Feel-Good Story Short Stories & Bias Revenge Novels

At lunch I'd barely finished handing around the beef jerky I'd made when our department manager, Derek Pritchard, followed the smell to my desk. He grabbed a piece, tasted it, and announced at full volume. "Dylan, this is good. Way better than anything you'd buy to go with a beer." Before I could get a modest word out, his tone shifted. "Perfect timing. The owner isn't coming to the department dinner tomorrow night, so there's no sense throwing money around." He pulled three hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet and slapped them on my desk. "We'll eat in the break room. Dylan Woodward's doing the cooking. There's your grocery budget. "Twenty people in this department. Spend it carefully, but I want drinks, I want meat, and I want a couple of real entrees." Three hundred dollars? For twenty people? A project I'd led had brought the company a serious profit, and I'd worn the owner down over weeks to get thirty thousand dollars approved for a team retreat. Derek meant to pocket nearly all of it and have me cover the difference so he could look generous. Looking at that oily, entitled face, I smiled. "Sure. Since you think that highly of me, Derek, I'll lay it all out nice and clear." Then I turned away and texted the owner. "Aunt Victoria, the budget came through. We're having a surprise department dinner tomorrow night. Care to come taste it?"

Everyone envied my parents. They said my mom and dad were young at heart, open-minded, free-spirited, and brave enough to chase their dream of making it as a band. What they did not know was that my parents' freedom came at the cost of my misery. They barely paid any attention to me while I was growing up. Whenever I was hungry, I ate at my uncle Connor's house. When I got sick, I dealt with it on my own. After struggling through more than a decade, I finally made it into college. But the full scholarship of 200,000 dollars I had just received was secretly transferred out of my account by my parents. Their reason was simple—their band desperately needed a new sound system. When I demanded an explanation, my dad casually said, "Lucas, don't get so worked up. We only did this to help you become more independent. Once our band makes it big and we start getting paid for gigs, we'll pay you back double." My mom nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Just because we had you doesn't mean we don't get to have our own lives. You can't be so selfish. Just think of it as helping us achieve our dream." At that moment, I finally realized how absurd it all was. If they loved this hands-off style of parenting so much, then from now on, I would treat them the same way.

The company is short-staffed for one of our new projects. Despite everyone's objections, I, James Connor, fight to bring in three sidelined, former colleagues onto the project. And so, the four of us become the project's core members. The project's workload is fairly light and comes with a generous bonus. So, they praise and flatter me, calling me their lucky star. Three months later, the project is about to be submitted to the higher-ups. I happen to pass by the smoking lounge and overhear them plotting, wisps of smoke escaping from their lips. "The three of us contributed the most to this project. Why should James get an equal share of the bonus just because he recommended us for the job? He barely pulled his weight." "That's right. We should bring this up with the director. Tell him that we're the ones who laid all the groundwork and that James doesn't have the technical skills to be on this team. We'll ask to have him removed from the contributors list." "Just the thought of not having to split those hundreds of thousands of dollars with him is making me feel like I'm on cloud nine. Hey, let's go celebrate tonight!" I push the door open and am promptly greeted with their shocked faces. I merely smile at them as I think to myself, "You want to cut me out? Sadly for you, I'm the director who was sent here to evaluate all of you."

My male coworker secretly replaces his name with mine on the holiday duty roster so he can spend New Year's Eve with his rich, beautiful girlfriend. I confront him and tell him to change it back. Yet he replies self-righteously, "You're single. Does it really matter where you spend New Year's Eve? We're all friends. What's wrong with helping me out? I've already bought tickets for the famous theme park. You're not seriously expecting me to cancel them, are you?" When New Year's Day arrives, the company's system crashes, and a major client storms into the office. Our boss discovers the position is unattended and flies into a rage. He calls me, shouting in frustration and begging me to cover his shift. I don't give in to him. Instead, I post on Instagram and tag my location at the ski resort on Northstar Mountain. The caption says, "The happiness of being single is something you'll never understand."

At the party celebrating my mating anniversary with Damian, he lost a game to his friends. His penalty was to kiss the person he loved most, right then and there. My mate claimed childhood trauma made any physical intimacy unbearable. Yet he kissed his first love, Amber, without a moment's hesitation. They stayed locked in that kiss for a full three minutes, completely lost in each other. Just when everyone expected me to make a scene and storm out, I calmly pulled out the bond-dissolution papers and laid them in front of Damian. "Sign." Damian stared at the bond-dissolution papers, then suddenly laughed. "Grace Bennett, it was just a game. Are you really going to end our bond over this?" I slid the bond-dissolution papers closer to him. "Yes. I am."

