Daniel Goleman Emotional Intelligence

Lewd videos of my best friend, Katie Anderson, are suddenly leaked online, and I defend her in public. However, Katie ends up accusing me of leaking the videos in the first place. All of a sudden, the entire Internet turns against me. I get blacklisted by the whole entertainment industry and get cyberbullied online as well. Katie's die-hard fans abduct Mom by throwing a sack over her head and record lewd videos of her, driving her to so much shame she jumps off a building and dies. Meanwhile, Dad drinks rat poison and dies next to Mom's grave. After my family is torn apart, I ask Katie why she wants to frame me for everything. She replies, "Samael is the richest heir in the city. This is his fetish. You were the one who made everything into a big fuss. Of course, it's you who'll have to bear the responsibility for everything!" Samael Crews slinks his arm around Katie's waist and looks at me with a mocking smile on his face. "Did you think you were just trying to help out a fellow woman? Sorry, ex-girlfriend, but your precious bestie here is nothing more than an obedient lapdog of mine!" I end up being sold to Meowmar and eventually die from mistreatment. When I open my eyes again, I realize that I am reborn on the day that Katie accuses me of leaking her lewd videos online. This time, I choose to ignore her completely.

My wife and I slept in separate beds for over three years. Then on our wedding anniversary, she suddenly tried to win me over. She climbed into my bed and pulled out all the stops, trying to get me to sleep with her. I stayed calm and collected. When our son started crying, I used it as an excuse to escape to his room, where I stayed all night. Vivian Hartley spent the entire night knocking on the door. The next morning, she acted sweet and gentle, graciously making me breakfast as if nothing had happened. She even tried to hand over her salary card. When my mother-in-law heard about this, she exploded at her daughter. "You pathetic fool! People need some self-respect! If you can't stand up for yourself, just get a divorce already!" Yet Vivian claimed her feelings for me ran so deep that the heavens themselves could vouch for her sincerity. She even defied her own mother. Our relatives and friends looked at us with envy. But my son and I continued to give her the cold shoulder. Finally, Vivian turned to social media for help. "Three years ago, I was busy with work. My husband and I had completely different schedules. I was afraid it would affect my performance at work, so I suggested we sleep in separate rooms. "Now our child is older, and I've swallowed my pride to try to fix things, but my husband won't even touch me." Someone in the comments gave her some advice: install hidden cameras around the house. "We can't just take your word for it. Record everything so we can see what's really going on. Plus, if things actually end in divorce, at least you'll have built up your social media following. It won't be a total loss." Vivian had no idea I was watching from among her followers.

After I hand over my five-million-dollar commission to my departmental colleagues, they drag me to a hotel and celebrate with me for three days straight. But when I walk past the bathroom, I overhear a conversation between two of my colleagues that stops me cold. "Have the results of the vote been released yet?" What vote? Confused, I check my phone and find that I've been removed from the Project Department's group chat. "Who else could it be? Our hero, Zane Carter, received 11 votes. It was unanimous, and the motion was passed." "Serves him right. I've never liked him anyway." I freeze. I can't believe that my colleagues would betray me after what I've done for them. After taking a moment to calm down, I immediately decide to resign. The next thing I know, I receive a call from the company chairman, Wilson Smith. "Have you made up your mind? Quitting now would breach your contract. As a result, your five-million-dollar commission would be revoked. "You're also a key technical staff member. If you leave, your entire department would most likely be dismissed. Once that happens, your colleagues will end up unemployed. Are you sure about this?" I lower my gaze and let out a cold laugh. "Absolutely."

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.

My father's adopted daughter was only locked in the cramped storage closet for around fifteen minutes, yet he punished me by tying me up and throwing me inside. He even sealed off the ventilation with towels. "As Wendy's older sister, if you can't take care of her, then you should also experience how scared she was," he declared coldly. He knew I was claustrophobic, but my desperate pleas for mercy, my terror, were met with nothing but heartless reprimands. "Let this be a lesson on how to be a good sister." As the last sliver of light disappeared, swallowed by the oppressive darkness, I struggled helplessly. A week passed before my father finally remembered my existence and decided it was time to end my punishment. "Let's hope this week served as a good lesson for you, Jennifer. If this happens again, you will no longer be allowed in this house." He would never know that I had already taken my last breath in that suffocating room. My body had begun to rot in the darkness.

In my previous life, my sister thought that since my husband and I had high-paying jobs, she could swap her son with my child without anyone noticing. But twenty-five years later, the tables turned. My son had grown into a street thug, while her son—raised under my care—rose smoothly through life. Young as he was, he had already become a CEO. He was dutiful, bought me a villa, and even sent me traveling around the world. My sister barged into his company, waving a DNA test report, kicking up a scene, only to be thrown out by security. "Mr. Kieran said that even if you are his biological mother, you never gave him a single day of care," they told her. "So he refuses to acknowledge you." Breaking down completely, she drove her car into me and ended my life. When I opened my eyes again, we had returned to the very day she switched our babies. This time, my sister clutched her own child tightly, a wild, triumphant grin on her face. "From now on, you can be the mother of a street thug," she sneered. "The villa and all those riches—they're mine!"

My car was passing by the entrance of the office when I saw both my sisters 'wrestling' vigorously with a bum. I wasn't surprised, however, even recording a video of it and sending it to the biggest news outlet of the country, saying, "I want it seen across the world before 7pm." After all, in my last life, those two sisters were so keen to please Harold Langford that they allowed him to steal my birthright all he wanted. I bore with it because they were family, and ended up resting in pieces. But now that I had a second chance, I would return the favor. At the company gala, Harold once again took my seat as he snorted at me haughtily. "Hmph! If Ellie and Jennie didn't insist on showing you how the world works, a poor college student like you wouldn't even make it through the front door!" "Know your place and don't cause me trouble, or they will have you beaten to a pulp!" Seeing that he was still running his mouth, I kicked him three feet away as I chuckled. "Who do you think you are? How dare you strut when you're just a gigolo who only knows how to please hags!"

In my parents' hearts, there was always a "perfect son" who died too soon. I was just his flawed substitute, while my younger brother was their new hope. They pretended to be poor for 20 years, secretly funneling all their resources to him. While I was in the final stages of stomach cancer, writhing in pain, they were spending millions of dollars to build him a state-of-the-art study room. When the doctor told me to notify my family about hospital bills, I felt helpless, thinking they were just ordinary, broke workers. When my mom finally showed up at the hospital, she grabbed my hand, not out of concern. "Neville is under so much stress with his college entrance exams. Can you not die right now? He can't take it." My dad stood by, wearing a stern expression. "David was way more sensible than you."

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!"

At the parent-teacher conference, Emery Carey's essay, My CEO Mom, won first place, earning thunderous applause from the class. But the mood soured when my daughter ran to me in tears, her cheeks marked with red handprints. "Emery hit me again. He said I don't belong in his class and spat in my face." I scooped her up and marched to the teacher to demand answers. The teacher brushed it off. "It's just kids' horseplay. Don't blow it out of proportion. Emery's mother is the CEO of Mills Group. Get the picture and pull your kid out. Don't affect the mood." I froze, shocked by the absurdity. Then I dialed my lawyer. "Prepare the divorce agreement. Olivia is leaving with nothing." She'd been using my money to fund her lover and his son. That betrayal would not go unpunished.