89 Book(s) Related to taylor swift bejeweled lyrics

I died on my birthday.

While kidnappers shattered my limbs and violated me to death, my family was throwing a grand party for my sister Chloe—yes, we shared the same birthday, but only hers was worth celebrating.

I called my father for help. He sneered and hung up: "Stop using this pathetic kidnapping stunt to ruin Chloe's birthday."

I called my fiancé Mark. He said with disgust: "If you're going to die, do it somewhere far away."

In the final second before the flames consumed me, I finally understood—

I was never loved in this family.

And now that I'm truly dead, now that they've discovered Chloe hired those men to kill me, now that the truth has been exposed to the world...

Will they regret it?

Or will they, as always, continue to favor Chloe and blame everything on me—the dead one?

I was the reincarnation of the Ancient Star God and the fated mate of the Obsidian Dragon King, Ignis.

For seven years, I nearly bled my divine blood dry to break his curses. Everyone knew I loved him unconditionally.

Until his cold sneer shattered it all.

"Seraphina has laid my egg. After the Hunting Festival, I'll crown her as my queen. Keep Elara around to placate the Alliance. She's so madly in love with me, she'll gladly be a shield for them."

Something snapped deep within my chest. My empathy veins—the very magic that bound my emotions to him—shattered.

No heartbreak. No hysteria. That suffocating love was erased in an instant. Looking at Ignis now was like looking at a worthless stone.

I calmly returned to the temple and activated the marriage decree sent by the Elven High King, Aurelius.

The realm portal was charging. Departure: three days.

I severed our Mate Bond with my own hands.

In that moment, I lay unconscious, bleeding under the silvery moonlight, while he knelt some distance away, clutching his chest as if he had been hollowed out.

Once, he shielded me from nine silver stakes, only to crown another woman; he placed my protective pendant around her neck, then cast me into a water prison. He professed, “I love only you,” yet stood outside my hospital room, nursing her child as if it were his own.

I loathed him, resolved to leave.

I believed this was the end.

Little did I know, as I thought I had finally gained my freedom, he would chase after the debts of blood and regret, intruding upon the new life I was rebuilding—

To redeem a love that no longer sought redemption.

When the armored car had room for only one passenger, Damian Russo chose me.

I was saved, but Lilia Brown didn't make it. She bled out in the crossfire, her body left in the rubble. Damian pretended he didn't care and married me as planned.

For three years, he made me pay for her death—beating me, starving me, blaming me for the fact that she was gone.

In the end, he drove us both off a cliff instead.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the docks on the night of the ambush. This time, I stepped aside and let him save the woman he truly loved.

That day, I stood in the rain, donned in a rented wedding gown.

He texted, "I’m sorry, Elena, I won’t be coming."

Five years later, he gazed at me and said, "Come work as a maid at my home, in light of the service you once rendered me."

He believed I remained the wretched creature he had trampled upon.

Little did he know that my current husband, Dante Vancetti, is the man who instills fear across all of San Valero.

And I am his Donna—his queen, his entire universe.

Marco Ricci, welcome to hell.

In order to raise the surgical fees for my "blind" boyfriend, I dedicated three entire years to scrubbing toilets.

I believed I was his eyes, the sole beacon of light in his world of darkness.

Until his birthday arrived, I was confronted with the sight of that "incapable" man—who required my assistance even to drink water—coddling his ex-girlfriend while flirting.

"That fool is still busy cleaning toilets," he chuckled with a patronizing grin, brandishing my late mother's memento to charm that woman. "After all, she outshone you at Parsons. Let her serve me like a dog for three years—that'll be her punishment."

It dawned on me that my sacrifices were but fodder for their idle amusement.

Drying my tears, I turned and dialed the number I had blocked for three years—the one belonging to the fiancé who controlled an entire business empire.

"Sebastian, about that arranged marriage... I accept."

My father chose two vampires as marriage prospects for my sister and me.

One was an immensely powerful pureblood aristocrat.

The other was Cassian, crippled by a silver curse. Confined to a wheelchair, he was a laughingstock—wracked by phantom pains and constantly on the verge of madness.

In my past life, I chose Cassian.

I drained my own blood to ease his agonizing curse. I shielded him from the relentless mockery of the Vampire Court. I even gambled my life in werewolf territory to beg for his cure.

But he never seemed to get better.

