Bible Verses About Good Fortune

When I turn 18, my family suddenly strikes gold. Dad makes a fortune in business. We move into a huge house with a driver and a housekeeper. My younger brother, Vincent Becker, is sent to study in Basmar. After that, he graduates and marries a rich heiress. Their partnership makes our family's business soar. I'm the only one who misses my college entrance exam because of stomach cramps, and my parents marry me off to a lonely man in some rundown countryside. He locks me in a basement and hurts me every single day. I crawl my way back home, half-alive, but my parents only look at me with disgust. "Useless brat! How did you not die out there?" Vincent says that he'll take me out to clear my head. Instead, he shoves me in front of a truck. I'm rushed to the ICU with nearly every bone in my body broken. Right before I die, he leans down in his designer suit and whispers in my ear. "Let me tell you the truth before you die. Our family didn't get rich from business. We got rich because of the hundred-million-dollar lottery ticket you bought. "We cashed it behind your back and never told you." I die full of resentment, and right after my death, they sell my organs for 120 thousand dollars. I open my eyes, and suddenly I'm there again—to the very day I bought the lottery ticket.

After dating me for a decade, Alfred Rodriguez officially admitted that he was in a relationship with someone else. It was not me but a popular young actress.Exhilarated, their fans created an online buzz about their dating. I posted a diamond ring on my Facebook, announcing that I'm getting married. Alfred called me."Delete that post. Don't even think about forcing me to marry you in this way. I've just got my reputation in the entertainment circle and announced a relationship. I can't marry you now..." "Mr. Rodriguez, I'm marrying someone else. Come to my wedding party if you're free."I hung up. Alfred went mad. He called me countless times that night. On my wedding day, he turned up with red eyes and asked if I'd elope with him. What? How dare this guy seduce someone else's fiancée in public! What a pervert!

Three years after graduation, I was waiting tables at a restaurant when I happened to run into some of my old classmates having a private dinner there. The moment they saw me carrying trays, they burst out laughing. My old rival Elliot sneered that I was a useless nobody, then pulled out 50 bucks and tossed it in front of me, telling me to lick the food scraps off his shoe. "Clean my shoe, and that fifty's yours!" Even my ex-girlfriend joined in to humiliate me. "I can't believe this is what you've become three years after graduation, Chase. Good thing I dumped you when I did—I'd hate to be the girlfriend of some broke loser." Elliot and a few others pinned me to the floor, forcing me to kneel and even bark like a dog. My ex clapped her hands, laughing. "Chase, you really do look like a dog when you're on your knees." Then, the restaurant manager rushed in. The moment he saw me, his face went pale with shock. "M–Mr. Levine… are you all right, sir?" Blood dripping down my forehead, I pointed at everyone in that room. "No one leaves this room tonight."

I spent five years chasing Tyler Watson, only to get kidnapped right in front of him. He just stood there and watched. As a result, I suffered. After I escaped, he acted all high and mighty and proposed to make up for his tiny bit of guilt. The second we got our marriage certificate, the Simp System’s voice rang in my head. “Congrats, host! You’ve completed your mission.” Just like that, my sanity finally returned. While Tyler waited in a hotel for me to bring him contraceptives, I went live to expose his cheating. For good measure, I even called the anti-vice office to report my dear husband for soliciting prostitutes.

"Mom, Dad, I've made up my mind. I'll go back and take over the family business." When Jaycie Stanton's parents heard that she had finally agreed, they were overjoyed on the other end of the phone. However, thoughts of her hidden identity and the boyfriend she had kept in the dark led them to ask, "Is your boyfriend coming back with you? Have you told him the truth about who you are?" "I haven't. I'm going to break up with him."

My best friend asked me to conduct a blood test on her before she got married to the richest man in the city. That was how I found out that she had AIDS. Due to patient confidentiality and her claim that her fiance would not mind, I did not tell him about her diagnosis. Later on, he contracted AIDS as well. When this happened, my best friend went online and pointed the finger at me. “Maya Sullivan intentionally kept the results of my blood test a secret. That’s why my husband got AIDS. It’s all her fault!” Even my boyfriend added fuel to the fire. “This isn’t the first time Maya has set Pearl up. She only got AIDS because Maya used an infected needle to take her blood sample!” No matter how much I insisted otherwise, everyone kept hounding me about it. To avoid the fallout, I was forced to move myself and my parents to another city to start fresh. However, in a fit of rage, Pearl’s husband crashed into our car and killed all of us. He was later sentenced to death, so Pearl inherited all of his assets. She then lived in luxury with my boyfriend. When I opened my eyes again, I discovered that I had gone back in time. It was the day that Pearl had undergone her health checkup.

His first love barged into my office and stood before me, mocking, "He doesn't love you at all." I rolled my eyes. "I don't know whether he loves me, but I am Mrs. Brooke now. And who are you, exactly?" I was surprised that there was still someone so clueless in this day and age. Marriage was all about mutual benefit; the idea of love was downright ridiculous. To me, Noah was just a means to an end—a tool that would double my worth. I had never taken him seriously.

The day before New Year's, my younger brother announced he was bringing his girlfriend home for dinner. Excited, I drove my new car to pick them up, taking my daughter along with me. However, as soon as his girlfriend got in the car, her face darkened. "Henry, you didn't tell me your sister was staying at your place—and with a kid!" she snapped. I frowned and was about to explain when my brother quickly interjected, "She's not staying. After dropping us off, she'll be heading to a hotel." Only then did his girlfriend's expression ease. I swallowed my discomfort and asked my brother what he was planning. He leaned in with a conspiratorial grin and said, "Sis, don't cause any trouble for me, okay? My girlfriend is the daughter of the Cromwell Group's CEO!" My eyes widened in shock. Was not the Cromwell Group the same company my ex-husband had just handed over to me as part of our divorce settlement?

The new project was short on staff. Over everyone's objections, I pulled three former colleagues out of an overlooked department where they'd been warming the bench for years. The four of us became the project's core team. The bonus was generous, the workload light. They all said I was their lucky charm. Three months later, with delivery just around the corner, I passed the break room and overheard them talking. "The biggest credit for this project belongs to the three of us. Why should Chloe get an equal share of the bonus just because she recommended us? She barely did any real work." "Exactly. Let's talk to the director. We'll say all the core work was done by us, that she's not up to the task. We'll apply to have her removed from the contributors list." "Just thinking about not having to split those tens of thousands with her—it feels amazing." I pushed the door open. They stared at me, stunned. I smiled. They wanted to kick me out? Too bad. I was the director who parachuted in to evaluate them.

I worked for a restaurant, and our boss loved making empty promises about giving us restaurant shares. The boss said we would start with zero shares, but we could earn 0.01% for every two hours of overtime, covering someone else’s work or saving the restaurant 1,000 bucks. I suggested she write this down in an official document and have someone track it properly. She just smiled and told everyone to work harder. She never actually put it in writing. The experienced staff did not believe her, but one prep cook took it seriously. At the end of the year, he went to the boss to claim his shares. The boss said, “Sorry, the head chef told me there’s no official document, so it doesn’t count. You can’t claim any shares.” The prep cook worked hard all year and got nothing for it, so he took his anger out on me. The day before I was going home for the New Year, he killed me with a knife. “If you hadn’t said it doesn’t count without an official document, this whole restaurant would’ve been mine!” I lay in a pool of blood. When I opened my eyes, I was back to the day the boss first made those empty promises.