He'd Rather Die Than Marry Me

My name is Marissa Truman. Today is my twenty-fifth birthday. It is also the day, according to our Truman family's customs, when I must choose a husband. On the rosewood table in the living room lay two identical silk boxes, each containing a jade pendant symbolizing the marriage contract. Opposite me stood two men, Trace Adams and Howard Adams. They were my childhood betrotheds—boys promised in marriage since childhood—whom the family tacitly accepted as such, and in order of age, Trace is the older brother, and Howard is the second-oldest. But as I looked at their faces, my fingertips trembled uncontrollably. Memories from my past two lives pierced my mind like needles. In the first life, I chose Trace. On our wedding night, he wore a red wedding garment and plunged a dagger through my red dress. I remember, until my dying breath, the look in his eyes when he said, "I'm sorry." In the second life, I chose Howard. He handed me a cup of nuptial wine laced with poison, and I coughed up blood, collapsing into his arms. This is the third time I've been reborn. I'm ready now—even if I must die once more, I will uncover the reason. But before I could answer, just as my father, Zane Truman, began to ask me, "Who will you choose?" Trace suddenly stepped forward. He knelt first, immediately followed by Howard, who also dropped to his knees. Together, they said in unison, "Don't choose me." The living room instantly fell into silence. My mother, Mary Gilman, was the first to react; the teacup in her hand crashed to the floor with a loud clatter. "Are you out of your minds?" Her voice was sharp and trembling. "With our family's power and wealth, and a girl of Marissa's character—what more could you possibly want to choose?" Trace kept his head lowered, while Howard slightly lifted his eyes. When his gaze swept over me, it held a kind of pain I couldn't comprehend. Dad's chest heaved with anger as he pointed at them: "It was your family who begged for the betrothal back then, and now you regret it? Do you mean to insult the Trumans?" I stood frozen in place, my heart aching and confused. In the previous two lives, they killed me—and now in this life, they won't even let me choose. Why? I opened my mouth, wanting to ask if they would kill me again, but the words were caught in my throat, stifled by a sob. Tears streamed uncontrollably down, splashing onto the hem of my skirt before me. Howard visibly stiffened when he saw my tears, reaching out but then abruptly pulling back. Dad was still scolding, and Mom was wiping her tears beside him, complaining, but I couldn't hear a word. All I knew was that this third life seemed completely unlike what I had anticipated.