I didn't care. I remember holding his hand and telling him, "It doesn't matter. No matter what happens to you, I will always stay by your side."

Until the accident. A pack of rogue werewolves ambushed us.

Cassian shoved me precisely into the path of their claws.

Just to shield my sister, Serena, from the fatal blow.

Silver claws completely shredded my throat.

Through my fading vision, I watched Cassian stand up from his wheelchair.

The terrifying aura of a Vampire Lord erupted from him, crushing the werewolves instantly. Countless night-thralls emerged from the shadows, dropping to their knees at his feet.

That was when I understood. He was never paralyzed, and he was never mad.

Because Serena hadn't chosen him, and because he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me, he faked the illness to disgust me for years.

Then, he used my life to save his true love.

"I'm sorry for deceiving you. But I couldn't just watch Serena die."

"Elara... whatever I owe you, I'll repay in the next life."

In the bone-piercing cold, I took my last breath.

When I opened my eyes, I was back on the exact day my father forced us to make our choice.

On the day of the Bonding Pact, my sister and I stood in the grand hall to choose our husbands.

She snatched Malik of the Water Snakes, throwing Raven—the last heir of the Leviathans—to me.

In our past life, we married on the same day, but our grooms were reversed.

She married Raven and birthed a patricidal monster. I married Malik, using my healing magic to cleanse the madness from his blood, and gave birth to a divine heir worshiped by all.

In the end, driven mad by jealousy over her ruin, she murdered me.

In this life, pointing at Malik's token, she declared she would marry Malik .

I lowered my head, hiding my eyes. "Then I wish you exactly what you desire, Sister."

On our third wedding anniversary, a catastrophic car accident plunged me into a state of life-threatening hemorrhage. Yet, before the medical staff, my husband roared: "Draw my wife's blood first; save Serena."

Serena—his first love.

It became apparent that he had never married me out of love; I was but a living blood bank, intended solely to sustain his cherished first love. It was only when I discovered I was pregnant that I realized he would not even spare the life within me.

That incarceration, cloaked in the guise of love, had nearly claimed my life. When I opened my eyes again, I was no longer the Clara who could be so easily sacrificed. This time, I shall ensure he pays for his blood debt, with no chance of redemption.

They say the dead go where they belong.

But I didn't.

I drift through the cold winds, watching my husband—the detective who once swore to protect me with his life—diligently investigating a dismemberment case.

He doesn't know that the broken body lying in the morgue is his wife.

He doesn't know that the gentle, caring "psychologist" who brings him lunch every day is the one who killed me.

He doesn't know that when I called him in my final moments, begging for help, he hung up on me. I am dead. Yet, that is not the cruelest part— the most harrowing aspect is having to witness the truth gradually emerge, watching as that man collapses completely upon uncovering it all.

Ninety-nine pearl necklaces correspond to ninety-nine fractures in my heart.

He was accustomed to using extravagant pearls to atone for his transgressions, yet on the day of my mother’s funeral, he chose to vacation with his mistress while plotting to take from me the ancestral home my mother left behind.

When the hundredth pearl arrived, I presented him with the divorce papers. The pain of my miscarriage still lingered, as he offered me a rare black pearl to "atone"; moments later, he was liking his mistress's posts.

He believed pearls could purchase my love, unaware that each bead counted down the moments of our marriage.

In the end, what does it matter if he risked everything to protect me?

I shall never turn back.

I loved Julian for ten years, carving every sweat-stained day into my love for him.
He once said I shined brighter than any gold medal.
Yet in five short minutes, he handed my dream, my glory, and my whole world to a scheming transfer girl.
Betrayed, discarded, and broken on the fencing strip, I lost my first love and everything I fought for.
Until the retired cold Olympic champion stepped out of the dark midnight shadows.
He offered me hellish training and a sharp blade of revenge.
I buried my soft heart, handed over my soul, and vowed to make every traitor pay.

Sparks fly when attorney Kathy Brooks agrees to represent Charles Morgan, Jr. in a high-profile lawsuit against a powerful government defense contractor. But when Charles’ hidden agenda threatens to expose the government’s dirty little secrets, what started out as the case of a lifetime could cost Kathy her heart, her career and even her life.Just Dreams is a page turning action packed romantic legal thriller set in Miami complete with military heroes, FBI agents, spies and hackers. If you like fast paced romantic suspense, then you’ll love Just Dreams. Just don’t start it at night if you want to sleep.

