Cirque Du Freak

An employee blasted me on TikTok, accusing me of not approving her wedding leave. Ainsley Castillo ranted, "Our marriage rates are low; birth rates are low. It's all because of toxic capitalists like you! You won't even approve my wedding leave. In your eyes, am I just a workhorse? Not even a person? I believed your nonsense about building an all-women company and a women-friendly workplace. Now your true bloodsucking capitalist face is showing!" The video blew up instantly, and countless young people empathized with her hardcore. They piled on online, cursing me, even doxxing me and sending razor blades. As the boss, I went live and confronted her head-on. "Sorry, but I can't approve her wedding leave. She can quit and go through labor arbitration, or sue me, but her wedding leave is out of the question." The live stream exploded in views that day. Among the supporters for her, some claimed to be lawyers, offering to sue me pro bono. But Ainsley looked troubled. "I just want my wedding leave. I never thought about quitting, let alone suing her."

The property manager, driven by greed for kickbacks, rallied the residents to dig a deeper underground parking garage for profit. But as a geologist with a decade of experience, I saw the danger immediately: a high-pressure underground river lay beneath our community. Any construction would cause the entire building to collapse. In my previous life, I went door to door, warning the residents of the risks, only to be dismissed as a lunatic. Desperate, I alerted the authorities, halting the project and averting disaster. But the property manager turned the blame on me. "That meddling geologist! She's jealous of our wealth and sabotaged our chance to get rich!" Incited, the residents mobbed my home. In the chaos, the property manager grabbed my son and ran to the balcony, letting him fall from the tenth floor. The residents, in unison, lied to the police, claiming my son had been playing and slipped. My family ruined, I succumbed to despair and took my own life. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at that fateful homeowners' meeting. This time, as the property manager pushed for the excavation, I stood up and clapped. "Neville is right. Not only should we dig, we should dig deeper. Let's do it all at once and get rich together!"

My father loved silence. He believed noise was the mark of lesser people, so he installed a decibel meter in our home. Speaking above 40 decibels meant that we would have to pay him 10 dollars, laughing above 60 decibels meant 50 dollars, and crying or throwing a tantrum was a serious offense at 100 dollars per second. The year I turned four, I fell and broke my arm. I did not make a single sound. I bit down so hard that I cracked two teeth, but I saved thousands in noise fees. He praised me for it and called me a "high-value child," one that was worth the investment. I treasured that compliment and observed the rules carefully, keeping the house wrapped in suffocating silence. Then came the stormy night a thief broke in. He had a knife and was creeping toward my mother as she slept, and I watched it all from the gap in the wardrobe where I was hiding. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shriek and wake my father, to do something, anything. However, my eyes drifted to the decibel meter on the wall, and my hand found nothing but an empty pocket. I did not have enough allowance. One scream would cost hundreds, and I simply could not afford it.

When my roommate learned that getting pregnant in university came with special treatment, she brazenly posted on the campus forum, openly recruiting a "baby daddy." [Requirements: over 5'11", eight-pack abs, handsome, assets in the millions, no bad habits.] Afraid she would ruin her life on a moment of reckless impulse, I snatched her phone, deleted the post, and gave her a serious rundown on the risks and consequences of early pregnancy while still studying. After much deliberation, she was finally persuaded. But a month later, a classmate struck it rich by getting pregnant. She not only married into a wealthy family, but also received a million-dollar childbirth bonus from her in-laws. My roommate was driven mad with jealousy. She stormed into the dorm, shrieking at me at the top of her lungs. "If it weren't for you, I'd be a rich wife by now! You owe me my life!" As she screamed, she stabbed me over and over, venting her rage until I was dead. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day she first posted on the forum, brazenly searching for a baby daddy.

"Look, chat! The rich guy who lives in this fancy apartment is secretly a pervert who gropes college girls!" As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, my neighbor Yvonne Shaw cornered me at the door. She tugged at her collar while crying to the camera. "Chat, this is where the guy lives! Just now in the elevator, he covered my mouth and groped me all over... If the elevator door hadn't opened in time, he would have dragged me back to his place!" The comments section exploded, the screen filled with curses aimed at my husband. But later, in court, when they saw my husband who had lost both arms saving someone five years ago... They were all dumbfounded.

After pulling an all-nighter to finish a group assignment, I wanted only one thing: sleep. I did not even get 10 minutes. My roommate, Ronda Jones, burst into the dorm, raging about class. She shouted into her headset and turned our room into a storm of insults and keyboard slams. When I quietly asked her to keep it down, she turned on me instead. Then the power went out, and a 5-dollar electricity bill became the excuse she had been waiting for. I refused to split it. That single decision set everything in motion.

My roommate bought an antique bronze censer online. She burned incense day and night, praying to be with a wealthy boyfriend. I thought it was silly, until her face began to look like mine. Soon, she became the admired heiress, while I was left drowning in debts she had deliberately racked up. I begged her for my identity back, and she pretended to agree. However, she tricked me into giving her my bank account password and pushed me off a rooftop. I learned at that moment that the censer was a cursed relic that grants wishes by draining the life and luck of another. She could take everything from me once my life was ruined, but death was not the end for me. I woke up on the day she first got the cursed censer. The truth was every wish comes with a price, and I was going to make sure she pays.

On my wedding day, my groom's sister, Nadia Lawson, wears an elaborate ball gown and comes on stage to snatch the emcee's microphone. Before all the guests, she arrogantly says to me, "Can't you see the princess is here? Why didn't you curtsy and greet me? You deserve to be punished! Get on your knees and prostrate yourself before me as an apology!" My expression sours at her insolence. I turn around only to see the indulgent expressions on her parents' faces. The groom, Bowen Lawson, says dotingly, "We spoiled Nad silly since she was a child. You are her sister-in-law now. Don't make things hard for her." I am so mad that I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. The clown thinks she's a princess, asking me to kneel before her? Ridiculous.

It's been five years since I started trying to win over Zachary Pierce. I even went so far as to have a child through IVF, hoping it would finally make him care. But no matter what I do, I can never reach 100 percent affection from him. It always stays at 99 percent. Sometimes it even drops lower. One day, exhausted and aching, I go looking for him. As I reach his room, I hear laughter coming from inside. "She still hasn't figured out the egg wasn't even hers. The moment the baby was born, Zach's affection score for her dropped to zero." "So what if she finds out? She should be grateful that her face looks so much like Yvonne's. Honestly, I'm done entertaining her. It's exhausting." At that moment, everything clicks. All the hope I've held onto, every sacrifice I've made, they were all just a joke. I turn away and say to the system, "End this for me. Send me to another world."

My husband's first love was scalded by boiling water. To punish me, he forced me into a customized steamer half my height, turned the heat to its highest setting, and sealed me inside. "I'll make you feel the pain Jessica suffered a thousand times over!" Trapped in the suffocating space, my breath came in ragged gasps. Heat seared my skin, and my body felt as though it would melt. I sobbed, begging him for mercy. "Please! I'm going to die!" But he didn't look back. Holding his beloved in his arms, he walked away. He even locked the door after he left the room. "Don't worry, you won't die. This is the only way you'll understand Jessica's pain." Despair swallowed me whole. I screamed, my voice raw, but the boiling water beneath me splashed up, scalding my skin, stealing even the strength to cry. He left the country with Jessica that same night. A week passed before he finally remembered my existence. "That wretched woman must have learned her lesson by now. Let her out." What he didn't know was that the water had long since boiled away, the heat had faded, and inside the steamer, my corpse lay rotting—swarmed with maggots.