I could see floating live-chat comments from the future. And that little trick saved me from dozens of cheating scumbags. But today, my adoptive parents gave me an ultimatum. I had to pick a fiancé, or else… The family’s real daughter, Wendy Wellington, who was recently found and welcomed back with open arms, clutched my hands. Tears welled in her eyes as she pointed to a man in a wheelchair. The man, Harry Peterson, wore a faded undershirt and a tattered blanket over his knees. Word on the street was that he had gone bankrupt, owing over a hundred million dollars. "Sister, my health is too fragile for a hard life," Wendy sniffled while trying to hide her smirk. "What would people say if the real heiress was seen riding a public bus? “You’re so much stronger than me. Do this one for the sake of the family." She glanced over at a guy leaning against a blood-red Ferrari nearby. "I’ll handle the billionaire’s son," she added quickly. "You shouldn't be blinded by money to make a mistake." I looked at Harry in the wheelchair. Floating right above his head was a wall of glowing comments. “LOL! She’s dumping the city’s richest hidden billionaire for a guy who’s going to prison next week?” “He’s only playing broke and disabled to catch his rivals off guard. Once he clears his name next month, his net worth is going to skyrocket!” I squeezed my sister’s hands tight and a sweet smile spread across my face. "Since you've put so much thought into my future, I would hate to disappoint you," I said. "I'll take the guy in the wheelchair.”

In my last life, my boyfriend’s adoptive sister, Lexi, asked to borrow my jacket at a class party. I lent it to her. The next day, she bullied another girl and pushed her off a rooftop to her death. The security cameras didn't catch her face, but the limited-edition custom jacket she was wearing—my jacket—made me the prime suspect. I tried to explain, but Lexi just threw herself into my boyfriend Preston’s arms, looking utterly wronged. "Vanessa, I know you're upset that Preston pays more attention to me, but you can't just frame me like this." Then Preston pulled out a video. The person pushing the girl off the roof and running away in a panic… it was my face, clear as day. "Vanessa," he said, his voice laced with disgust. "You're a monster." Consumed by grief, the victim's family pushed me out of a window to my death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Lexi asked to borrow my jacket. This time, I wasn't just going to say no. I was going to send Preston and Lexi straight to hell. What they didn't know was that I am the only daughter of the Falcone family, the most powerful mafia in New York.

Although I'm the ace translator of my company, I let the receptionist, Janice Cartman, take charge of a translation project that's worth over 100 million dollars of my own volition. In my past life, Janice is the childhood friend of my boyfriend, Nicholas Sanders, who has dropped out of middle school. Yet, she suddenly masters eight languages overnight. Not only that, but she claims that she simply taught herself the languages. I need to research the technical terms beforehand every time I take on a translation project, but Janice is able to easily translate anything that she hears on the spot with 100% accuracy. Everyone praises Janice for being a translation genius while calling me a worthless loser in private. Janice stops me when I'm about to go on stage to fulfill my duties as the translator for the 100-million-dollar project. I've spent the last two weeks preparing for it, sacrificing sleep to ensure that I'm completely ready. "This isn't the time for you to show off, Giselle. This project will determine whether the company will become publicly listed. Your foundation isn't as good as mine, so I'll take your place!" Nicholas and my other colleagues fully support Janice's suggestion. I do everything I can to change their minds, but in the end, I'm still forcefully replaced. Janice's translations are flawless. She's lauded as the hero of the company. Meanwhile, I'm demoted to a cleaning lady under the pretext that my skills are lacking. I don't understand. I've spent the last decade working myself to the bone to hone my skills, yet I still lose to Janice, who becomes a translation genius overnight. In a daze, I accidentally lose my footing and drown to death. Seconds before I breathe my last breath, I find out that Janice's translations are a hoax. She simply repeats the words that she hears in my heart. When I open my eyes again, I realize that I've been transported back to the day when Janice claims that she's a translation genius who knows eight languages. This time, I don't stay up all night to prepare my translation materials. Instead, I start memorizing a funeral speech!