Five years ago, I knelt on marble floors, cleaning wine with my own dress while they laughed.

Five years later, they knelt before me, begging for forgiveness while I walked away.

They thought three hundred thousand dollars could buy my soul. They thought I was just another disposable substitute, another broken girl desperate enough to sell her dignity for her dying mother's medical bills.

Caspian Ashford wanted a replacement for his precious Scarlett. The Hampton elite wanted a servant to humiliate. They all wanted me to disappear quietly when they were done with me.

They got their wish—I did disappear.

But the girl who drowned in that yacht "accident" five years ago? She was weak, desperate, powerless.

The woman who returned as Elena Whitman?

I'm their worst fucking nightmare.

I gave up my dream offer to Cambridge just so I could follow my heavily bullied childhood sweetheart to Princeton.

Yet, the day before we were supposed to submit our applications, I overheard him and his teammates laughing heartily:

"Man, you deserve an Oscar," one of them snickered. "You actually got the Vanderbilt heiress to drop Cambridge just by playing the victim?"

"To cause a rift with my family for me, and to serve as my shield against adversity—what a foolish heiress, impossible to shake off," Carter sneered to his friends.

"Once I drag her to Princeton, I can finally date Lily without her getting in the way."

I didn't storm in.

I quietly shredded my Princeton forms and submitted my Cambridge acceptance.

Carter seemed to have forgotten one crucial detail: without my family's money, he wasn't a tragic prince. He was just a stray dog.

My name is Maya Wilson. I'm seventeen, I have 100K TikTok followers, and I just watched my dad destroy our family for a twenty-five-year-old homewrecker named Ashley.

"Ashley makes me feel alive again," he said, dismissing seventeen years of marriage like a bad business deal.

"We'll be one happy family," she smiled, standing in our kitchen like she already owned it.

That's when I knew: Mom needed my protection.

What followed was a war fought with laptops and lies, fake pregnancies and real heartbreak. A battle between a broken housewife discovering her strength, a teenage girl wielding digital weapons, and a woman who thought she could manipulate her way to victory.

Six months later, Mom would be accepting awards. Ashley would be gone. And Dad?

Dad would be begging for forgiveness he'd never get.

The day my mother succumbed to complications during childbirth, her younger sister, Vanessa, wed my father.

Fifteen years later, I beheld my husband accompanying Vanessa as she tried on seductive lingerie.

In that moment, I understood—what she truly coveted was never my father, but rather all that my mother and I shared.

My mother perished during childbirth, a casualty of an illicit affair.

I vowed not to repeat that tragic cycle.

Then I returned home, removed my wedding ring, and left behind the divorce papers.

I am the jubilant champion's girlfriend, the blissful woman who will reveal to him tonight, "We are to become parents." Yet, I overheard the brutal truth: "The very thought of her mother once climbing into my father's bed fills me with revulsion for every second of this five-year charade."

It turns out that five years of affection was nothing more than a meticulously orchestrated deceit.

In that moment of heartbreak and excruciating pain, our child slipped away as if making the final decision on my behalf. I incinerated all our memories, rendering them vapor in this world.

When that once indomitable champion finally realized his misplaced animosity, and in a desperate bid to find me, fractured his spine amidst the ruins while signing a pact with fate...I am the jubilant champion's girlfriend, the blissful woman who will reveal to him tonight, "We are to become parents." Yet, I overheard the brutal truth: "The very thought of her mother once climbing into my father's bed fills me with revulsion for every second of this five-year charade."

It turns out that five years of affection was nothing more than a meticulously orchestrated deceit.

In that moment of heartbreak and excruciating pain, our child slipped away as if making the final decision on my behalf.

When that once indomitable champion finally realized his misplaced animosity, and in a desperate bid to find me, fractured his spine amidst the ruins while signing a pact with fate...

After being stood up for the ninety-ninth time while attempting to register for marriage, I sent my fiancé a breakup message. He had allowed me to be let down ninety-nine times, dismissing my asthma as mere pretentiousness and perceiving my sacrifices as acts of greed, all the while lavishing his patience upon another woman. It was only when he had his mistress select a cheap necklace for me and sketched explicit nudes of her that I realized these seven years were not a narrative of profound love, but rather an absurd farce playing out solely in my life. The moment I dispatched the breakup message, I never envisioned that this man, who viewed me as dispensable, would later pursue me with a frenzied obsession.

