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The day Yancy Shepherd died, Benedict Page poisoned our dinner. His eyes were wild, and bloodshot, as he watched me writhe in agony. There was a madness in his gaze, but worse was the hatred, a disgust so deep it twisted his face into something unrecognizable. "If it weren't for you forcing your way into our lives, Yancy wouldn’t have died from heartbreak. You ruined us! It’s all your fault!" A photo slipped from his trembling hand and landed at my feet—Yancy at twenty, looking radiant, her smile as bright as a blooming flower. I collapsed to the ground, my strength fading fast like a rose withering in the final grasp of winter. Helpless, I waited for the darkness to claim me, consumed by despair and bitter regret. Why hadn’t I listened to the system and killed him when I had the chance? But when I opened my eyes again, everything was different. I stood watching Benedict flee our engagement ceremony. My brother moved to chase after him, but I quietly raised a hand, stopping him. This time, things would be different.

After passing five rounds of interviews, I secure an offer from Larson Group based on my own abilities. I can't wait to share the good news with my boyfriend, Noah Gardner. However, he reports me to HR, causing me to lose the job. "Isabelle can't find a job and is really anxious, so I gave the position to her. You can just send out a few more resumes. It's not like a few extra days matter," he said nonchalantly. After Isabelle Buchanan starts working at Larson Group, everyone showers her with praise. I laugh in exasperation and call my older brother. "Mr. Larson, can our company hire me as the CEO's executive assistant?"

After seven years of marriage, my husband grew tired of our quiet life and took a college student as his mistress. That fragile, pitiable girl held Alain Roth so completely he didn't come home for an entire month, no matter how I begged. On our son's third birthday, I came to their villa, holding the feverish child and pleading for him to return. Inside, he stayed lost in passion with her. Jeff Roth drew his last breath in my arms while their pleasure echoed through the night. At the funeral, Alain held me and wept, swearing he would return to the family and love only me. I agreed, driven solely by Jeff's dying wish. Four years later, a video from his old kindergarten surfaced, showing Alain with a radiant Mabel Flores and a three-year-old boy. The boy smiled brightly at the camera, lifting a trophy high. "Mom, Dad, we're the happiest family in the world!"

I was the only daughter of the Sheffield family, and I had three older brothers. Life was going well until a memo app appeared on my phone. [June 15th: My eldest brother, Ian Sheffield, signed a bet agreement with his female secretary, and Sheffield Group's market value plummeted by 80 billion dollars.] [September 3rd: My second brother, Hayes Sheffield, was tricked by his dream girl and left the shareholders' meeting with nothing to his name.] [December 1st: My third brother, Liam Sheffield, gave up his inheritance rights for his dream girl, and the Sheffield family was completely ruined.] Just like that, I, Trina Sheffield, lost all three of my guaranteed providers? From that day on, I began the 'Save My Providers' plan. I swiped Ian's black card for 30 million dollars a day, causing him to become busy handling returns and customer complaints all day. I flew Hayes' private jet to Prosia and casually dismantled the entire interior, saying I was going to redo it. He was so mad that he kept me under surveillance through an eight-hour international video call. I turned Liam's temperature-controlled wine cellar into a karaoke room and sang all night, even using all eight million dollars' worth of wine for foot baths. Dark eye circles constantly plagued my three brothers from all this fuss; they did not even have time to look at their phones. As long as I was around, they could only revolve around me. This went on until a female secretary, Erin Langley, suddenly appeared in Ian's office. She glanced at me, her tone gentle but her eyes icy. "Little girl, the CEO's office isn't a playground. You can get lost and go play now." The corridor fell silent. My most fiercely protective brother, Ian, was about to push open the door and walk in.