After high school, my brother, John Garrett, and my childhood friend, Ivan Jeffson, take me on a trip. But we end up stranded on a deserted island after a plane crash. In our third year on the island, I accidentally discover surveillance cameras hidden in the trees. Startled, I lose my footing and tumble down the cliff, falling into a large pool at a luxury villa. Inside the villa, a special effects artist is applying fake bruises to John's face. Helen Burch, another girl who had been on the same flight and stranded on the island with us, is lying in my parents' arms. They sit on the couch, watching the video playing on the giant screen. In the video, I am starving, but I still give Helen the only fish I catch that month. After three years of relying on each other for survival, I have long considered her my own sister. My parents gently tap Helen's nose and say, "You don't have to worry about being bullied by your sister anymore, right? You two have become closer than ever." John carefully asks, "Can we move on to the next step and bring Helen home then?" Helen bites her lip and nods. Ivan, whose leg is supposedly broken, strides down the stairs and says delightedly, "It's a good thing I held back and didn't tell Nina the truth." It turns out Helen is my biological sister, who had been taken away by our nanny right after birth. The whole ordeal on the island is nothing more than an elaborate ruse to bring her home. Thinking about everything I have endured over the past three years, I nearly break down. Just as I am about to rush inside, a line of text suddenly appears before my eyes. [Congratulations, Host. You have unlocked the final stage of the Favoritism Mission! Would you like to accumulate enough favoritism points to return to the real world?]

My dad died in a car accident when I was ten. Years later, I discover the truth. Dad's death wasn't an accident. Someone tampered with the brakes, and the culprit is none other than my mom. Dad died, not knowing that Mom had been with another man named Mason Shaw. Less than three months later, she married Mason and raised their son, Jason Gere, as her chosen successor. She also stole Dad's final composition, claiming it was an original work by Jason. 15 years later, I sit on the judging panel of an international piano competition. Jason, the so-called prodigy, is playing Dad's final masterpiece onstage. I press the buzzer, stopping the performance. "This piece isn't yours." My voice echoes through the microphone, reaching every person in the audience. "I refuse to mark you."

Eight years ago, I was transported into this post-apocalyptic power fantasy novel as the same-named expendable nobody. I had the ability to create a large-scale radiation shield that could block zombies. I was the only S-Rank ability user in the entire colony. But because my younger brother, Samuel Grant, failed to awaken his ability, my only purpose became providing him with "upgrade materials." I tried to fight against the story and refused to hand over my crystal core. But the story's inertia twisted everyone's minds. My parents accused me of working with the Zombie King just so they could forcefully transplant my crystal core into Samuel. My ex-wife, Chloe Carter, went even further. While I was unconscious, she personally cut open my chest and took half of my crystal core. I survived. But my spine was severely damaged. My ability circuits were destroyed. I became a cripple who could never stand again. After I was released from prison, I could only work at a chemical protection laundry plant on the outer edge of the colony. Then, a mutant zombie horde carrying extreme radiation surrounded the colony. The old shield generator was burned out by the radiation. Suddenly, my entire family knelt in the dirty wastewater and begged me. "Ethan, you're the only one who can manually guide the remaining power in your ability to repair the shield! You have to save Samuel! He's still fighting on the front lines!" Sitting in my wheelchair, I pointed at the eight-inch scar across my chest. Then I pointed at my withered legs. "The crystal core is inside Samuel's body. My broken spine is buried in the mud under your feet. I can't even stand anymore. And you want me to go into the radiation zone? Are you hoping to watch me die?"

The Nebula Algorithm I spent countless sleepless nights building single-handedly saved the company’s flagship project. Yet, when the annual promotion list came out, my name was nowhere to be found. Instead, a man named Julian Monroe, who had joined the company less than a month earlier, skipped several ranks to become my direct supervisor. When I marched into my boss Sebastian Carter’s office to ask why, he lashed out at me without hesitation. “You really think a community college graduate like you can compete with a master’s graduate from an elite overseas university?” I clenched my fists, raising my voice to fight back. “The employee handbook clearly states that engineering promotions are strictly performance-based, regardless of your degree!” He pointed a finger right at my nose, his eyes filled with unyielding disdain. “Rules are rigid, but people aren’t. “A community college graduate like you should be down on your knees thanking God for the base salary this company throws your way! “Know your place. This company will keep spinning just fine without you!” I turned around and handed in my resignation letter on the spot, taking my core algorithm with me. I couldn’t wait to see just how long his company would last without me, the “community college graduate.”