A car crash stole my memories, but gave me the perfect "boyfriend."

When I woke up, tattooed Knox held my hand and said: "I'm your boyfriend." I believed him. His tenderness, his daughter's affection, those photos of "us together"—what a beautiful lie.

Until a children's choir sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," and shattered memories flooded back: I was a kindergarten teacher falsely accused of child abuse, my ex-boyfriend Zephyr abandoned me for his career, his new girlfriend Sterling orchestrated the entire trap that even led to my car crash and amnesia...

And Knox? He was a complete stranger!

The most twisted part—I actually fell in love with this man who lied to me.

When Zephyr returned with regret, when Sterling threatened with malicious intent, when Knox waited in fear for my judgment... I made the craziest choice:

"I choose this lie."

Cancer was supposed to be my death sentence. Instead, it became my liberation.

I thought I had it all—wealth, status, a picture-perfect life in Greenwich's elite circles. Then came the diagnosis that would change everything: six months to live. But facing my final chapter, I uncovered a truth more devastating than any terminal illness—the man sleeping beside me was slowly killing my soul.

When you have nothing left to lose, you discover exactly how powerful you can become.

A madman attacked the concert hall. I threw myself over my son, taking every blow meant for him. My spine shattered in three places.

My husband Arthur subdued the attacker and rushed us to the hospital—the picture of a devoted, loving spouse.

It was only after hearing his conversation with the doctor that I finally saw his true colors.

My crippling injury was merely collateral damage. My son Ethan? Nothing but a living cornea donor for Mia—the cherished daughter he had with his first love.

He treated my child like spare parts, never knowing Mia isn't even his blood.

In my past life, my Mafia Don husband left me and our unborn baby to burn just to save my half-sister.

Reborn, I watched him crush my fingers in a door to protect her once again.

"Hurt her, and we get a divorce," he sneered.

He thought the threat would break me. He didn't know his signature was already on the divorce papers hidden in my bag.

On the day of their lavish wedding, I took the hand of his deadliest rival, looked down from a helicopter, and pressed the detonator to his estate.

At the Ultimate Construct Tournament, my roommate beat me to the stage, unveiling the very runic matrix I had just designed in my mind.

When I confronted her about the blatant plagiarism, she burst into tears on the spot.

"You say I stole from you, but do you have even a single sketch to prove it?"

My boyfriend, Richard, sitting right there on the judges' panel, publicly condemned me.

He called me a sore loser and sneered that my vicious slander was absolutely disgusting.

Because the construct existed entirely within my mental sea, I had no physical proof.

I was crucified as a jealous bully, and ultimately, the violent magical backlash tore through me.

Right up until my last breath, I couldn't figure it out: how did she perfectly steal a top-secret construct I had only ever simulated in my mind, without leaving a single trace behind?

When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn—right back at the start of that very tournament.

Watching my roommate step forward, ready to rush the holographic projector, I clamped a hand around her wrist.

"This time, I'm going first."

I gave him seventeen chances to marry me, yet he eagerly toasts with his new flame, showers her with gifts, and retreats to hotels with her.
He has forgotten that I do not have pierced ears, presenting me annually with earrings I can never wear; he has overlooked our seven-year anniversary but vividly remembers the one-year anniversary of his new lover's employment.
Seventeen promises of marriage, each one an empty promise; seven years of devoted affection, ultimately reduced to a mere laughingstock.
So I flew straight to his worst nightmare—Mexico.
And let him burn in the regret he never earned.

To please his mistress, Callum ordered me—pregnant—to dance barefoot in the black salt ice cellar.

When I stumbled back to the doorway to warm myself, the mistress covered her mouth and retched.

"I'm pregnant. I can't stand this death-stench of winter."

Only because I was a princess of the Winter Realm, born carrying frost in my veins.

Callum flew into a rage and had me locked inside a frost-crystal cage, sunk to the bottom of the ice well. No one was allowed to release me without his command.

"A princess of winter, afraid of the cold? What a joke!"

No matter how I struggled or begged, he couldn't have cared less. He and his mistress treated it as entertainment. And just like that, I froze to death at the bottom of that well.

What he didn't know was that although we winter-born are forged in bitter cold, when we carry a child, every drop of magic goes to protecting the baby. We have no defense left for ourselves. The very ice that shaped us becomes the thing that kills us.

