It S Not Your Fault

Before I could shove my wife, Cheryl Craig, into the ocean, I turned myself in. The security guard frowned. "What? Are you saying that you're going to kill someone on this cruise?" I nodded. "It's 5:05 p.m. right now. In 20 minutes, I'll push my wife off this cruise ship. You need to arrest me, now." He stared at me like I had lost my mind. "You've got to be kidding! I've never seen anyone confess before the crime." He waved me off and started to walk away, so I had no choice but to start smashing things in the lobby. Only when the cuffs snapped around my wrists did I finally breathe again. In my last life, Cheryl was pushed off this very ship and fell into the ocean. Before I could even finish arranging her funeral, the police came for me. The ship's security footage clearly showed me pushing her overboard, but at that exact time, I was in a room with my father. There was no way I could've done it. I asked my father to testify for me, but he said I had already been planning to kill Cheryl for the insurance money because my company was falling apart. In the end, I was sentenced to death for murder. Even as I faced execution, I still couldn't understand it. I didn't do it, so why did everyone insist that I had? When I opened my eyes again, I was back to before Cheryl fell into the ocean.

His determination to succeed drove Philip Omagbemi far from the shores of his country, and out of the reach of his beloved Ame Obasogie, heiress to the Obasogie dynasty, who, determined to keep the flames of her love for Philip burning, battled the odds as she rejected Dapo Adejare, her mother's choice of a husband for her. That was before tragedy struck, the tragedy that left its mark in the lives of all it touched and would make Philip's eventual homecoming sour...

The notice of my mother's layoff sat on the kitchen table. Rent was due in three days. My younger brother's tutoring fees were already two weeks late. And my little sister, Stephanie, clutched her acceptance letter to the local public arts high school like she'd done something wrong. None of this would be happening if it weren't for me. My illness had taken everything our family had saved. I stayed in my room, leaning against the door, wanting to tell them I'd drop out of treatment—but I couldn't bring myself to open it. "Why did he have to fall sick?" My mother was crying, her voice low and tight, like the words were being forced out of her. "If it were just you both, Stephanie and Jamie, we'd be fine by now." "Mom, please don't say that." My brother and sister held her, barely holding back their own tears. "He's a burden… but he's still my son." Her voice cracked. "I just… I can't do this anymore…" I stepped back and sank into my chair. It wasn't an accusation. It was a verdict.

Every time Anthony Slim and I tried to get our marriage license, something went wrong. For three years, we tried thirty times. And every single attempt ended in an accident. The first attempt ended with a vagrant that went berserk and stabbed me four times. I nearly died outside the city hall. The second attempt ended with a speeding motorcycle crushing the bones of my hand. The third attempt ended with a burning mall, and I was trapped inside for three whole hours. … Everyone told me to cancel the engagement, but I stubbornly refused to give up. And then the 31st attempt ended with me getting rushed into the ICU. A billboard that fell from up high crashed right into me. I was rushed into the ICU with a severe head injury. The doctors issued one critical notice after another. For two months, I hovered between life and death before barely pulling through. Then on the day of my discharge, I overheard Anthony talking to his best friend. "If you really love that underprivileged student and want this marriage canceled, you can just tell Melissa. Why set up all those accidents? She nearly died." Anthony did not answer for a long time. When he did, his voice was filled with gloom. "I don't have a choice. Her family saved my life ten years ago, and her parents died in the process. This marriage contract is repayment of that favor. "But I only love Lily. I won’t marry anyone but her.” I looked at the bruises and wounds that decorated every inch of my skin and let out a broken cry. All the accidents and near-death experiences I went through were the machinations of another man, not actual mishaps. If Anthony was feeling stuck, I was more than happy to make that choice for him.

I used an anonymous account to send a video chat invitation to my crush, a senior who had always been aloof and reserved, but he agreed. Throughout the video chat, I had on a black mask, and I modified my voice to conceal my identity. At my command, he took off his clothes one by one, revealing his solid abs. While I was admiring his toned body, he smiled devilishly and said, "It's your turn now..."

Before the contract was even signed, the client's representative casually said he was craving pancakes with maple syrup. I didn't hesitate. I texted my fiancé, Nigel Cross, and asked him to stand in line and grab some. He came back with the box, all proud of himself. The client took one bite, and within seconds, his face went red. Hives bloomed across his neck. He shot to his feet, furious, and called the whole deal off on the spot. Then he turned around and handed the million-dollar order to Olivia Field, the intern who had rushed to grab him allergy meds. Three months of grinding work were gone just like that. I stood there, my throat tight, trying not to fall apart. Nigel squeezed my shoulder, his voice soft as he said, "It was just bad luck. Don't beat yourself up." I nodded weakly, drained of energy. But the second I stepped away, I heard him laughing in the break room with his friend. "That guy's seriously allergic to mango. Good thing I added mango syrup to the pancakes. Olivia's about to score a huge year-end bonus. Enough for a down payment on her new apartment." His friend hesitated. "Melissa hasn't slept in a month over that deal. She was working while she was sick. She needed that money for her mom's surgery—" Nigel waved him off, already annoyed. "She has me. Isn't that enough? Olivia earned this." My hands curled into fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. Bad luck? Yeah, right. Nigel had planned every second of it. And now, he thought he could smooth it over by marrying me someday, toss me a few cheap words, and I would just swallow it. I was done with that disgusting man.