Andriana Neden
15 Published Stories
Andriana Neden's Books and Stories
Reborn on Mock SAT Day
Young Adult My eyes snapped open to the blare of my alarm, October 17th. Senior year. Mock SAT Day. A familiar, suffocating nightmare.
For a second, I didn' t know where I was, then the cold dread washed over me: I was back. Back to that exact day. The beginning of the end.
I remembered it all: the accusations, Tiffany Hayes' smug face, Chad' s betrayal, my mother' s tears and worsening cough, the crushing weight of a ruined future, my own descent into despair that had culminated in unspeakable suffering.
I had meticulously sabotaged myself this time, purposely failing the mock SAT to avoid repeating history.
But when the scores were posted, Tiffany Hayes had a near-perfect score of 1580.
Even more terrifying, she had replicated my unique, deliberately flawed math solutions-down to a random doodle I' d made. How? How was she inside my head?
This wasn't just cheating; it was invasive, a violation of my very thoughts. No more.
This time, armed with my father' s secret tech empire and a former military intelligence expert Mr. K, I wouldn't be the victim.
I was going to expose her, reclaim my life, and save my family from the nightmare she' d already put us through once. I Found the Hockey King's Son, Now He Wants Me as His Mate
Romance At my own engagement party, a sudden fire broke out in the crowded ballroom.
My fiancé, Evan, was standing right next to me. But as the flames spread and the crowd panicked, he ripped his arm from my grasp, pushed me backward, and ran straight into the danger to save my stepsister, Ariane.
"Chloe, you get out first!" he yelled, not even looking back.
I was knocked to the marble floor, trampled by the frantic mob, and nearly burned to death.
When I woke up in the hospital, barely able to breathe, my family didn't come to comfort me.
Instead, my father and stepmother stormed into my room, furious that I was making a scene.
My father demanded I publicly bless Evan and Ariane's new relationship to protect the family's reputation.
To make matters worse, he went on live television to announce he was handing over my mother's legacy—the sportswear company I had built from scratch—to Ariane.
They treated my three-year relationship and my life's work like disposable trash, expecting me to quietly disappear while they celebrated their stolen happiness.
They thought I would just cry and accept my fate as a stepping stone for my stepsister.
But I ripped the IV needle from my arm and walked right out of that hospital room.
I publicly dumped my cheating fiancé in the hallway, leaving him utterly humiliated.
Then, I picked up the phone and called my lawyer.
I am taking back control of my company, and I will make them pay back every single thing they stole, with interest. The Secret Parrish Heiress Strikes Back
Billionaires For three years, I played the perfect, invisible wife to billionaire Dempsey Everett.
But late one night, he walked in smelling of another woman's perfume and threw a thick divorce agreement onto the coffee table.
"Darcy is back. Sign it."
The terms were brutal, a complete wipeout that left me with nothing but the clothes on my back.
To make matters worse, his true love Darcy sought me out to humiliate me, smirking that I was just a convenient placeholder keeping his bed warm.
Even his mother immediately paraded Darcy around the estate in family heirlooms, treating me like worthless trash they couldn't wait to discard.
I stared at the cold, heavy divorce papers, my chest tightening with pain, until my eyes caught the signature line at the bottom.
Elinor Parish.
A missing 'r'.
After three years of sharing a home, a bed, and a life, my husband didn't even know how to spell my last name.
All my patience, my quiet acceptance, and the love I had poured into this man had been a cosmic, cruel joke.
The realization hit me like a physical blow, but the heartbreak quickly vanished, replaced by a white-hot fury.
I swung my arm and slapped him across his arrogant face with every ounce of my suppressed pain, then signed the document without a second thought.
Dempsey thought I was just a poor dropout who would beg for his scraps.
He had no idea I was hiding my true identity.
It was time the Everetts learned what it truly meant to cross the real Parrish royalty. The Bodyguard I Hired Is My Billionaire Husband
Romance My father sold me to a monster to settle a debt. One minute I was a debutante at a gala, and the next, I was being hunted through the service corridors by my own stepmother’s security.
