No Second Chance, Mr. CEO

I was dying of colon cancer in a hospice, all my $150,000 savings for retirement and my son, Ethan, almost gone. Ethan cried, telling me his girlfriend, Chloe, stole every penny for a luxury condo. I believed him completely. My hatred for that "gold-digger" burned hotter than my cancer. In my final hours, I called the police, determined to ruin Chloe for letting me die disgraced. I died filled with pure, unadulterated hate. My last thought was of her painful demise. How could she betray a dying woman so cruelly? The injustice was unbearable. Then I gasped, not in the hospice, but in my own living room, alive and whole. The doorbell chimed-the day I first met Chloe. And as she entered, I heard her innermost thoughts: "I hope she likes this locket; Ethan said she only respects expensive brands." My rage short-circuited. Ethan had lied. My son was the monster. I was back, with a chilling chance to make him pay.

For sixteen years, I was a phantom in the Miller house, my entire existence centered on raising Caleb. My destiny was sealed: on his 21st birthday, I was to become his wife, a debt my family couldn't pay. In my first agonizing life, that wedding day led to a decade of imprisonment in their dark basement, then a horrific sale to the depraved Scrap Yard Joe, who brutally murdered me and my two young daughters. But then, a miracle: I jolted awake, it was Caleb' s 21st birthday party again. I was back. This time, I vowed to escape, coldly telling Caleb the "deal was off." His fury, fueled by his new girlfriend Chloe, erupted. They dragged me to their root cellar, where Chloe actively tried to crush me with cinder blocks. Escaping a terrifying encounter with Scrap Yard Joe, Chloe's eerie accomplice from my past, I returned to the party only to be publicly framed. A panicked confrontation led to the tragic, accidental death of Caleb' s mother-a death later revealed to be orchestrated by Chloe' s slow poison. I was beaten, battered, and finally, locked in the basement again as Chloe set it on fire, intending to burn me alive. Lying amidst the flames, every fiber of my being screamed. Why had my attempt at freedom only resulted in such a brutal, fiery trap? Was this wretched family, and the ghosts of my past, truly inescapable? Yet, fate had a cruel twist. I miraculously survived, forcing Caleb to believe me dead, consumed by guilt. He began a meticulous, horrifying revenge on Chloe, mirroring the torment I endured. Then, in the climax of his depravity, just as he raised a hunting knife over Chloe' s pregnant belly, a scarred, living ghost walked into the room: Me. And his world shattered.

I was back, standing at my own opulent wedding reception in the Hamptons, surrounded by the clinking of champagne glasses and whispers of the wealthy. Just moments before, I' d been bleeding out on wet asphalt, the last sound I heard my wife Chloe and her lover Carter laughing, discussing my ten-million-dollar life insurance policy. They' d mocked me as "a broke kid from Queens, a scholarship project," after I'd given them my talent, my loyalty, my very life. Now, reborn at this fateful moment, Chloe stood before me, her hand still stinging my cheek from a vicious, public slap, her face a mask of fury. The humiliation continued as my groundbreaking M&A project was publicly handed to Carter, his smug grin twisting my past all over again. Then, Chloe offered me a "health" smoothie, a seemingly kind gesture I now knew was a slow, mind-numbing poison designed to make me believe I was losing my sanity. The sheer depravity of their long-term scheme, making me doubt my own competence and worth, solidified into a frigid rage. How could I have been so blind, so trusting, to the depths of their calculated cruelty and endless betrayal? But this time, my heart wasn't beating with love or fear; it thrummed with a cold, steady drumbeat of resolve. They gave me a coffin in my first life. In this one, I would build them a trap so perfect, they wouldn't see it until the doors locked behind them.

My alarm buzzed, a cheerful tune that mocked the dread in my stomach. Today was the day: our family road trip to Vegas. Last time, it was the day I died. I remembered the screech of tires, shrill against hot asphalt. The sickening crunch of metal, the world swirling upside down. Then, the suffocating smell of gasoline, my own blood. Frank – my father – had orchestrated it all. He'd meticulously sabotaged our car, intent on murdering my mother and me for our organs. His mistress, Jessica, had a dying son, Leo, and we were merely unwilling donors for their twisted scheme. I gasped, shooting bolt upright in my cramped suburban bedroom. The morning sun streamed through the cheap floral wallpaper, a cruel contrast to the grim reality that had just resurfaced. The gruesome memory of my death, brutally betrayed by my own flesh and blood, washed over me like a tidal wave of ice and raw panic. My blood ran cold. This wasn't a nightmare; it was today. The same day he planned to carve me up for parts. How could a father, the sworn protector, conceive such a monstrous act for another woman' s child? The sheer injustice, the chilling horror of it, was unbearable, turning my stomach. But then, the nausea receded, replaced by something cold, hard, and sharp: pure, unyielding rage. I wasn't that naive 19-year-old anymore. I was a ghost with a score to settle. This time, there would be no crash. No organs harvested. This time, they would be the ones to feel pain.

