Closing the Door on a Painful Past

I tore apart the acceptance letter for a Whittendale scholarship, along with two high-profile love confessions from my best friends, the day I was reborn. I did it because, in my past life, I chose one of them—and my life turned into a living hell.

On our wedding day, Nicholas Browning framed me. Using an AI-generated video, he accused me of being unfaithful. The scandal crushed my mother, who relied on me and led her to her death. And all of this? He did it for my stepsister, Kim Ford.

Through my heartbreak, my other best friend, Zach Davidson, swore, “I’ll take the place that your mother left. I’ll never leave your side.”

He was the one who pulled me out of the abyss of despair and for that, I was eternally grateful. But after our wedding, his warmth disappeared. He grew cold, distant, like a stranger. At first, I thought he was just awkward or embarrassed—after all, we’d been childhood friends. But then, one day, I caught him with my stepsister in a passionate kiss.

“I swear I’ve never touched her, Kim,” Zach coaxed. “You’re the only one for me.”

As a storm of sadness, anger and betrayal consumed me, he added, “I’ll make sure she’d end up like her mother—lonely for the rest of her life.”

I left in a daze, unsure of where to go. That’s when the hitman Kim hired caught up to me, sending me to my death.

I was murdered by their twisted love games.

Unbeknownst to me, they had already long transferred all my assets to Kim’s name. They even signed an agreement to harvest my organs for her, ensuring her survival if anything happened.

In this new life, I swore to stay far away from those psychopaths and live for myself.

***

The entire classroom fell silent as I shredded the acceptance letter to Whittendale into tiny pieces.

“Have you lost your mind? That was your golden ticket into Whittendale Andrea!” someone yelled.

“Are you so afraid of losing to me that you’d tear up your acceptance letter andy?” Kim, my stepsister, sneered, her expression smug.

Recently, Kim and I had made a bet. She was convinced she could get into Whittendale without a recommendation letter like mine. If she succeeded, I’d have to sign over all the shares I’d inherited from Grandpa—and, to add insult to injury, Mom would have to shine Kim’s mom’s shoes.

“Looks like she’s scared to lose to Kim. What a waste—only three students in our entire class got one of those letters. Guess she doesn’t recognize a good thing even when it’s handed to her on a silver platter.”

Beside me, my two best friends—both of whom also had Whittendale recommendation letters in their hands—watched in stunned silence. Once upon a time, we’d sworn under the stars that we’d all work hard to make it to Whittendale together.

But now, my vow was to distance myself from these three maniacs.

“Andrea!”

I had just slouched over my desk, ready to shut my eyes, when Nicholas stormed into the room, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a thick piece of paper in the other.

“I heard the news!” he exclaimed breathlessly, his eyes lighting up. “The teachers had told me you’re one of the scholarship recipients. Isn’t it great? We can be together at Whittendale!” His chest heaved as he caught his breath.

“Andy…” His voice trailed off as he tried to find the right words. “I’ve liked you for a long time. Will you be my girlfriend?”

I stared at him, expressionless, my eyes locked on his.

Even though my face betrayed nothing, I felt the energy in the classroom shift. The boisterous laughter of boys showing off to their friends, the soft whispers of two girls gossiping about next period and the animated chatter of a group discussing the cutest guy in school—all of it faded into an eerie silence. The room transformed from a noisy hub of activity into something as still as an empty cathedral. In the quiet, it felt like even the faintest sound, like a pin dropping, could be heard.

Every head in the room turned to look at Nicholas.

A low growl escaped his throat as he snapped, “What are you looking at?”

Seizing the moment, I snatched the envelope from his hand and slammed it against his chest.

“No,” I said coldly. “We will not be together at Whittendale because I already tore mine up. And no, I will not be your girlfriend. I hate you, Nicholas.”

I locked eyes with him, my fury simmering beneath a mask of icy composure. In my mind, I pictured flames consuming his pristine facade, reducing him to ashes.

“Don’t ever speak to me again,” I said, my voice sharp enough to cut. “And get lost.”

It took every ounce of self-control to stay seated. It took every ounce of self-control to stay seated. I fought the urge to slap him or grab the sharpest pen or pencil within reach and drive it straight into his neck. The mere sight of that hypocrite ignited an inferno inside me, turning my simmering anger into an uncontrollable blaze.

Between the two of them, I had always treated Nicholas the best. I had even secretly harbored feelings for him for over ten years. When his family’s company faced financial trouble, I knelt outside my father’s study for two hours, begging him to approve financial aid. My mother, too, was thrilled at the prospect of Nicholas becoming my fiancé.

That’s why, in my previous life, when he presented an AI-generated video falsely accusing me of having an affair, I was too shocked to defend myself. The pain cut deeper than any blade, silencing me completely as I watched the man I once trusted destroy my reputation.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the same man who once vowed to despise my stepsister, Kim, as an act of solidarity, walked off the stage and took her hand. He held her close, his face filled with love and tenderness.