I scrambled into a dark penthouse to hide, only to be pinned against the wall by a man whose body felt like a wall of searing heat. He smelled of rain and expensive cedar, his voice a low, pained growl as he gripped my wrist so hard the bone nearly ground together.
The next morning, the "Wall Street Monster" arrived at our estate to collect his prize. My father signed the contract without reading a single page, trading me for a wire transfer while my sister laughed at my impending doom.
"I heard he uses knives in bed," Kacy whispered, "Hope you have thick skin, sis."
A balding, cruel man claimed to be my husband, but it was the silent bodyguard standing in the shadows who caught my tray when I stumbled. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through my veins, and his voice was the same gravelly baritone from the dark room the night before.
I was terrified, caught in a web of lies about a disfigured beast who supposedly broke women for sport. I didn't understand why this "bodyguard" was looking at me with such predatory intensity, or why he was the only one who stepped in when my father tried to shove me.
Then, inside the car, the bodyguard took off his sunglasses to reveal piercing blue eyes and a face that was devastatingly handsome.
"I am Gideon Blackburn," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. "And in this house, there is only one rule: Never lie to me."
The monster wasn't who they said he was, and he was about to show my family exactly what happens when you try to destroy something that belongs to him. The Billionaire's Regret: My Hidden Wife
Modern I sat at a mahogany table long enough to land a plane on, signing the papers that ended my two-year marriage to billionaire Eric Koch.
He didn't even show up for the divorce; he was in a private cigar lounge downstairs, sending his lawyer to hand me a five-million-dollar check to buy my silence like I was a discarded employee.
For two years, I had perfected the role of the "mouse"—the plain, timid wife Eric looked right past, never suspecting I was actually Rose, the world-renowned designer behind a secret fashion empire. I never told him I was the "angel" who dragged his unconscious body from a burning car years ago, the woman he’d been searching for while he ignored the one across the breakfast table. To celebrate my freedom, I had a one-night stand with a stranger in a penthouse, only to wake up and realize the man I’d just slept with was my ex-husband.
Before the ink on our divorce was dry, Eric used his billions to buy my studio, trapping me in a contract that forces me to work for him as a "lowly assistant" or face a fifty-million-dollar penalty.
I watched in silence as a fame-hungry actress paraded around his office wearing my stolen heirloom locket—the only proof of my true identity—claiming she was the mystery woman from his bed. Eric looked right through my frumpy disguise with the same cold indifference he showed his wife, never realizing the woman he was hunting was standing right in front of him.
I couldn't understand how he could be so obsessed with finding a ghost while treating the living woman who saved him like garbage. Why was he so determined to own every piece of Rose while he had spent two years throwing Aislinn away?
"Tell him nothing," I whispered to my reflection as I reapplied the thick foundation that masked my face.
"You're dangerous, Ann Reese," he told me later, his eyes narrowing as he sensed a familiar spark behind my thick glasses.
I adjusted my bun and looked him in the eye, ready to play the long game. He thinks he’s bought my future, but he’s about to find out that Rose doesn’t just design couture—she designs ruins. Forsaken by the Alpha, Chosen by Fate
Werewolf I woke up before dawn to slice strawberries for my husband, Gabe, excited to finally tell him I was pregnant. As a "Wolfless" Omega, I had always been looked down upon, but I thought this baby proved I wasn't broken.
But Gabe didn't come home alone. He walked in with Harper, a woman wearing the silk robe he had bought for me, reeking of his scent.
He didn't kiss me. He didn't ask how I was. Instead, he sat her in my chair.
"Make more pancakes," he ordered. "Harper is hungry."
When I refused, demanding he explain why another woman was wearing my clothes, he didn't apologize. He used the Alpha Command.
The pressure slammed me to the floor, crushing my bones and threatening the life inside my womb. I had to crawl out of the room while they laughed.