The funeral was a grand affair, fitting for a hero. My husband, Michael, a decorated NYPD detective, was killed in the line of duty, they said. I stood by the open casket, three-year-old Leo clutching my hand, expected to be a shattered, grieving widow. But I felt absolutely nothing. Because the man in that casket wasn't Michael. It was his identical twin, Mark. And the man openly sobbing beside my mother-in-law, the one they called "Mark," was my husband, Michael. I knew this because I' d lived this nightmare once before. In my first life, I' d exposed his lie. His response? He had me committed, claiming my grief drove me mad. From a barred window, I watched him marry his high school sweetheart, Ashley. That night, he gave our son, Leo, 'sleeping medication.' A week later, Leo never woke up. The loss of everything-my child, my freedom, my entire life-was too much. I ended it, regretting only not calling my kind college friend, David. Then, I woke up. I was back, standing before the casket, Leo' s warm hand in mine. I remembered Michael' s chilling words to his mother: "Chloe is strong. She'll manage. I'll take Mark's place." He thought I' d quietly raise our son while he lived happily ever after. He was terribly wrong. This time, I wouldn't be strong for him. I would play his grieving widow. And I would burn his entire world to ashes.

In the glittering, cutthroat world of D.C. politics, I was Ava Reed: the neglected half-sister, the family's quiet secret. When my half-sister Scarlett accidentally killed an investigative journalist, our powerful Senator father, in a panic, decided to frame me for the crime. My childhood crush, Noah Vanderbilt, seemed to offer escape, but I quickly discovered their true intent was to silence me permanently. I ran, only to be ambushed, drugged, and left for dead. My "ashes" were secretly mixed into the walls of the family mansion, my "skull" hidden as a gruesome trophy. For three years, I existed as a disembodied ghost, witnessing Noah meticulously dismantle my former tormentors, culminating in his shocking engagement to Scarlett. My hatred burned hotter than ever; why would the man I loved align himself with the very people who destroyed me? This elaborate revenge, this chilling betrayal of my memory, perplexed me. But what if the ghost wasn't just haunting them, and what if Noah wasn't betraying me at all? What if my 'death' was a deliberate fiction, orchestrated by the man who truly saved my life, and this entire, elaborate vengeance was for me?

Sandra Hill, the long-lost real heiress of the Hill family, was shunned by her own kin. Instead of embracing her, they bestowed their affection upon an impostor. They even arranged her to marry a vegetative man in place of her so-called “sister”. Sandra sneered, refusing to put up with this humiliation, cut off ties with the Hill family immediately and ran into the flash marriage with Wesley Cooper, her unconscious billionaire husband. With her incredible medical skills, she defied the odds and revived him. Little did she expect that her husband spoiled her with all his love... A medical genius, a computer prodigy, a national treasure in painting, and a racing legend... Her husband revealed her various identities, leaving the Hill family regretful. Her father came pleading, "It's Dad's fault. Please come back." Her mother wept, "Mom will protect you from now on. Please come back." Even her five brothers knelt before he, begging for forgiveness. Yet, Sandra's smile held a hint of mockery as she vowed, “Never!”

"I heard you're going to marry Marcelo. Is this perhaps your revenge against me? It's very laughable, Renee. That man can barely function." Her foster family, her cheating ex, everyone thought Renee was going to live in pure hell after getting married to a disabled and cruel man. She didn't know if anything good would ever come out of it after all, she had always thought it would be hard for anyone to love her but this cruel man with dark secrets is never going to grant her a divorce because she makes him forget how to breathe.

"Ethan, this is unethical. It's criminal. She hasn't consented." Those chilling words, whispered in the sterile hum of an operating room, were the first thing I heard as consciousness flickered back. My heart pounded, cold dread snaking through my veins. Dr. Ben Carter, Ethan's old friend, was arguing with him. "She's my girlfriend, Ben. Practically my wife," Ethan scoffed, his voice laced with a terrifying casualness. "Chloe needs this kidney. Ava is a perfect match." Kidney. Chloe. My blood ran cold. The beautiful, fragile Chloe Vahn, who had always haunted our relationship, was now taking a piece of me, quite literally. I tried to scream, to move, but my body felt like lead, my throat raw. I felt a sharp tug, a searing line of fire on my side-the scalpel. Ten years of love, of sacrifice, building Ethan Reed and his company back from nothing, all for this. To be carved up like an animal for the woman he truly loved. When I finally regained full awareness, Ethan was by my bedside, a practiced look of concern on his face, spinning a lie about a ruptured ovarian cyst. But then, the overheard nurse's whispered conversation confirmed my nightmare: "Chloe's kidney transplant... he barely left her side." The pieces slammed into place. My despair solidified into a cold, hard resolve. No more. I grabbed my phone, scrolling to one contact I hadn't dared to call. Noah Hayes, Ethan's rival, a man of integrity. My finger trembled as I typed. "Noah," I managed, my voice raspy. "Are you still looking for a COO who knows Reed Innovate's strategies... and perhaps, a wife?" The silence stretched, then his voice, calm and serious, cut through the noise of my crumbling world. "My jet, seven days. LaGuardia."

For two years Caitlin quietly wore Isaac's ring, trying to melt the frost from his heart-until his first love returned, pregnant. Devastated and hiding her own pregnancy, Caitlin presented divorce papers. Isaac ripped them apart with a sneer, "Tired of your games already?" Later, Caitlin stormed back into the spotlight-a billionaire designer with endless admirers. Desperate, Isaac pinned her to the wall, pleading, "Honey, give me one more chance."

Rumors said that Lucas married an unattractive woman with no background. In the three years they were together, he remained cold and distant to Belinda, who endured in silence. Her love for him forced her to sacrifice her self-worth and her dreams. When Lucas' true love reappeared, Belinda realized that their marriage was a sham from the start, a ploy to save another woman's life. She signed the divorce papers and left. Three years later, Belinda returned as a surgical prodigy and a maestro of the piano. Lost in regret, Lucas chased her in the rain and held her tightly. "You are mine, Belinda."

Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman. As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius. When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval."