My Second Death, My Second Chance

My app, GatherGround, was a hit, and my launch party was buzzing. It was also my birthday, a night meant for celebration. Then, my best friend Jess and charming boyfriend Ethan gave me a "special" gift: a vintage instant camera. What followed was a nightmare. My mother died in a freak accident, my dad suffered a debilitating stroke, my company was cyber-attacked and destroyed, and Ethan coldly abandoned me. As I stared death in the face, a horrifying truth flashed before my eyes: the camera wasn' t a gift-it was draining everything from me, giving it to them, to Jess and Ethan, who flourished as I withered. But then, I gasped, the party music pounding again, and saw Jess walking towards me with that same cursed box, moments before it all began. I was back, and this time, armed with knowledge and burning rage, I would rewrite my fate.

My wedding rehearsal dinner was supposed to be the perfect start to my future with Ethan. But then, a text from my sister Chloe, "Surprise! Got an earlier flight!" and just like that, my entire family, including my fiancé, walked out on me. They left me alone, humiliated, to pay for the abandoned dinner. It worsened. That night, despite my shellfish allergy, I was forced to cook Chloe her favorite risotto, my hands blistering, while they celebrated her. Then, when Chloe had a severe allergic reaction to nuts I' d unintentionally left out, my mother slapped me accusingly. My own family, and Ethan, branded me a jealous monster, willing to harm my sister. But the final blow came when I overheard them. My marriage to Ethan? Just a "strategic move" to keep him, Chloe' s long-time crush, trapped in our family' s orbit. I was bait. My entire life, a calculated chess move. The love I craved, the respect I yearned for, was a lie. That night, something inside me broke, and then rebuilt. I quietly submitted my application for a federal clerkship in D.C. Then, I packed my bag, left a life of lies, and never looked back.

Savannah stood at my desk, her smile unsettlingly bright, holding a tiny antique bottle. "For you, Chloe," she purred, her voice dripping with fake sweetness, "a special family recipe for good fortune." But a chill ran down my spine the moment I saw it. The bottle. The smell. The lie. It all came flooding back with agonizing clarity. I remembered the grotesque rash, worse than any psoriasis, erupting across my skin. It was red, raw, and it smelled like rotting meat, coarse black hair sprouting from inflamed patches. Doctors were confused, their creams useless. My own reflection became a monster. Ethan, my boyfriend and boss, looked at me with disgust before abandoning me for good. I was fired from the job I loved, my career turning to ash. I died alone in my apartment, ostracized and broken, the foul reek of my own decaying flesh my final breath. Then I remembered the truth I learned after death: It wasn't a disease. It was a vicious Hoodoo curse, a 'crossing' fed by that very essential oil. A "gift" from my best friend, Savannah. She wanted my job, my beauty, my entire life. And she took it all. But now, I was back. My skin was clear, my body whole. I had a second chance. And this time, she wouldn't win.

My phone screen lit up, not with a text, but a stark, black-and-white pop-up. "Ethan' s SAT scores: 1580. Stanford bound with Tiffany. You' re the 'just in case' girl." Just moments earlier, my childhood crush Ethan, whose father my own dad died saving, feigned despair over "disastrous" SAT scores. He'd gently coerced me, the valedictorian, to give up my dream school for State College, all for "us." These mysterious pop-ups, visible only to me, had always been unsettlingly, terrifyingly right. This one revealed his calculated deception: he'd aced his SATs and was going to Stanford with his new girlfriend, Tiffany. My heart turned to ice. I was his backup plan, a discarded pawn. The betrayal escalated at his lavish graduation party where he publicly humiliated me, painting my sacrifice as my idea. Then, with Tiffany's cruel suggestion, he trapped and locked me in a dark utility closet. The final blow: he brazenly showed my ailing mom a faked State acceptance letter, causing her to suffer a heart attack. As I sat by her hospital bed, watching her struggle for breath, a cold rage ignited. How could the boy whose family owed us everything be capable of such cruel manipulation? My dad died for his. Why was I his pawn? What were these pop-ups? But in that sterile room, watching his continued charade, something inside me snapped. I slapped him, hard. No longer a confused victim, I saw him for what he was: a manipulative abuser. This wasn't the end of my story. This was the beginning of my fight to reclaim it.

My hand trembled as I prepared to call Kevin. I had sacrificed everything for him, cutting ties with my tycoon father, Harrison Gold. But finally, my father had agreed to meet Kevin, even considering funding his tech startup. Peace and success felt within our grasp. Then, a new Instagram post from Jess Vance, Kevin's business partner, popped up. It was an ultrasound picture, captioned, "Love knows no timeline." My blood ran cold when Kevin called moments later. "Jess is pregnant," he stated flatly. "It's mine," he continued, "and she' s Harrison Gold's daughter." He demanded a divorce, claiming it was "just business" to secure vital funding. He violently shoved me as I resisted, sending me crashing into a table. A searing pain ripped through me as I crumpled, bleeding profusely. I was losing our baby, and he just walked out, leaving me there. The man I loved and gave everything for had brutally betrayed me. He destroyed our marriage, our future, and our unborn child for a lie and for money. How could he commit such a monstrous act, all for a fabricated identity for his mistress? But he made one critical mistake: he provoked a Gold. He dismissed me as unsupported, never realizing my powerful father's true reach. My father, seeing my brokenness and the loss of his grandchild, vowed cold, absolute revenge. This wasn't just a breakup; it was a war, and I, Sarah Gold, was about to rise from its ashes.