My adoptive parents didn't save me; they sold me out for a council seat and a diamond necklace.
Then came the public execution of my heart. At the Ascension Ceremony, Gabe took the microphone and rejected me in front of the entire Pack to make Harper his Luna.
But they didn't just kick me out. They dragged me to a dirty, back-alley clinic. His mother ordered them to "remove the parasite" inside me.
I screamed as they strapped me down. But as the needle touched my skin, the steel door was ripped off its hinges.
The Alpha King stood in the debris, his eyes burning with golden rage as he looked at the necklace I wore.
"Who dares touch my daughter?" he roared.
I wasn't a defect. I was the lost White Wolf Princess. And the man standing behind the King wasn't just a guard—he was my true mate. A Scientist's Revenge: New Life
Modern I removed an intern from an award nomination for stealing my dead sister's research. My husband, Craig, was furious. He chose to defend her, not me.
His rage turned violent. He destroyed my life's work-a cure for Alzheimer's-then shoved me so hard I miscarried our child.
He called me "dramatic" as I bled on the floor.
Then he locked me in our home, a prisoner, forcing me to sign over my patents to his mistress, the woman who drove my sister to suicide. He thought he had broken me, that I was his to control.
But when he tried to humiliate me in the most depraved way imaginable, I saw my chance. I threw myself from a second-story window.
As I lay broken on the ground, watching him rush to his mistress's side, I made a vow. My revenge was just beginning. When Love Collides With Dark Past
Romance For two years, I was in love with a man I only knew as C.L. Our anonymous online relationship was my safe haven from a world that terrified me, built on one simple rule: we would never meet.
That rule shattered with a single text. He was a bestselling author, and his publisher was forcing him on a book tour.
"I need to meet you," he wrote. "I can't do this without you."
My social anxiety spiraled. I broke the only rule I could control and told him we should end it. The next morning, my boss ordered me to deliver files to our company's top client-the notoriously private author, Cristian Lancaster. It was him. My anonymous lover was my boss.
He looked devastated, as if he' d been crying over my message, but he treated me like a stranger. I later found out the truth: he' d known who I was for two years, quietly waiting for me to trust him.
But as our worlds finally collided, a jealous manager saw her chance for revenge. She forced me into a dinner with a dangerous man from my past, a man who drugged my drink and drove me toward a desolate road.
As the car sped into the darkness, I hit record on my phone, realizing this was no longer about saving our love story. It was about saving my life. His Celebrity Mistress's Downfall
Billionaires I gave up my twenty-billion-dollar inheritance and cut ties with my family, all for my boyfriend of five years, Ignatz.
But just as I was about to tell him I was pregnant with our child, he dropped a bombshell.
He needed me to take the fall for his childhood sweetheart, Everleigh. She'd been in a hit-and-run, and her career couldn't handle the scandal.
When I refused and told him about our baby, his face went cold. He told me to terminate the pregnancy immediately.
"Everleigh is the woman I love," he said. "Finding out you're pregnant with my child would destroy her."
He had his assistant schedule the appointment and sent me to the clinic alone. There, the nurse told me the procedure carried a high risk of permanent infertility.
He knew. And he still sent me.
I walked out of that clinic, choosing to keep my child. At that exact moment, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a glowing article announcing that Ignatz and Everleigh were expecting their first child, complete with a photo of his hand resting protectively on her stomach.
My world shattered. Wiping away a tear, I found the number I hadn't called in five years.
"Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm ready to come home." Seven Years Gone: A New Me
Romance The first thing I felt was a dull throb, the smell of antiseptic, and the piercing brightness of a hospital room. A nurse informed me I was Olivia Vance, and my husband, Alexander Vance, wasn't there.
Then she mentioned another "accident" and a woman named Sophia, saying, "You'd think a man like him would have better things to do." My nurse, Emily, told me I had a concussion and a fractured wrist, and that she'd seen me a "dozen times" for pulling "stunts to get his attention."