Fed up with my neighbors constantly freeloading off my Wi-Fi, I decide to change the network name to "Invincible Wall-Piercing Baby Killer". The next day, the woman next door—pregnant with triplets—collapses outside my apartment, clutching her stomach. "Who told you to change your Wi-Fi name? Don't you know that by changing it, I'd miscarry my triplets?" The whole family has lost their minds, I tell myself. After all, how can changing the name of a Wi-Fi network possibly affect an unborn baby, let alone three of them? A week later, her burly husband shows up at the entrance of our apartment complex, eyes bloodshot. He holds three ultrasound scans in one hand and a surgical report for a miscarriage in the other. "Murderer!" he shouts at me. "Your damn Wi-Fi signal went through the walls and killed my three unborn babies!" They start livestreaming on TikTok. They weld my front door shut, then, in front of more than a million viewers, hold up an "expert report" claiming that electromagnetic radiation has caused the miscarriage. "Enjoy spending the rest of your life behind bars, murderer!" My girlfriend of five years is doxxed. She can't take the harassment anymore and jumps off a building. Although she ultimately survives, she's left in a permanent vegetative state. I become the target of a nationwide hate campaign. Not only do I lose my job, but I also have to sell my home. I'm saddled with crushing compensation that I'll be paying off for the rest of my life. To atone for my so-called crime, I work construction day and night just to support my neighbors' family. In the end, I lose my footing on the scaffolding and fall to my death. Even as I die, I still can't understand how changing the name of a Wi-Fi network can make someone miscarry. When I open my eyes again, I return to the very day it all begins.

Right after the authorities issue the red flood alert, my boss, Bianca Larson, sends a message to our office group chat and tags everyone. "Kindly remain in the office instead of heading home this evening, so you won't have any issues coming in to work tomorrow morning. There'll be an overnight stay charge of 100 dollars, which will be deducted from your salary." All of my colleagues grumble about it, but no one dares to defy the boss. But in the middle of the night, the river embankment gives way. The nasty floodwater fills up the first-floor office, and not a single one of the 100-plus employees survives. Suddenly, my eyes open again. I've returned to the exact moment Bianca sends that message. Anna Wheeler, whose desk is next to mine, sighs and asks me how I intend to spend the night. I firmly declare, "I'm resigning!"

After I quit my job to become a full-time househusband, my wife, Brooke Lowell, left me with nothing but a bank card capped at 1,000 dollars a month. She said children had to be raised with hardship to grow up strong, and was always worried I might secretly give our daughter special treatment. But 1,000 dollars was nowhere near enough to cover a household's monthly expenses. Every time the kindergarten asked for nutrition fees, I could only swallow my pride and beg for leniency. "She's just a child. Why does she need that much money? You've got some nerve, living so comfortably on 1,000 a month." I had thought Brooke's harshness was meant to temper our daughter's character. That illusion lasted until I asked Brooke for 300 dollars to buy clothes for our daughter's Children's Day performance. What I received instead was humiliation and ridicule from everyone. Brooke accused me of acting like a spoiled rich kid, wasting money on unnecessary clothes. My mother-in-law complained that I dressed too poorly, like a beggar bringing shame to the family. Even my daughter blamed me for embarrassing her, saying I had ruined her Children's Day and damaged her props. I bowed my head, apologized, and paid compensation. Only then did I discover that my bank card had been frozen. The very next moment, Brooke's crush posted on social media about his son receiving a luxury mansion. 'Already a house-owner at three! Who'd believe she's not his birth mother?' Only then did I understand. People who truly loved someone would never be stingy when spending on them.

I was the Blackwell family's real heir, lost as a child and recovered only five years ago. After Grandfather's will left me the controlling shares, the adopted son, Damian, jumped into the pool himself and swore I'd pushed him. My parents never bothered to check. They shipped me overnight to the poorest mining belt in Kembala. Three years later, my father called me for the first time. "Damian isn't angry anymore." "Blackwell Forge Holdings is short on cash." "Crawl back here and marry into Gloria Dane's household in Damian's place, so she'll invest in us." I laughed. Gloria Dane was an old woman pushing sixty. What a devoted father he was. But they didn't know that during those three years, I'd quietly built the largest private financial network in the world, the Obsidian Crown Consortium. Now they were days from bankruptcy and still wanted to trade me for money. Fine. I'd been looking for a reason to go back and settle every account.