Two days later, he was finally satisfied and ordered them to pull me up.

But I could never come back up again.

When I confessed to Montgomery in my red evening gown at his engagement party, everyone thought I was just a spoiled little girl throwing a tantrum. I had no idea that this man who raised me was the one who indirectly killed my father.

And no one knew that later that night in his luxury car, we crossed every moral boundary.

Then Dorian appeared at the bar—a mysterious bartender who looked just like Montgomery. When I kissed him as Montgomery's substitute, when I discovered he was actually the heir to a hotel empire, when I realized he'd known the truth all along...

When twisted steel tore through my stomach in a horrific helicopter crash, I was pushed to the absolute brink of death.

In my darkest moment, Alaric, the Vampire High Lord, saved me.

He healed my shattered body, bound me as his fiercely protected mate, and spoiled me with what I thought was endless devotion.

Until tonight. My blood amulet unexpectedly resonated with our pact's magic, intercepting his encrypted call with his private physician.

"I orchestrated that crash. Maiming her was the only way to justify the continuous blood draws."

"But My Lord, drawing any more will cross the lethal threshold..."

"So what? She has a congenital immunity to pain. As long as she doesn't die, it's an honor for her to bleed to suppress Elena's werewolf venom."

The salvation I worshipped was nothing but a meticulously designed trap to harvest my veins.

If that's the case, I will tear this blood pact to shreds.

In my third year of marriage to Cassius, I saw his childhood sweetheart Serena post a photo on a luxury yacht with the caption: "My man always knows what I want."

That yacht was supposed to be my birthday gift.

I called the dealer. "Mr. Vitale transferred it to Miss Monte."

Cassius called immediately. "Stop checking up on me. I owed her this. Why are you so insecure?"

That night, he kicked my medication across the floor. "Stop reminding everyone I owe you my life."

Three years ago, I gave him my gas mask during a shootout. The toxins destroyed my lungs.

When he burned my face with an iron, he drove me to the hospital—until Serena called crying about a burst pipe.

He shoved me out into the pouring rain. "You're not going to die. She needs me more."

For the first time in three years, I realized I should stop saving a man who'd already chosen someone else.

Three years ago, I devoted my family's entire fortune to rescue my husband from the mire of impending bankruptcy. I once believed this was a mutual journey of love, until that day revealed the chilling truth — I had merely been nurturing a self-consuming wolf.
The metallic scent of blood still hung in the air of the delivery room when he signed the document relinquishing life support, trading our newly born child for a flicker of hope for his beloved.
As I lay in a pool of blood, dialing his number, I could hear the heavy breaths of him and his mistress on the other end.
The explosion of the yacht cast flames upon the sea, and in that life-or-death moment, he unhesitatingly let go of my hand.
They all believed I had perished beneath the waves.
Very well.
Now, my wedding invitation lies within his reach.

In my past life, I loved the wrong man, chose the wrong path, and died trapped in an underground prison.

Reborn and given a second chance, facing the choice between the Blackwood brothers, everyone expected me to fall into Kellan's arms again—that once "perfect lover," that demon who tortured me to death.

But this time, I chose his older brother, Kai.

I chose the eldest son rumored to be cold and ruthless, the dangerous man who handled "gray business" overseas, the only person who bled for me in my previous life.

When I took Kai's hand in front of everyone, Kellan lost his mind, and so did my twin sister Aria.

"You love me!" Kellan screamed hysterically. "How could you choose that cold-blooded bastard?"

I smiled calmly: "Because this time, I'm choosing someone who truly loves me."

The pain of my past life won't repeat itself. The revenge of this life has only just begun.

At the annual charity gala, I stood in the spotlight as the student representative.

My roommate, Harper, suddenly stormed the stage, publicly accusing me of being a sugar baby who seduced her father.

"That diamond necklace around her neck was bought with my dad's money!"

I instantly became public enemy number one. The crowd erupted into a frenzy of boos, and the administration, caving to the pressure, prepared to expel me on the spot.

Facing the out-of-control screaming and the countless live-stream cameras shoved in my face, I pulled out my phone and dialed the so-called "sugar daddy" right there in front of everyone.

"Dad," I said coldly. "Since when did I get a new 'sister'?"

