Guess Who's Back Meme Novels & Stories

I came back to life the day Cedric Gramont got drugged. This time? I didn't offer my body to him. I called his so-called soulmate instead. In my last life, I stupidly fell for the uncle who wasn't blood-related. When I found out he'd been hit with something strong, I ignored his plea to call Elyna Humbert—and "helped" him myself. A month later, I was pregnant. He had to marry me. On our wedding day, Elyna, who'd gone abroad to "clear her head," got kidnapped and killed. Before she died, she called Cedric 199 times, begging for help. He didn't pick up once. Too busy sealing the deal with me. Later, he just stared at those missed calls, not saying a word. Then the day I went into labor, he locked me in the basement. I begged him to take me to the hospital. He just smiled, cold and empty, and watched me die screaming, the baby still inside me. Last thing I heard? "If you hadn't gotten pregnant, I wouldn't have married you. I wouldn't have missed Elyna's calls. You deserved to die." When I opened my eyes again, it was that same day—Cedric was drugged, but this time, I knew better.

Albert Roosevelt was the crush I was never meant to have. Like an idiot, I believed loving someone meant giving them everything, even if they didn't care about you. So, I trailed after him like a desperate puppy, bending over backward to meet his every whim. When he couldn't afford tuition, I begged Dad to fund him, sending him to the best schools. When his worn-out clothes made him a laughingstock, I pitied him and showered him with designer labels. And what did he do? He used what I gave him to chase after a gold-digging campus belle. To keep up appearances, he blew through money like it grew on trees. He even spread rumors that he was the real heir to the Roosevelts. To him, I was just an ATM. "Your family's loaded. It's not like you'll miss a few hundred grand. If you're gonna be stingy, maybe you should stop following me around," he said when his wallet ran dry. And like a fool, I believed that if I kept paying, someday, he'd love me back. After graduation, I funded his startup. The second it took off, he married the campus belle. He had the nerve to claim he earned everything through nothing but hard work. So, I crashed his wedding, and he buried a knife in my chest. "Only when you're dead, Eve Roosevelt. Only then will my pathetic past stay buried." When I opened my eyes again, I was face-to-face with a scowling Albert. "You can't scrape together a few hundred thousand dollars? It's Bianca's birthday. Are you trying to humiliate me?" I looked around the room and rolled my eyes. "Sure, I'll pay. But first? Kneel. You look pretty enough. Consider it charity, peasant."

My younger sister Ruth and I got a do-over, reborn to the day we were about to be adopted. Ruth clung to Jeremy, the butcher who'd taken me in during my last life, and begged, "Please, Mr. Butcher, let me be your daughter!" She thought she had it all figured out—Jeremy Butcher was set to rise to power, while the rich couple adopting her would crash and burn. It was clear—she was gunning for the life I built in my last run. I just smiled. She had no clue. Jeremy's success? Yeah, that was all me. Without my help, he'd stay a small-town butcher forever. From day one, Ruth was chasing a dream that was already doomed.

After I landed in the hospital—again—from working myself into the ground, Jacob swore he was done playing house stockbroker. "Starting tomorrow, I'll do anything. Haul bricks, deliver pizza, whatever. I'm not letting you carry this alone." His eyes were glassy as he stormed out of the exam room like he was about to save the day or something. Then the doctor walked in and handed me a report. I was pregnant. Again. Heart racing, I chased after Jacob... and froze. He was standing outside some super VIP room. The same guys who used to bang on our door for money were suddenly all respectful. "Mr. Klein, should we block her door again tomorrow?" Jacob twirled our engagement ring around his finger. "No need. She already lost one baby paying off those debts. The test's over. Time she knew who I really am." Then my best friend—Lillian Morvain—strolled out and wrapped her arms around his waist like she belonged there. "Jacob, don't go soft. Your tests usually last at least five years. What if she's just another gold digger? Plus... I'd miss you." He hesitated. Smirked. "Fine. We'll do it your way. She's not going anywhere anyway." I stood there, clutching my stomach, sliding down the wall like the air had been punched out of me. Later, I pushed open the office door. "Dr. Spencer, I need a termination. Three days from now."

