right before Annabelle is sent into the surgery room, my husband and renowned cardiologist, Gabriel Turner, tearfully makes me a promise. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure Annabelle gets a shot at life again." Yet halfway through the surgery, Gabriel suddenly leaves in a hurry without giving any explanation. I stumble into the surgery room and see Annabelle lying on the operating table, covered in blood. Her chest is cut wide open, laid bare for all to see. Tyler Rotwell, Gabriel's assistant, stammers out, "Dr. Turner said… that Anna can still hold on a little longer, but Ms. Byron's son can't. "Dr. Turner took the heart that was meant for Anna and left…" I immediately break down and repeatedly call Gabriel's number, but Gabriel never answers a single call, not even when Anna's blood has completely dried… While settling my daughter's post-mortem affairs, I happen to see a newly posted update on Gabriel's childhood friend, Suzanne Byron's social media. "Turns out it was just a misdiagnosis," was what the caption read. "In that case, let's give this useless little thing to our good boy Oscar as a treat!" The video attached depicts Suzanne's dog Oscar tearing into the heart that was supposed to be donated to Annabelle. As I turn to look at Annabelle's cold body, the last shred of love I have for Gabriel starts crumbling apart. By the time Gabriel finally remembers Annabelle, whom he left on the operating table, only an empty bedroom and an urn containing her ashes would greet him…