I awaited my seven-year-old son's birthday, yearning for my husband’s return, only to stumble upon him celebrating at a bar, tenderly kissing his childhood sweetheart.
I initially believed this to be yet another instance of his favoritism, until I overheard a devastating conversation and realized the truth: the precious son I had nurtured for seven years was not mine, but a product of his union with his childhood friend.
The marriage I had fought so hard to preserve was, from the very beginning, a deceitful scheme orchestrated against me.

From a young age, I understood that my asthma was a shackle for my entire family. My parents took turns caring for me, their hearts gripped by the fear of any sign of respiratory distress. In their fervent concern for my health, they even compelled my sister, Sophie, freshly accepted into university, to postpone her studies and return home to assist in my care.
At Sophie's eighteenth birthday celebration, I lingered at the edge of the crowd, my chest constricted, and my throat felt as if it were ensnared by invisible hands. I gently tugged at my mother's sleeve, my voice barely a whisper: "Mom, I... can't breathe. I want to go back to my room..."
In an instant, my mother whirled around, her eyes ablaze with fury, as though she had awaited this moment of eruption. She seized my inhaler and hurled it into the farthest corner of the room.
"If it's this painful, then go die!" she shrieked, her words cutting like a knife. "Stop using your illness to hold us hostage!"
The inhaler tumbled to the floor, rolling away like a forgotten piece of trash. I stared at it blankly, a sudden laugh escaping my lips.
And then, I truly died. Yet, in the wake of my passing, those who once found me a burden descended into madness.

I was forced by my father to fulfill an arranged engagement I'd never met face-to-face.

Pushing open the private room door, I found my fiancé Tristan celebrating his secretary Clara's birthday.

"Security! Get this beggar out of here!" Clara screamed, pointing at me.

When I revealed my identity, Tristan sneered coldly: "What bullshit engagement? I would never marry a woman like you."

Clara poured red wine over my head: "Kneel down and lick it clean!"

When I fought back, Tristan exploded in rage: "How dare you touch my woman? Hold her down!"

Four bodyguards pinned me down as Clara started a live stream: "Let everyone see this delusional bitch who doesn't know her place!"

They tore at my clothes while Tristan watched coldly, even urging them on: "Hurry up, let everyone see her true face."

Just as I was about to be completely humiliated, the door suddenly burst open—

"Do you have any idea whose daughter you're humiliating?

In my past life, when I eagerly handed my ultrasound to my gentle doctor husband, I didn't get a warm embrace. I got a scalpel. Without anesthesia.

The man I loved dragged me into a pitch-black basement to butcher me alive. My once-doting mother called me a filthy whore, treating me like a sickening stain on the family. My fiercely protective brother pinned me to a metal workbench, offering me up as a living sacrifice.

I died in utter agony, left to rot and be eaten alive by rats in the dark. Up until my last breath, I couldn't understand:

Why did a single piece of paper—a sonogram of a perfectly healthy baby—instantly turn my entire family into bloodthirsty monsters?

I thought I was just an ordinary potter who fell for the wrong man—a billionaire heir who could never truly be mine.

I thought the worst pain would be watching him choose someone else.

Until that DNA report shattered every illusion I'd ever held.

Phoenix Blackwood and I... we're siblings.

For twenty-three years, I lived inside my mother's carefully woven lie. She wasn't just some nameless maid—she was the woman the Blackwood family destroyed and discarded.

When I watched that man drop to his knees, screaming "What does blood matter? I love you!" I finally understood....

On the day I lost our child, I discovered my husband entwined in an affair with his secretary.

He hurried to my hospital bed, tears brimming in his eyes, vowing that we would have another baby—while his mistress was already sixteen weeks pregnant.

Thus, I granted him his wishes: a lamenting wife's performance, a fabricated death, and a clean escape.

Three months later, he crashed through the door, eyes frenzied, proclaiming he would set the world ablaze to earn my forgiveness.

My childhood friend was a tech prodigy.

To comfort his influencer girlfriend who was suffering from period cramps, he wanted to forfeit the National Hackathon we had spent the entire year preparing for.

I tipped off his father.

Consequently, he was dragged to the competition, won first place, and secured a straight path to Stanford.

Years later, his startup succeeded, making him a billionaire Silicon Valley entrepreneur.

While I was nothing but his employee.

In the dimly lit basement server room, peering down at me like a god, he plunged a knife into my only seeing eye.

"Chloe, you are a vicious bitch. This is your retribution."

When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the moment before everything fell apart.