When I was seven years old, a handsome man Mom brought home gave me a box of mangoes. That day, Dad watched me happily eating the mangoes as he signed his name on the divorce agreement. Then, he jumped to his death. From that day on, mangoes became a lifelong nightmare for me. So, on our wedding day, I told my wife, Irene Johnson, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." She held me without saying a word. From that moment on, mangoes became forbidden for her as well. … On the fifth Christmas Eve after we got married, Irene's childhood sweetheart, Steven Carter, placed a mango on her desk. That same day, she announced that she was cutting ties with him and fired him from the company. That day, I felt that she was the woman destined for me. ... Six months later, I return from overseas after closing a billion-dollar deal. At the celebration dinner, Irene hands me a drink. After I drink half of it, Steven, the man who was kicked out of the company, stands behind me and grins. "Is the mango juice good?" he asks. I look at Irene in disbelief, but she is holding back a laugh. "Don't be mad. Steve insisted I play a joke on you. I didn't give you a mango, just a bottle of its juice. "But I think Steve is right. There's something wrong with you for not eating mangoes. Look at how much you enjoyed it just now!" she says. I keep a cold expression, raise my hand, and splash the remaining mango juice onto her face. Then, I turn and walk away. Some things are never a joke. Mangoes aren't, and neither is my decision to divorce.

During the fire, my girlfriend, Alyssa Reinhart, shoved me into the flames to save her old flame—the one she truly pined for. Luckily, the firefighters showed up in time, and I barely made it out alive. My childhood friend was furious on my behalf and begged me to break up with Alyssa and finally let her go. But I just looked at him, confused, and asked, "Who's Alyssa?" I remember everyone and everything else—except for every single thing about my girlfriend, Alyssa. It's like she's been erased from my mind.

My three-year-old son looked nothing like my husband. Suspicious, my father-in-law secretly took my son for a paternity test. The results showed that there was no biological relationship between them. Furious and humiliated, my father-in-law erupted in anger, hurling insults at me and even threatening to kill us. My husband, just as enraged, slapped me hard across the face. "You shameless wrench! You've made me raise another man's child for three years!" As I stared at their accusing faces, I calmly produced another report—the paternity test between my husband and his father. It confirmed they weren't biologically related either. Their expressions froze in shock. With a faint smile, I said, "Looks like we don't know for sure who isn't part of this family, do we?"

At the class session joined by the school leaders and officials from the Department of Education, my lecture PPT was swapped for a sensational "Mistress's Charge Letter". "Charge one. Willingly being the other woman makes her an unsuitable role model for students." "Charge two. Attempting to secure a higher position through sex." "Charge three. Menacing the lawful wife with the absurd hope of advancing through pregnancy." Amidst the leaders and officials, my husband's illegitimate child accused me of disrupting her parents' marriage. In the name of "expelling the mistress to achieve justice", she coerced me, the true wife, into a humiliating bow to the mistress. I confronted my husband upon his arrival, "Care to explain? Why didn't I know that you had an illegitimate daughter?" He responded with a strike to the girl's face. "Where are you from, you unruly child? You're so ill-mannered!"

After three grueling years of studying, I finally made it into the city agency. Then at a family banquet, I found out that my cousin, Gina Forrest—the one I'd seen at a hometown reunion—had also landed a job in the exact same unit. During the family dinner, right in front of our uncle, who happens to be a senior official, my cousin shoved a doctored confidential document into my hands. She suddenly shrieked, collapsed to the floor, and scattered the papers everywhere. "Clara! That's classified agency material! How could you sneak it out to show an outsider? Just for some lousy commission?" Our uncle slammed the table in rage, declaring he would uphold justice over family ties—have me fired on the spot and report me up the chain. Then, right in front of me, a line of on-screen text floated by. [Gina has really lost her mind. Doesn't she know the main character is the undercover inspection team leader sent specifically to investigate her?] [And look at the uncle still putting on his act. The team's car will be pulling up outside any minute.] Reading the on-screen text, I took a slow sip of tea and said to Gina, who was falling all over herself to prove her loyalty, "This document is classified, all right. But you changed the wrong part." Then I turned to my uncle and said, "And you just said you would uphold justice over family ties? Perfect. You can come back with me to the team and explain all those hiring violations over the past few years." Gina was stunned. The government system she had been killing herself to get into—I was the one in charge of evaluating her.

Iridina Luis had it all—money, status, and a wonderful husband. Until betrayal destroyed her life. Accused of a crime she didn’t commit and left to die in a staged car crash, she vanished into thin air. But she didn’t die. Five years later, she returns as Irene Nowell, a strong, unrecognisable woman, and hell-bent on destroying everything that ruined her. Her target is her ex-husband’s dynasty. Her weapon? A phony business proposition with her former husband… who doesn't even remember her. But there is one issue: Jaxon Black—Kieran’s cunning, black sheep brother. He isn't fooled by her deception. And worse? He sees her. When sparks fly and secrets come out—especially about her son—Iridina must decide between revenge and the only man who might just love her right. Kieran wants her back. But this time, she's choosing herself, her son and the brother who never let go of her.