Cash Prize Competitions

"You were never her, Aria. You were just... there." Jason's words echo in my head as I stand in the back of the church, watching him mourn another woman on her sister's wedding day. Isabelle. The perfect dead girlfriend. The ghost I've been competing with for three years. I thought I could be enough. I thought love could grow where grief once lived. But when I find the evidence, when I see the hotel receipts, the text messages, the photos of Jason with Isabelle's sister Violet, I realize the truth. I was never the love story. I was the intermission. What I don't know yet is that nothing about my marriage was real. Not Jason's cruelty. Not Violet's affair. Not the stranger's rescue. They've all been playing a game, and I'm the prize they're willing to destroy each other for. When the truth comes out, when I discover why Isabelle really died and who's been pulling the strings, I'll have to decide: Do I let them destroy me, or do I burn their whole world down?

My name is Samantha Lane. I've forgotten to pay the taxes, and the company's accounts are now frozen. I'm not panicking, but my husband's foster sister, Zoey Quinn, is losing her mind. In my previous life, Zoey was the one who suggested using her summer bonus to take the entire company on a trip to Slarqia. What I didn't expect was that her supposed generosity would drain every cent from the company's account. As a result, the company's cash flow collapsed, and I was left buried under hundreds of millions in debt. When I went to her to ask for the money back, she leaned smugly against my husband's chest and said, "Samantha, I only spent a few tens of millions. How could that bankrupt the company? Don't be so dramatic!" My husband, Harry Jennings, glared at me with his face twisted in anger. "Samantha, the company's money is marital property. I agreed to let Zoey spend it. Back off, alright?" I wanted to report it to the police, but they abducted me and smuggled me out of the country. I ended up being tortured to death. When my coworkers heard the news, they actually cheered. They said I had it coming, like some heartless capitalist had finally gotten her karma. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day Zoey is inviting everyone on a trip to Slarqia.

It was almost New Year. I had just withdrawn money from the bank when I noticed that the amount on my passbook didn't match the cash in my hand. I counted carefully—my passbook showed a different figure than the five thousand dollars I was holding. Frustrated, I turned and went back to the counter to find the teller who had handled my transaction. Clutching the receipt, I tried to be polite. "Excuse me, I think there might be a mistake with this transaction." Instantly, she snapped, pointing her finger at my nose. "Don't you know that once you leave the counter, we are not responsible for any discrepancies?" I waved my hands, trying to explain. "No, wait, look again. I clearly withdrew five thousand dollars, but on my passbook, it shows…" She cut me off impatiently. "When you filled out the form, it was all right there. Once you leave the counter, it's not our problem. You signed the form yourself, confirming everything. Are we supposed to correct it every time someone claims a mistake after leaving the bank?" I froze. No wonder she kept repeating that the bank isn't responsible after leaving the counter. She thought I had come back to ask for more money. What I was really trying to explain was simple: I withdrew five thousand, yet my passbook showed that I deposited five thousand.

When I stand in the sales office and watch my best friend beat me to purchasing the foreclosed property I have my eye on, I finally know for sure that she has been reborn too. In my previous life, both my best friend and I had some savings. She invested all her money in the stock market, while I decided to buy a house to live in. Since I didn't have much savings, I ended up buying a foreclosed property where a murder had taken place. But inside the ceiling cavity, I discovered a safe containing ten million dollars in cash and over a dozen gold bars. Meanwhile, my best friend's money was trapped in the stock market. She lost everything and even ended up in debt. When she watched me move into a villa, drive luxury cars, and spend money extravagantly every day, my best friend flew into a rage. She lured me to a highway where an oncoming freight truck killed me. After my death, my soul floated in the air as I watched her and my boyfriend deceive the police together. They claimed I had been drinking and ignored traffic rules, rushing onto the highway to my own death. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the day I'm supposed to buy the foreclosed property.

Augustine Knight is the man all mothers wish for their daughter! He’s nice, he’s rich, he’s beyond beautiful, and has the quality we’ve all been looking for- painfully loyal! Yeah okay maybe he’s a bit arrogant but you can hardly see that trait whenever he’s with his family and close friends because yes, you got it right, he’s a family man and a very good friend too! See, what a catch. Phew. The relationship he had with Evie, is something we all pray for our daughters to have. If you excuse the big misunderstanding, of course. Because that would make you call him a fucking pedophile. With P at the front and right in the middle. PEDO-PHILE. You can’t exactly blame the man when he asked his newly-married wife to give him back four years of his life, or forced her to cash her promise about their three (future) children. From being the lucky girlfriend of a billionaire she upped her status to ‘insanely-lucky wife of a billionaire’, but within a month it changed into being his worthless SugarBabyWife. *** Dig in if you feel like reading something that would make you mad, sad, or both. Don’t hesitate if you’re a fan of toxic relationship because I promise you, this, is the definition of ttttoxicccity. I’m the fucking mayor of this city if you’ve read Gay Sugar Daddy :)

She was afraid to fall in love. He never lowered the walls of his heart, afraid to face betrayal. Both were busy chasing away the demons of their sleepless nights not knowing when their lives entangled and they crashed into each other, seeking solace from the treacherous world. Valerie Ambrose bumped into Damon Lysander at a downtown club. Eyes met, sparks flew, heat rose, and they ended up having a one-night stand. _ "I don't have cash on me. I forgot my wallet." He slurred, his crystal blue eyes bloodshot red as he stared directly into my eyes, for a moment I thought he was sober, but then he leaned in and whispered in my ear, his breath fanning my neck. "Now are you still interested?" Although the music was blasting through the speakers, but I caught up on his hidden implication. I shook my head in exhaustion "You're drunk Damon. Come I will drop you home." "I don't want to go back there. It hurts Val." He mumbled dryly, but his moist eyes said it all, and I couldn't help but pity him. When I failed to respond he pressed his lips to the side of my neck and inhaled deeply. "Please don't leave me alone." He was barely audible and looked like a mess, a beautiful mess. "I can't bear this anymore." And with that said, he pressed his lips to mine.

