

May Song died trying to protect her best friend. In her past life, she exposed the affair between Susan Smith's husband and goddaughter, only for Susan to turn on her instead, and May paid for the truth with her life.Given a second chance, May isn't here to warn anyone. This time, she lets it play out and makes sure Susan opens the door herself.

Fiona marries Nathan to return a favor, but he cheats on her,humiliates her, and pushes her to the edge. She gives birth prematurely, bleeds heavily, and almost dies. Totally disillusioned, she decides to strike back. She announces at a press conference that she is the other woman, fakes her death, and escapes to another city. Five years later, she becomes a famous designer. When Nathan finds out she is still alive, he obsessively hunts her down. He tries to use their child and money to win her back. However, Fiona will never look back.

Social elite and business tycoon Dominic Sharp finds himself reborn on his way to university in 2002. Leveraging his past-life experiences, he actively expands his social network and founds Rocket 101 Express, a courier company that catches the wave of e-commerce. At the same time, Dominic is torn between two captivating girls—Maggie and Kristin—unsure whom to choose.

In the VIP lounge of an underground casino, Maeve, the Falcone family's princess, had been plied with too much hard liquor. Fueled by alcohol, someone goaded her into revealing the most shameless thing she'd ever done to win over the Don. She swirled her glass, pointed at me dealing cards behind the table, and threw her head back with a laugh. "Seven years ago, when Declan was in a coma after a shootout, I took his private phone. And I deleted the distress message that bitch sent him. Every last trace of it. Then I replied in his name: You're a burden. Go die." "You'll never guess what happened next. That idiot stood outside the safe house all night in a downpour, like a stray dog. I almost died laughing…" The room erupted in crude laughter. Only the man enthroned at the head of the table remained silent. The crystal whiskey glass in his hand shattered with a sharp crack. Blood mixed with the amber liquor, trickling over the veins on the back of his hand before dripping onto the carpet. His murderous, bloodshot eyes were locked on me. I calmly dealt the last hole card in front of him and offered a clean, white silk handkerchief. "Don Declan, you should wipe your hand. Blood on the felt is bad luck." After all, some stains never wash out.