I looked down at a wedding band on my left hand – a cruel joke. I was told it was 2025. My last memory was 2018. Seven missing years. And an unfamiliar face stared back from the reflection-thin, tired, broken. My phone, filled with pictures of a cold mansion, smiling strangers, and a dangerous-looking Alexander Vance, confirmed I was married to him.
Then I found the contract: an agreement signed in 2020 to be his public wife for five years in exchange for a settlement. The term was up. Scrolling through desperate, one-sided texts to him, I found a chilling message from two days ago: "He will never love you. You're just a substitute. He's with me tonight."
A violent memory hit me: a yacht, Sophia Miller's poisonous voice telling me, "He's tired of you, Olivia. You were just a placeholder." Then her hands on my chest, a sudden shove, and the cold water engulfing me. The bruises, the fractured wrist, the aching ribs – all for a stranger I had apparently loved.
My past was a living nightmare, but now, with a blank slate, I knew one thing: I was not bringing that broken woman back. Scarred By a Simple Purchase
Modern The emerald silk dress was my quiet celebration, a well-deserved indulgence after years of hard work. I clicked 'confirm purchase,' a simple act that should have brought joy.
Instead, it launched a nightmare. The boutique owner, a Mr. Thorne, called, accusing me of theft and fraud, claiming a refund request for a dress I never even received.
My world shattered when he weaponized social media, branding me a "THIEF" with my face and workplace plastered online, unleashing a torrent of vitriol that bled into my office, jeopardizing my career.
How could a simple purchase turn into public humiliation, extortion, and the complete destruction of my reputation by a man who was clearly lying? And why was everyone so quick to believe him?
Cornered, abandoned, and facing an ultimatum from my boss, a cold rage ignited within me-I decided then and there, I wouldn't just make this go away; I would burn his carefully constructed world to the ground. A Quiet Sadness Remains
Romance My husband, Ethan, an art history professor, used to call me his muse, claiming the lines of my architectural designs inspired his work.
Then, his voice, once filled with adoration for me, began to brim with passion for Chloe, his new TA-a "brilliant mind" and his latest "muse" with whom he was spending "late nights in the archives."
The faint, floral perfume clinging to his clothes, dismissed as paranoia, solidified when I found his laptop: not Renaissance art, but dozens of photos of Chloe, culminating in a chilling image-Chloe, wearing my silk robe, on our bed, dated just two nights ago when he was supposedly working late.
A sudden, sick curiosity twisted into blinding betrayal, as the sanctuary I designed with such care became a monument to his deceit, turning my perfect partnership into a living lie.
With newfound, icy clarity, I vowed to dismantle the life we' d built, brick by painful brick, and reclaim every piece of myself he had shattered. The Scavenger's Secret: More Than Just Junk
Modern In the Iron Vultures biker club, I was Jennifer Johns, the resident weirdo, the perpetually broke scavenger who couldn't even ride a bike. They called me useless, a charity case.
But then came the Sturgis Gauntlet, a brutal, mandatory rally that threatened to bankrupt us. Suddenly, the club charter was dragged out, revealing my forgotten title: Treasurer. I was forced to go.
On the road, their high-tech bikes overheated, water ran out, and they faced disqualification. I quietly offered up "my junk" – military-grade canteens and custom coolant – saving them. They just looked at me with pity, convinced I was so poor I' d sacrificed my pathetic scrap for them.
When we were ambushed by the Silver Vipers, everyone was knocked out, except for me. I hid, then emerged to tend to them, only for Doc, our medic, to accuse me. "You' re the only one untouched. You set us up, traitor."
They dumped out my canvas sack, expecting to find proof of betrayal. Instead, a pathetic collection of rusty bolts and frayed wires spilled onto the ground. The anger faded, replaced by overwhelming guilt and pity. They believed I was simply a girl so poor I collected garbage to sell online.
They thought I was a loyal but pitiable member, too useless to be anything else. But standing there, watching them see only what they expected, I felt a cold surge of something else. This wasn't pity. This was opportunity. My Ruthless Uncle's Justice
Billionaires 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 Quiet Assistant's Roar
Modern For five years, I played a part.
