Who Is The Author Of Head On: A Memoir?

In the third year of her marriage, Natalie Spencer uncovers a devastating truth. Her blindness wasn't caused by a car accident. No, it was because her beloved husband, Jason Pereira, plotted to have her corneas removed and transplanted them into his first love. The only reason he married her in the first place was to save that other woman. The marriage Natalie once took pride in turns out to be nothing but a calculated lie. Crushed, she quietly begins planning her escape. Half a month later, she vanishes without warning. She leaves behind nothing but a signed divorce agreement and a jar of formaldehyde containing an undeveloped embryo. Those are her final gifts to Jason. He loses his mind searching for her, scouring the world in desperation. But when he finally finds her, she's no longer alone. There's another man by her side. Jason stands in front of her, eyes red with guilt and regret. "Natalie, I was wrong. Please don't leave me. Not like this." But the Natalie standing before him now is radiant and powerful—she's an internationally acclaimed artist and a woman reborn. She looks at the man she once loved and feels nothing. "Jason, I'm not that blind bat who used to live and breathe for you anymore." She turns and wraps her arms around the regal man beside her with a smile. "Someone's bothering your wife. Aren't you going to deal with him?" The man smiles back, leans in, and kisses her in front of everyone. "Of course. Whatever my wife says, goes."

A senseless tragedy struck Alanis Roswell, wiping out her greatest dream: having a family. Alanis will never know how it feels to hold her own baby. So, her career became her main focus, giving it her all. Everything went well until she met Brody McLean. He was so charming, so easy to fall in love with. But when he told her about his dream of becoming a father, Lanie decided to push him away. Brody McLean was gorgeous, rich, successful. But he wanted to find the right woman and start a family. Was Alanis Roswell the woman he was looking for?

My girlfriend's so-called guy best friend found out I had epilepsy. He deliberately spiked my drink with stimulants. The moment I drank it, my nervous system was overstimulated. My heart rate surged. My chest tightened. Then the familiar warning signs hit–blurred vision, fragmented awareness, the onset of a seizure. The next second, I lost control of my body and collapsed onto the floor. My muscles convulsed violently. My jaw locked tight. My breathing turned uneven. I struggled to pull out the emergency medication I always carried with me, trying to stop the seizure from worsening. However, just as I was about to take it, I realized the hot water in my bottle had been replaced with highly concentrated coffee. The extra caffeine intensified the neurological stimulation. My convulsions worsened. My thoughts became more chaotic. My fingers stiffened to the point where I could barely move. Aaron Stone looked down at me on the floor and laughed. "Not bad. You're pretty convincing. "I've seen plenty of seizure patients before. Never seen anyone act this well." Gasping for air, I forced myself onto my knees in front of Mia, my jaw tightening from the spasms. "Mia... call an ambulance... I'm having a seizure..." Mia frowned at my obvious condition, but there was only impatience on her face. "Enough already. "If you keep acting like this, it's honestly too much. Since when can people having seizures still talk? "Aaron's a doctor. With him here, what could possibly happen to you?" I stopped trying to explain. Because I was already entering the next stage of neurological collapse. Even speaking had become difficult. Using the last of my strength, I pulled out my phone and sent an emergency distress message.

Adrian Moretti’s adopted sister—She knew perfectly well that I suffered from severe asthma and could not be exposed to smoke or strong scents. Yet during the yacht reception, she deliberately dragged me onto the open deck, where cigars burned nonstop and the wind howled. Within seconds, my chest tightened. When I reached for my inhaler, my blood ran cold. It was empty. I collapsed against the railing, gasping violently, my lungs burning as if they were collapsing in on themselves. She crouched beside me and smiled. “You’re always so dramatic. It’s just a little smoke. You don’t need to act like you’re dying,” she said softly. “You’re too weak. You need to build some tolerance.” I looked toward Adrian, my vision already blurring. “Adrian,” I choked. “Give me my inhaler. If I don’t use it right now, I’m going to suffocate.” He frowned slightly. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” he said coldly. “I’ve never heard of anyone dying from a bit of smoke. She’s right—you’re always seeking attention. We finally gathered tonight, and you’re ruining it.” My heart dropped. I fumbled for my phone and called my mother. “Mom,” I sobbed, barely able to breathe. “I’m being bullied… and I can’t breathe.” My voice shook violently.

The day my rich parents come to claim me, all eight of my godfathers weep while sending me off. But just two days later, because I score a whole hundred points higher than the fake heiress, Sharon Staton, on a mock exam, my parents drag me to some black-market underground hospital. They want to dig out my brain and transplant it into Sharon. "With your return, Sharon is no longer the only princess in our family. Giving her your smart brain is the least you can do to make it up to her." "Relax, we'll have them put an ordinary brain in you afterward. We'll care for you for the rest of your life!" Sharon giggles and says, "I'll let you in on a little secret. I already bribed the doctor. The brain they're putting in you belongs to an idiot. You're done for." I struggle with everything I have. Then, the second I'm dragged out of the car, I can't help feeling amused. Isn't this the hospital owned by my eight godfathers? When I left home, Big Pops, a CEO, had looked at me with bloodshot eyes. He'd told me that if the Stanton family so much as laid a finger on me, he would bankrupt them without hesitation. Second Pops, a surgeon, hadn't said a word. He had just quietly wiped down his scalpel. This time, it looks like Sharon and my parents won't be walking out of here alive.

After my husband's car accident, I did a checkup and found out he had a malignant brain tumor. Instead of telling him right away, I stuck the report in my bag, planning to wait for the right moment. Guess what? He found it first—and thought I was the one with the tumor. A few days later, I overheard him in his office, laughing with a buddy: "My wife? No looks, no figure, just money—and now she's got a brain tumor. Talk about a win for me. If Rainee hadn't gone abroad, I'd never have married her. Bad luck, huh? At least I dodged the kid bullet. Once she's gone, I get everything." Then he pulled the amnesia card, blamed it on the accident, and started treating Rainee like his wife. He even welcomed her into our house. I smiled and said, "Nathan, let's get a divorce."