I remember the Orlando theme park vividly, a chaotic backdrop to the day I, Sarah, believed I saved my younger brother, Kevin, from a suspicious beat-up van and the men within. For twenty-two agonizing years that followed, he systematically dismantled my happiness, turning my very existence into a meticulously crafted hell, blaming me for every one of his pathetic failures and wasted life choices. On my fortieth birthday, as celebratory champagne turned to deadly poison in my throat, Kevin leaned close, his eyes glinting with pure, unadulterated triumph, whispering, "You should have let me go, Sarah; this is all your fault." That agonizing betrayal, that final, calculated act of malice, consumed me entirely as darkness quickly enveloped my world, stealing my breath and my future. I died, drowning in his insidious lies and my own complete helplessness, forever haunted by his chilling words, believing my life was ultimately a tragic, unending consequence of his twisted vendetta. Then, with a jarring jolt, I was miraculously back in that exact moment, the searing Florida sun oppressive, the cheerful theme park music grating, fully transported to the very nightmare where my torment began. There he was again, my sixteen-year-old brother Kevin, a familiar cocky smirk adorning his young face, confidently heading straight for the same beat-up van and its sinister occupants. This time, no frantic screams of warning tore from my throat; no desperate rush to interfere compelled my feet forward, no instinct to rescue him remained. A chilling stillness settled deep within my core, an immediate echo of the grave he' d prepared for me, as I consciously embraced a profoundly different path. I watched him climb into the decrepit van, watched its door slam shut on his ignorant bliss, and understood with absolute clarity that my second chance was not for any kind of salvation, but for a justice far colder and more absolute than I ever conceived.

Two years ago, Ricky found himself coerced into marrying Emma to protect the woman he cherished. From Ricky's perspective, Emma was despicable, resorting to underhanded schemes to ensure their marriage. He maintained a distant and cold attitude toward her, reserving his warmth for another. Yet, Emma remained wholeheartedly dedicated to Ricky for more than ten years. As she grew weary and considered relinquishing her efforts, Ricky was seized by a sudden fear. Only when Emma's life teetered on the edge, pregnant with Ricky's child, did he recognize-the love of his life had always been Emma.

“You need a bride, I need a groom. Why don’t we get married?” Both abandoned at the altar, Elyse decided to tie the knot with the disabled stranger from the venue next door. Pitying his state, she vowed to spoil him once they were married. Little did she know that he was actually a powerful tycoon. Jayden thought Elyse only married him for his money, and planned to divorce her when she was no longer of use to him. But after becoming her husband, he was faced with a new dilemma. “She keeps asking for a divorce, but I don’t want that! What should I do?”

In her previous life, Kimberly endured the betrayal of her husband, the cruel machinations of an evil woman, and the endless tyranny of her in-laws. It culminated in the bankruptcy of her family, and ultimately, her death. After being reborn, she resolved to seek retribution against those who had wronged her, and ensure her family's prosperity. To her shock, the most unattainable man from her past suddenly set his sights on her. "You may have overlooked me before, but I shall capture your heart this time around."

Darya spent three years loving Micah, worshipping the ground he walked on. Until his neglect and his family's abuse finally woke her up to the ugly truth-he doesn't love her. Never did, never will. To her, he is a hero, her knight in shining armour. To him, she is an opportunist, a gold digger who schemed her way into his life. Darya accepts the harsh reality, gathers the shattered pieces of her dignity, divorces him, takes back her real name, reclaims her title as the country's youngest billionaire heiress. Their paths cross again at a party. Micah watches his ex-wife sing like an angel, tear up the dance floor, then thwart a lecher with a roundhouse kick. He realises, belatedly, that she's exactly the kind of woman he'd want to marry, if only he had taken the trouble to get to know her. Micah acts promptly to win her back, but discovers she's now surrounded by eligible bachelors: high-powered CEO, genius biochemist, award-winning singer, reformed playboy. Worse, she makes it pretty clear that she's done with him. Micah gears up for an uphill battle. He must prove to her he's still worthy of her love before she falls for someone else. And time is running out.

It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience, but Carrie made the mistake of falling in love with Kristopher. When the time came that she needed him the most, her husband was in the company of another woman. Enough was enough. Carrie chose to divorce Kristopher and move on with her life. Only when she left did Kristopher realize how important she was to him. In the face of his ex-wife’s countless admirers, Kristopher offered her 20 million dollars and proposed a new deal. “Let’s get married again.”

I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.