For Children's Day, I help source and purchase gifts for my son's class. I not only keep the budget to a minimum, but I also manage to get expensive toys that are way over budget for them. During checkout, because my son, Harry Chandler, has grabbed a limited edition toy robot, the PTA representative, Darren Larson, shouts at me, "Jordan Chandler, are you trying to tell me that you didn't embezzle the class funds for that 500-dollar toy robot?" The class teacher, Kevin Brown, and the manager of the toy store, Florence Young, immediately pause in their footsteps. I feel dozens of pairs of eyes staring at me in the mall. Darren complains animatedly, "You were trying to pay for that 500-dollar toy with the class funds, basically using everyone's money to spoil your son, weren't you? "Both Mr. Brown and the manager are right here, but you still dare to pocket our money? I can't imagine how much of the class funds you must've used to line your own pockets behind our backs! I daresay, for someone with no morals like you, the children you raise will be thieves in the future too!" Darren glares maliciously at me, looking me up and down. Even Kevin is giving me a look of suspicion and disdain. Instead of arguing with him, I turn to the cashier and ask in a calm tone, "My family owns this mall. Do I need to pay for a toy I just grabbed off the shelf?"

"Your brother's gone to Korea. Make sure you send him an extra $300 next month for his loan repayment." I was swamped at my desk when I received that text. My mind went blank. I asked Dad how much my brother had borrowed, and he casually replied: "The surgery costs $83,000, but you only have $75,000 in your bank account, so we took out an $8,000 loan for two years." Seeing my brother's selfie from a luxury hospital room in Seoul, posted on his social media, a chill ran through me. That was my life savings, scraped together by selling my car and pulling all-nighters for three months! Perhaps sensing my emotion, my father sent another text: "Put off your treatment for now. Once your brother becomes handsome, he can snag a rich woman, and then you'll have all the money you need for treatment." Without another word, I immediately called the bank to report the loss and filed a police report for theft. My bank account was instantly frozen. Within days, my brother, who was kicked off the operating table because the payment couldn't go through, called me and begged. His face half-stitched, he was on the verge of a breakdown.

It was our wedding anniversary. But my husband's precious childhood sweetheart just had to go bungee jumping. Even though I'm terrified of heights,my husband forced me to come along to the edge of the cliff with the two of them. Nobody saw it coming when the main safety cable suddenly snapped. In my last life,I risked everything to tackle my husband,Dominic,just as he lunged forward to save her. With no one to catch her,Vanessa plummeted onto the jagged rocks below and ended up paralyzed. That was the start of my living hell. Dominic's revenge was brutal and bloody. In the end,he locked me inside a dark basement freezer at twenty below,freezing me alive into a solid block of ice. Now,I'm back at the exact second crisis strikes. Just like before,Dominic lunges toward Vanessa without a second thought. This time,I smile. And I let go. I'll let their pathetic "true love" rot in hell.

The day my mother, Dahlia Moone, gives birth to my younger brother, she goes into obstructed labor and suffers a catastrophic hemorrhage. My CEO father, Graham Kovane, orders every doctor and nurse out of the delivery room because his mistress, Selena Langford, says, "Her crying is giving me a headache." That day, both Mom and my unborn brother die. Not long after, I'm framed for a mistake I never made, driven out of the family, and left to survive on the streets. Living on the kindness of strangers, I fight my way up from nothing. Step by step, I rise until I become the head of Rockstone Tech, controlling a fortune worth billions. On the day of the annual evaluation for promoting interns to full-time employees, five candidate files are placed on my desk. My assistant, Ingrid Nelson, taps the file at the top of the stack, her voice full of admiration. "Ms. Campbell, Monica Kovane is exceptionally capable. Her performance has earned full marks from every department manager." I open Monica's profile, and my eyes stop on the family information section. Even in the worst of times, I will never forget those two names on the paper. After a long silence, I tell Ingrid to bring all five interns into my office. The employment contracts are handed out one by one. When only the last person remains, I look up and meet her confident gaze. She's almost certain the position is already hers. Calmly, I slide a termination letter across the desk. "Unfortunately, Ms. Kovane, you didn't pass."