I was Ava, the quiet admin assistant.
I lived in a Brooklyn walk-up, deeply in love with my charming boyfriend, Ethan Hayes.
Our life together felt so real, so perfectly normal.
Then, one night, I overheard him.
He called me a "minor asset to be divested."
A low-risk, low-yield stock, ready to be cut loose.
It was for his upcoming merger with Chloe Parker.
He was getting married, and I was just his secret.
His 'simple' comfort to manage.
The crushing blow wasn't just his words, but his fiancé Chloe' s endless DMs.
She taunted me with pictures of their engagement ring and private jet "strategy sessions."
My heart shattered.
Then, during a car crash, his first instinct solidified everything.
He shielded an absent Chloe, not the bleeding me beside him.
He chose his lie over my life.
How could the man who swore he loved me now see me as a disposable asset?
Worth less than a lie?
How could I have so completely misjudged him?
The indignity and calculated cruelty burned through my veins.
They thought I was simple.
They thought I was weak.
But they were about to find out how wrong they were.
I returned home, not to a Brooklyn walk-up.
I returned to AuraSphere.
The multi-billion dollar private equity firm my family owns.
And I was coming for them. You might like
The Ninety-Ninth Goodbye
Tango The ninety-ninth time Jax Little broke my heart was the last time. We were the golden couple of Northgate High, our future perfectly mapped out for UCLA. But in our senior year, he fell for a new girl, Catalina, and our love story became a sick, exhausting dance of his betrayals and my empty threats to leave.
At a graduation party, Catalina "accidentally" pulled me into the pool with her. Jax dove in without a second's hesitation. He swam right past me as I struggled, wrapped his arms around Catalina, and pulled her to safety.
As he helped her out to the cheers of his friends, he glanced back at me, my body shivering and my mascara running in black rivers.
"Your life isn't my problem anymore," he said, his voice as cold as the water I was drowning in.
That night, something inside me finally shattered. I went home, opened my laptop, and clicked the button that confirmed my admission.
Not to UCLA with him, but to NYU, an entire country away. The Price of Unrequited Love
Shearwater Eighteen days after giving up on Brendan Maynard, Jayde Rosario cut off her waist-length hair and called her father, announcing her decision to move to California and attend UC Berkeley.
Her father, surprised, asked about the sudden change, reminding her how she' d always insisted on staying with Brendan. Jayde forced a laugh, revealing the painful truth: Brendan was getting married, and she, his stepsister, could no longer cling to him.
That night, she tried to tell Brendan about her college acceptance, but his fiancée, Chloie Ellis, interrupted with a bubbly call, and Brendan' s tender words to Chloie twisted a knife in Jayde' s heart. She remembered how his tenderness used to be hers alone, how he had protected her, and how she had poured out her heart to him in a diary and a love letter, only for him to explode, tearing the letter and yelling, "I'm your brother!"
He had stormed out, leaving her to painstakingly tape the shredded pieces back together. Her love, however, didn't die, not even when he brought Chloie home and told her to call her "sister-in-law."
Now, she understood. She had to put that fire out herself. She had to dig Brendan out of her heart. The Scholarship Setup: A Rebirth Story
Liu Jia Tonight was everything: my final interview for the American Achievement Scholarship, my gateway to an Ivy League. As I refined my presentation, my stepsister, Jessica Vance, entered, that sweet, insincere smile on her face. "Nervous, Sarah?" she asked, offering a steaming mug of "herbal tea." Naively, I drank it. The next thing I knew, I woke disoriented in a cheap motel, my laptop displaying a plagiarized presentation. Moments later, stern school security and committee members burst in, accusing me of fraud.
