How Does Don'T Take The Girl End?

The night before my wedding, I caught my fiancé, Miguel Sheffield, kissing the Newells' biological daughter in the garden. I stood there with my pregnancy test in hand, my chest hollow. The next day, the wedding went on. Flowers lined the red carpet. Guests lifted their champagne glasses. But the bells rang again and again, and the bride never showed. The daughter the Newells had raised by mistake left only her engagement ring on the vanity. Then she vanished. I moved overseas and raised my child alone. I cut off everyone from my past. Five years later, I came home. And one by one, they walked right back into my life.

"Are you sure about this, Nancy? Marrying that powerful man means ending things with Tad." "I'm sure. But not yet. Don't tell anyone. Especially not Celia." Celia — the girl I once begged my father to adopt, the one I defended and called sister — betrayed me. The two men who used to treat me like their world — my boyfriend Tad and our family friend Leo — now orbit around her like moths to a flame. I thought I saved her, but she only wanted to replace me. When Celia fell, they blamed me. When she got shot, they blamed me again. When I was in a car crash, they said it was an excuse to avoid "taking care of Celia." But I am Don DeLuca's daughter. And no one treats me this way and walks away unscathed. My boyfriend? He can go to hell. My so-called friends? They can rot with him.

The only reckless thing I ever did in my last life was fall in love with Luca Moretti. For five years, I called him my brother by day and lay in his arms by night. Then half a month ago, outside the Moretti Club, I heard him talking to his men. "Luca, what are you going to do about the little girl Grace brought in? Weren't you supposed to play with her and dump her? How has this gone on for five years?" "You got with her to get back at your stepmother, right? Sophia dumped you back then, so you turned around and went after Grace's precious daughter. Don't tell me you actually fell for her." Then Luca's cold, cruel voice slipped through the crack in the door. "Love her? Come on. I just haven't decided how to end it yet. Maybe I'll let her stand alone in the church on our engagement day. That could be fun." Laughter burst from the private room. I stood outside the door, my hands and feet turning ice-cold. So my five years of love were just his pastime, a knife meant to cut my mother. I ran from the club in a panic, drove straight into the storm, and died in a pileup on Chicago's South Side. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the year before anyone knew about me and Luca. This time, I wasn't going to wait for him to throw me away. I would leave first.

I've been in a secret relationship with Declan Gibson for five years, and I've tried to seduce him more times than I can count. Yet, when I stand in front of him in my birthday suit and a pair of bunny ears, all he does is worry that I'll catch a cold and wrap me in a blanket. I used to think his restraint came from being the mafia don, that he was saving our first time for our wedding night. However, one month before the ceremony, he secretly plans the city's grandest fireworks show to celebrate his childhood sweetheart's birthday. They hug and share a slice of cake in public. That night, they check into a hotel. … The next morning, I watch them leave together. That's when I realize Declan is not restrained. He just doesn't love me, so I walk out of the hotel. I call my parents. "Dad, I've broken up with Declan. I'll marry into the Sullivan family as planned." My father is stunned. "I thought you were madly in love with Declan. Why did you break up? I heard Bryson can't have children. You've always loved kids. What will you do once you marry him?" "It's fine," I reply, disheartened. "We can always adopt."

My fiancé's junior colleague went around the hospital every day calling herself "the best girl". When a patient with acute appendicitis was admitted, she mistakenly prescribed laxatives instead of proper treatment. The patient nearly went into shock and died. After the hospital was reported by the patient's family, she simply smiled and said, "I don't even need a supervising doctor to prescribe medication anymore. I'm such a good girl!" On another occasion, she failed to order routine pre-op blood work for a surgical patient. During the procedure, a visiting senior surgeon was exposed and later contracted HIV. She actually puffed out her chest and said, "Even if everyone had to stay up all night helping me save the doctor, I'm still the best girl!" I protested more than once and urged my fiancé to dismiss her. He refused every time. He brushed it off with a laugh, saying "this good girl" just needed time and experience. Then, a prominent patient was transferred from a military hospital for surgery. She secretly tampered with the medical records, switching the pathology findings from the left lung to the right. She even revised the surgical plan, recommending removal of the patient's completely healthy right lung. Luckily, I caught the mistake in time, restored the correct pathology report, and performed the surgery successfully. After the patient recovered, he asked for our team to be recognized. To my disbelief, Elena Bakers ran to my fiancé in tears. "I wrote the entire report by myself! All by myself! I'm the best little girl! "Why do you always take credit away from me? It took so much courage for this little girl to be brave just once! "You're all horrible!" Elena stormed out of the hospital and was struck and killed by a car on the spot. My fiancé did not say a word. However, on the very day I was appointed hospital director, he produced falsified evidence accusing me of altering records and causing multiple medical accidents to advance my career. I was arrested, tried, and sentenced to death. As the verdict was delivered, he looked at me with unmistakable satisfaction. "You'll never make up for what you owe Elena. Not in this lifetime." When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day Elena altered the surgical plan.

It was not until after I married Bennett that I found out he had a clingy little childhood friend who loved to play the victim. On the very first day of our marriage, at dinner, I simply asked Bennett to pass me a bite of food. She immediately exploded. "Holly, you're disgusting! Bennett already used those utensils, and you seriously asked him to serve you food? What, don't you have hands?" I froze, completely blindsided. Before I could even react, Bennett put down his spoon and went straight to her, wrapping her in his arms like she was the one who had been wronged. Then he turned to me and said I should just get my own food from now on. However, honestly, wasn't it normal for a husband to serve his wife a bite? What was so outrageous about that? I barely got a word out before Bennett shut me down in a low, firm voice. "That's final. If Rosie doesn't like it, then we're not doing it. End of discussion."