Novel & Cerita Linear Independence Linear Algebra

Nine years into our marriage, Linda Chancers was constantly surrounded by admirers. She enjoyed captivating inexperienced young men, making them infatuated with her.I understood and accepted it while she took pleasure in it.We continued quietly like this for nine years. It wasn’t until the day I achieved success and left without looking back. That night, Linda smashed everything in the house and grabbed my collar, screaming, "So, all these years, you've never loved me!"Love?What I loved, what I wanted, was nothing more than status and wealth.

When I met Ethan Stone, his family had just gone bankrupt. He had fallen hard and was at his lowest point. I stayed with him for eight years and helped him rebuild everything. We were finally about to get married. On our engagement day, I was kidnapped by his greatest rival. When I came back safely, he held his secretary in his arms and looked at me with disgust. “Jane, you’re no longer pure.” I felt my heart sink. I let him go and chose to fall into the arms of his rival.

Ever since my husband, Ted Towery, returns from a trip, he seems like a completely different person. He becomes gentle, attentive, and deeply affectionate. But one night, I get up in the middle of the night and see him standing at the kitchen counter. On the cutting board lie his head, his tongue, his eyeballs, and a heart that is still beating. "He" holds a kitchen knife, seeming a little conflicted. "Where should I start fixing?" Suddenly, the tongue on the cutting board lets out a shrill scream, "She sees us!"

After being chosen by a horror game, I took over a food stall in a small town. A ghoul tried to eat me, his huge, bloody mouth a gaping maw, but I quickly shoved a focaccia sandwich into it. He chewed and then said, “Oh, forget it. With food to eat, I’ll kill her tomorrow.” The next day, I made delicious pierogies, then skewers and stews. All the ghouls who stopped by gave up on trying to kill me, focusing on eating instead. The audience watching me was shocked that I could survive all the way to the end with just my cooking.

My father-in-law tossed a credit card across the table and looked down at me, demanding that I divorce his daughter. In my past life, I had refused with everything I had. But this time, I picked up the pen and signed the divorce papers without a second thought. Because right then, I remembered what had happened last time. In that life, I found my wife after she had lost her memory. To support her, I worked myself to the bone, delivering 200 food orders a day. But when her memories came back, she realized she was actually the daughter of the wealthy Harretts. She saw our marriage as a stain on her perfect life. To get rid of me, she pretended to have amnesia again. She said, "Since you saved me once, I'll give you some money. But after this, don't ever show up in front of me again." I refused. I stayed by her side, enduring her insults and beatings. But in the end, she ordered our son to set the fire that killed me, just so she could marry her first love. Now that I had been given another chance, I wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

On my birthday, I personally prepare 16 dishes. After setting up the candlelight, I open a bottle of red wine. I take a photo and send it to my husband, Eric Sinclair. "I'm working late tonight. Don't wait for me," he replies. I choose to believe him. But after midnight, I notice an Instagram story posted by Shirley Huxley, his secretary. Eric was there with her, dressed in the trench coat I once gave him. They sat side by side in the VIP seat of football stadium where my favorite Super Bowl take place. Entwined in a passionate embrace, they kissed beneath a sea of shimmering lights and the roar of thousands of fans. That game is the one I have always longed to experience with him. I look down at the cold food on the table. Eric's words keep ringing in my head. "I hate kissing." "Marriage is a partnership, not about love and kisses." Though we've been married for ten years, we've never shared a single kiss. Meanwhile, he's out there, kissing Shirley openly and passionately. Despite it all, not a single tear falls from my eyes. The next day, Eric settles into his chair, completely unfazed. "Return the gallery to Shelly," he commands. I nod quietly, saying nothing. Suddenly, Layla Sinclair, my daughter, comes running down the stairs and throws herself into Shirley's arms. "Aunt Shirley, you're my favorite. I don't like Mom!" In that instant, it hits me—the home I devoted my heart and soul to means nothing anymore. It doesn't matter that I've been married to Eric for a decade. Now, all I want is to find myself again. I decide to accept an invitation from the Parisoir School of Fashion Design. From this moment on, I won't wait for them to come home, and I won't look back.

After I got pregnant, I witnessed my boyfriend's grandmother's death. She left behind a secret, and now, everyone who knows that secret is dead. First, it was my boyfriend's father who died. My boyfriend's mother followed soon after. Lastly, my boyfriend died too. He ended his life by overdosing right before my eyes. The media went wild. They dug obsessively for the truth. Again and again, the police summoned me for questioning. Online hate toward me was overwhelming. Everyone wants to know what the secret is. People claim I cursed my boyfriend's entire family to death, just to keep the secret to myself. I stay silent, never saying a word in defense of myself. On the seventh day after my boyfriend had passed, I spot someone at his funeral. At that moment, I place my hand on my swollen belly. I am utterly calm and at peace. It is time for me and my child to die too.

I had no choice but to become the partner of a mafia boss with an incubus bloodline when his heat cycle began. To my surprise, Lionel Andrus and I got along better than I ever imagined. Every night, he held me close, craving more of me, as if we were made for each other. But right before we got our marriage license, my jealous sister, Tracy Rowe, tried to talk me out of it. "Incubi are born flirts," she warned. "How do you know you're his only woman? Once he's bored, he'll toss you aside." In my last life, I had believed her. I called off my engagement with Lionel and, through her introduction, married a "nice guy" named Jamie Stephenson. After we married, Jamie cheated on me and gave me STDs. Desperate, I went to Tracy's house to ask for help. She turned me away with disgust. "You couldn't control your husband and ended up sick, and you actually came asking me for money? How dare you! You have no self-respect. You don't deserve to be my sister!" Right then, she publicly cut ties with me. Even our parents sided with her, calling me a disgrace and refusing to let me step inside the house. In the end, I couldn't take the pain anymore and ended up hanging myself. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the very day Tracy told me not to marry Lionel.

The day before Chris Carter and I were supposed to get engaged, my parents sent me to prison. Three years later, when I was finally released, Chris was the only one who came to pick me up. I knew he despised me. I trembled, keeping my head down, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But he blocked my path, frowning. “Emily York? You stink.” He pinched his nose and told me to get in the car. I fell to my knees, desperately begging him not to take me home. If he did, I would die. He looked at me with chilling indifference and said, “Then go ahead and die.” I agreed. But later, he cried and begged me to stay alive.

My grandmother only knows how to draw one thing—infants. They're ugly, but people line up to buy the paintings. I watch as she takes those women into unlit rooms. Then, their bloodcurdling screams will ring out. Oddly enough, they always thank my grandmother when they're leaving. One day, I finally find out what exactly my grandmother paints. I discover the truth when I see an infant crawl out of one of the women's bellies—it looks just like the one my grandmother has painted.