Publicly shamed, disqualified, my father disowned me, swayed by Jessica' s mother. My boyfriend, Mark Olsen, offered false comfort, trapping me with an unplanned pregnancy. While my peers thrived, I was stuck, my dreams shattered, my spirit ground into dust over five miserable years. One night, I overheard Mark and Jessica: the tea, the motel, the plagiarism-all a "perfect" setup for her to win. Their cold, calculated betrayal shattered me. The injustice was soul-crushing.
Broken, I stumbled out, only to die in a blinding crash. Then, a sharp gasp. My eyes flew open. I was in my bed. The door creaked open. Jessica walked in, holding a steaming mug. "Nervous, Sarah?" she asked, that fake-sweet smile identical. "I made you some herbal tea." But this time, I knew. This time, I wouldn't just survive; I would fight back. Beauty In The Boy's Dorm
Author Lightwriter "What do you think people would say if they found out you don't have a dick?" Christian asked, his voice low and dripping with seduction. His hand pressed firmly against my crotch, fingers exploring the flat, unfamiliar emptiness there. A devilish smirk curved his lips. "Or if they discovered these voluptuous breasts you've been hiding so well?"
A strangled moan slipped from my throat as his hand slid under my shirt, his fingers brushing over my hardened nipples, teasing them with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Which do you think they'd call you?" he murmured, eyes gleaming. "A boy with tits... or a dickless little fraud?"
I stared into his hungry blue eyes, words failing me.
"The term you're looking for is 'girl,'" came Xavier's smooth voice from the bathroom doorway. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze raking over me with open interest. "So tell me, little girl... what the hell is someone like you doing in an all-boys dorm?"
Christian's smirk widened. "She wants to be devoured by boys like us." His fingers gave my nipple one last firm pinch before he leaned in closer, breath hot against my ear. "And I'll be more than happy to give her a taste."
Reborn to Save My Dad
Snootie My Harvard acceptance letter felt like a golden ticket, a one-way out of this dead-end town.
That Friday night, after the football game, all I wanted was to help my dad close his auto shop.
But then I heard a muffled sob.
It was Jessica Miller, the head cheerleader, trapped by star quarterback Bryce Vanderbilt.
My dad taught me: "You see something wrong, you make it right."
So, I intervened.
That act of courage cost me everything.
Jessica pointed me out to the police: "He' s the one who attacked me."
My scholarship was rescinded for "moral turpitude."
My name was dragged through the mud.
The stress killed my father, the only man who believed me.
Months later, at a gas station, I confronted Jessica and Bryce.
He shoved me into traffic.
And then, nothing.
I woke up expecting hell, but instead, I was back in the high school parking lot.
The Friday night lights buzzed.
The Harvard letter was in my pocket.
And then I heard it again: Jessica's muffled cry.
The trauma of my first life crashed over me.
Last time, I sacrificed everything for a lie.
This time, I knew what to do.
I turned around, put my hands in my pockets, and walked away.
My father was alive right now.
And my only job was to keep him that way.
This time, justice would look very different. Reborn to Rewrite Their Downfall
Sibeal Sallese I had one dream, one path: the U.S. Naval Academy. Every study session, every athletic drill, built towards Annapolis. It was my future, bright and clear.
Then, my childhood friend, Ethan, handed me a drink, "Just something to help you relax, Maya." It was drugged. I failed the medical exam, my dream crumbling to dust.
While he soared to Ivy League success, I ended up packing boxes in a dead-end job, my spirit as empty as the containers I filled. Years later, at our high school reunion, Ethan's girlfriend, Jessica Hayes, saw him glance at me. That night, she smiled triumphantly, "You don't fit into the script," before pushing me off a balcony to my death.
As I fell, a chilling truth struck me: Jessica knew. She was reborn too. This wasn't merely fate; it was a sinister, orchestrated setup, spanning two lifetimes. The scale of their malice left me utterly enraged.
I gasped awake, seventeen again, in my old bedroom. Three months before the SATs, before the Annapolis medical evaluations. A cold fire ignited within me. Rebirth. Another chance. Not just to reclaim my dream, but for revenge. This time, I knew their script, and I was going to rewrite it into their downfall. Reborn on Mock SAT Day
Andriana Neden My eyes snapped open to the blare of my alarm, October 17th. Senior year. Mock SAT Day. A familiar, suffocating nightmare.