Claire, seorang mahasiswi seni rupa, melakukan kesalahan terbesar dalam hidupnya. Awalnya, ia hanya ingin merasakan satu malam kebebasan setelah dipaksa menikah dengan pria tua demi melunasi hutang adiknya — semua karena desakan orang tuanya. Pria yang tidur dengannya di malam itu ternyata Devon Atmawidjaya, seorang pematung yang jadi dosen tamu selama dua semester di fakultas seni rupa tempat Claire berkuliah. Mati-matian, Claire menampik pesona Devon, tetapi semuanya sia-sia. Dia jatuh juga ke pelukan dosennya sendiri, padahal Claire sudah bertunangan dengan pria pilihan orangtuanya! Mereka lantas terperosok ke dalam hubungan rahasia yang berbahaya. Ketika Claire sudah mempercayai Devon sepenuh hati, sebuah rahasia di masa lalu pria itu terkuak. Rahasia yang mampu menghancurkan hubungan mereka. “Seumur hidup, aku belum pernah tidur dengan sembarang wanita." Pria itu mengedipkan satu matanya. “Dan ini,” pria itu lalu mengeluarkan lembaran uang dari dompetnya, menaruhnya di atas selimut yang membungkus tubuh Claire. “Hanya segitu uang cash yang kupunya. Kalau ternyata kurang, tulis saja nomor rekeningmu, nanti aku transfer. Thanks for last night. Servismu memuaskan,” Kedua bola mata Claire langsung melebar. “Hei! Aku bukan pelacur!”

The explosion wiped out my parents—and their company. All I had left was some insurance cash and a pile of patents nobody cared about. I begged their old partners to back me. Crickets. Then Alex Ross strolled in, played the hero no one asked for, and proposed. Five years deep into our marriage, after my 99th FDA rejection, I finally cracked. I was in the garage when I heard his phone on speaker. Mark's voice came through: "Dude, you're still handing Lily Emma's blueprints before she even files? How many times has she flopped now? Girl's relentless, huh?" Alex? Straight-up ice. "Ninety-nine. She'll quit soon." "You're really tanking your wife to boost Lily's brand? Worth it?" "Lily's launching her new product tomorrow at the Boston Medical Summit. Patent number 100. Watching her blow up from nothing... makes me proud." "But it's all Emma's stuff. Your dad made you marry her for her brain, didn't he?" "Don't bring up my father." His voice turned sharp. "He forced me to dump Lily. I just played along." I sank into the driver's seat, frozen. I wasn't a partner. Just a pawn—revenge bait for his dad and backup fuel for his ex.

Right after finishing a meeting, I opened a forum and saw a warning post. The location tag was our company. The title read: “Red flag! What a cheap company. Anyone who joins is a total sucker. They can’t even afford a decent coffee break.” The photo attached showed the expensive coffee and five-star desserts I had just asked my assistant to distribute to everyone. I frowned and tagged the entire group chat, asking if anyone had suggestions about the afternoon tea. A Gen-Z intern who had just joined, Julian Hayes, instantly replied with a voice message: “Boss, no offense, but these assembly-line desserts are full of trans fats. Nobody would eat them.” “A truly humane company hires a Michelin chef to cook and slice everything fresh on site. That’s what real respect for employees looks like.” I laughed in disbelief. Our company’s daily coffee break budget was thirty dollars per person—already considered top-tier in the industry. So I replied, “Since it’s impossible to satisfy everyone’s taste, we’ll cancel afternoon tea from now on and convert the budget into cash for everyone instead.” Less than five minutes later, that post was updated: “Guys, can you believe this? I made a perfectly reasonable suggestion and the lame boss immediately canceled the whole coffee break perk! This is the true face of corporate greed—can’t handle even a little bit of honesty!”

Every Thanksgiving, my husband, Salvatore, brings home a showgirl from one of his clubs. He makes me kneel and serve them drinks. A lesson, he calls it, in how to please a man. This was the eighth Thanksgiving, and this time, he brought back a girl poured into a tight leather dress. "She doesn't have any decent jewelry," Salvatore announced. "Give her your heirloom diamond ring. Your grandmother's pearl earrings, too. And take off that silk choker for her." He smirked. "And listen, she's young, doesn't know the rules. You'll have to show her the ropes. Especially how to handle a man in bed." Every member of the Genovese family was watching, waiting for my humiliation. I didn't disappoint. I opened my mouth and asked Salvatore for a divorce. Salvatore let out a sharp, ugly laugh, his eyes full of contempt. "Francesca, you pull this same shit every time," he jeered. "Your act is pathetic. Even more dramatic than your performance in bed." He leaned in. "You really want to divorce me? Fine. I'll give you five million in cash if you actually walk out that door." The living room erupted in laughter. They all said I was playing hard to get, that I didn't know my place. But they didn't know. This was the 88th time I had asked for a divorce, and it was the first time I truly meant it.