My boyfriend, Blake Finch, has passed out drunk on the bed. All I hear is his loud snores. But his roommate, Dylan Olson, begins to scoot closer to me. I can feel scorching heat rolling off his body. "Giselle, what should we do now that Blake is asleep?" A mix of embarrassment and a quiet thrill shoots through my veins, making my throat go dry. "No… Ah… Don't do this… He's going to wake up…" As soon as my voice falls, I feel a hand rest on my butt. Soon, it starts groping me.

I was lying in bed, scrolling on my phone with my pregnant belly heavy in front of me, when a local news alert popped up. 'Wife killed in suburban murder case. Husband stabbed her to death after she refused intimacy during pregnancy.' I clicked it open, only to realize the article was dated for tomorrow. And the killer's name? My husband's. At first, I thought it was some sick prank or a glitch on the site. But then I saw the photo attached to the piece: our wedding picture. My face had been completely blurred out. The moment my heart seized, the bedroom door creaked open. My husband stood there, licking his lips, his smile so chilling it made my blood run cold. "Honey, I want you tonight."

I went to the bank to report a lost debit card. The teller casually asked, "Sir, there's a recurring patent royalty payment under your name. Would you like to link it to your new card?" Stunned, I froze. "What patent royalties?" The screen revealed that one of the accounts showed a quarterly deposit of $300 thousand in patent royalties. My mind went blank for a full three seconds. Then I remembered that, five years ago, my wife, Danica Pearson, had handed me a stack of documents, saying it was part of the company registration process. She said I "only understood technology, not business", effectively turning me into a figurehead consultant. I took a deep breath and told the teller, "Link it to the new card. From now on, transfer every payment directly to my personal account." That night, while Danica was overseas on a business trip, she booked the earliest flight home. At 2 a.m., she pounded on my bedroom door.

Tristan Moreno and I are asked when we're getting married when we attend a class reunion. "We're undecided." "1st of October." Our answers come simultaneously. His head shoots up, and he looks at me with anger and disbelief. I ignore him and explain to my classmates, "I'm getting married on the 1st of October. You're all invited." I know what Tristan wants to ask me. He and I have dated for eight years, but he's never discussed marriage with me. He drags me to a corner, looking furious. "Didn't we agree to put marriage on hold? Do you take pleasure in forcing me into this?" I pry his fingers off my wrist and say, "You can put it on hold for as long as you want. That doesn't stop me from getting married." He's long since gotten bored of me—he's found a younger woman but thinks he's done well in keeping it a secret. Fortunately, he's not the man I'm marrying.

On the day of our engagement, my fiance, Adrian Kinsley, and I are just about to exchange rings. His adopted younger sister, Sarah Nott, suddenly rushes onto the stage and exclaims, "She starred in porn movies, did you know that? How can you marry such a tainted woman?" All of our guests gasp in surprise. At first, everyone thinks it's some kind of prank. But in the next second, Sarah plays a video on the big screen and says, "The woman is quite the celebrity. She shoots more than 60 films a year, and her starting rate is 2,000 dollars per film." I stare at the face in the video that looks almost identical to mine. I'm stunned, as I'm the daughter of a crime boss with a fortune worth hundreds of billions. I casually hand out millions to my subordinates as rewards. Sell my body for 2,000 dollars? I have to be out of my mind to do that.

At the engagement banquet, Monique Walton is in the middle of telling all the guests and the viewers of the livestream that's taking place about our tale of romance. What she doesn't know is that I have already swapped out the romantic video of our sweet memories for the racy clip of her and Terry Caldwell going at it like rabbits. When the clip is presented on the monitor, everyone falls silent immediately. That's when the live comments on the livestream instantly overwhelm the comment section. Monique turns around in a fluster, the well-maintained smile on her face starting to crack bit by bit. She stumbles toward the control panel, accidentally knocking over the champagne tower in her haste. Amid the chaos, I draw to my feet and walk onto the stage. Then, I pick up the microphone Monique has just dropped. "Everyone, this engagement banquet is officially canceled. From now on, Monique Walton and I are no longer affiliated with each other."