For a second, I didn' t know where I was, then the cold dread washed over me: I was back. Back to that exact day. The beginning of the end.
I remembered it all: the accusations, Tiffany Hayes' smug face, Chad' s betrayal, my mother' s tears and worsening cough, the crushing weight of a ruined future, my own descent into despair that had culminated in unspeakable suffering.
I had meticulously sabotaged myself this time, purposely failing the mock SAT to avoid repeating history.
But when the scores were posted, Tiffany Hayes had a near-perfect score of 1580.
Even more terrifying, she had replicated my unique, deliberately flawed math solutions-down to a random doodle I' d made. How? How was she inside my head?
This wasn't just cheating; it was invasive, a violation of my very thoughts. No more.
This time, armed with my father' s secret tech empire and a former military intelligence expert Mr. K, I wouldn't be the victim.
I was going to expose her, reclaim my life, and save my family from the nightmare she' d already put us through once. The Sweet Friend's Deadly Secret
Herculie Dipietro I was a driven high school student, about to embark on the biggest national scholarship competition of my life in Washington D.C.
It was a life-changing opportunity for everyone on our team, especially my boyfriend, Mark Olsen, and my seemingly sweet best friend, Jessie Evans.
But that life ended in betrayal.
A drink spiked with my fatal allergen, followed by swift anaphylactic shock.
Mark and the others testified I drank it knowingly, painting me as a distraught villain.
Jessie, playing the grieving friend, became a national sensation, a "survivor" online, while my Pulitzer-winning investigative journalist mother fought for justice.
Jessie's powerful family allies launched a merciless smear campaign, shattering my mom's reputation, costing her job, and ultimately, her life to a stress-induced heart attack.
After I died, the chilling truth unfurled: Jessie orchestrated my demise and my mother's ruin.
Her motive? Pure, unadulterated revenge.
My mother had exposed her CEO father's massive corporate fraud, sending him to prison, and Jessie wanted us both to pay.
The injustice burned through me, leaving an icy trail of hate.
Then, I woke up.
The familiar lurch of the bus, Mark's voice arguing with the driver, demanding we wait for Jessie's "lucky locket"-the exact same words, the exact same moment.
I was back, armed with the horrifying knowledge of what was to come, and a powerful secret: a full-ride Stanford scholarship I already secured.
This competition was meaningless to me.
This time, things would be different. Reborn: The Son She Couldn't Break
Liz Nozick I woke up gasping, sunlight stabbing my eyes.
My old room, posters of bands from twenty years ago still on the wall.
My hands were smooth and young.
I was seventeen again, a high school senior, and the State University scholarship was arriving today.
In my first life, this was the pivotal moment, the day it all went wrong.
My mother, Brenda, a human boa constrictor, would begin her "episodes."
She'd clutch her chest, wail about her weak heart, demanding I stay.
Her "love" was a saccharine poison, justifying every dream she crushed.
I gave up my scholarship, my military aspirations, and even Olivia, the love of my life, all for her.
My youth curdled into a bitter, joyless middle age.
I worked dead-end jobs, a ghost haunted by what-ifs.
Brenda sneered, calling me a "disappointment," a "failure," despite my sacrifices.
At 35, my heart physically failed, but I knew it was despair that truly killed me.
The searing injustice of it – a life stolen by a mother who saw me only as a possession, a slave to her manufactured frailty.
Why had I let her weaponize her 'love' and destroy me?
To what twisted end had I sacrificed everything for someone who thanked me with contempt?
But now, I am seventeen again, all the painful knowledge of the past a burning weapon.
The scholarship letter is in the mail.
This time, things will be different.
I will not let her break me, and I will save my younger sister, Chloe, too.
I am alive, and this time, I am going to fight. 
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