Emotional Blackmail

I was a top-tier heart surgeon. The kind they gave a government-issued black SUV with diplomatic plates—armored, red-light-skipping, cleared-for-anything kind of ride. I parked it at my fiancé Marco Varonetti's place so he could keep it in shape. Bad call. One day, I got an emergency call: heart transplant for the Chancellor—yeah, that Chancellor, the one with state secrets ticking inside him. I rushed over to Marco's to grab the car. Right as I was about to leave, some rando slid into the back seat like she owned it. "Mall first. I need a mani," she barked. "Then get the ice cream Marco ordered. If it melts, I'll kill you." Excuse me? "This is my car," I said, trying to stay chill. "I've got a critical airport run. You need to get out." She rolled her eyes. "You're just the driver. Open those eyes and check the plate." Then the maid chimed in. "Everyone knows Mr. Varonetti takes Ms. Caro out in this car. Nobody says a word." I froze. Marco used my federally issued SUV... to chauffeur her? This wasn't just messy. This was criminal.

While taking the high-speed train home, I came across a post online. “My brother-in-law is pushing thirty, but no wedding bells so far. Would it bother you if he came back to visit all the time?” The comments were all over the place. With the post blowing up, the poster started arguing with commenters. “It’s bad enough that he doesn’t start his own family, but he took one of my yogurts. I can’t stand him. “Geez. Does he know nothing about keeping boundaries? I’ve been dying to put him in his place. “I converted his room into my walk-in closet. Well, that should show him for staying here.” At that point, I stopped reading. Since I paid for the family home back then, one room would always be reserved for me. As I stepped off the train, my mother texted me. “I booked you a room at the hotel, Miles. “You might want to skip staying home this time.”

Two months after I died, it finally occurred to my parents that they'd forgotten to bring me back from their trip. My father scowled in frustration. "She was supposed to walk back herself. Does she really need to make such a big deal out of it?" My brother, ever smug, opened our chat and sent an emoji, along with a message. [You'd better die out there. That way, Scarlett and I will split Grandma's inheritance.] He received no reply. With a frosty expression, my mother said, "Tell her if she shows up for her grandmother's birthday on time, I'll let the whole pushing-Scarlett-into-the-water thing go." They never believed I hadn't made it out of those woods. After digging six feet into the ground, they finally found my bones deep in the forest.

In the biggest bar of Gryndon, my younger sister, Evonne Bradford, is tossed onto the middle of the stage like a plaything. The men beneath the stage keep arguing with each other. At the moment, Evonne's complexion is as pale as a sheet. She can only stare at her fiance, Simon Scottman, in disbelief, who's sitting in the middle of the bar. "Simon, I'm your fiancee! How could you treat me like this?" Simon leans over to kiss the dainty-looking woman in his arms on the lips. Then, he shoots Evonne a cold look. "You don't even know who took your virginity, yet you still have the guts to question me?" The woman in Simon's arms just titters delicately, but the contempt in her eyes is plain to see when she looks at Evonne. Meanwhile, I sit in my booth, my gaze already icy. All it takes is three years of my absence in this country, and already someone dares to harm a member of the Bradford family.

“Carys, can you relieve me?” I turned beet red as Bryan squirmed in distress, sweat soaking his face. Little did I know, there was more to the harmless-looking man I had always seen as a brother.

My wife, wanting to spend a romantic birthday date with her first love, added a dose of sleeping medication to the milk bottle of our sick, crying daughter. The medicine took effect, and our daughter drifted into a deep sleep, which allowed them to enjoy a romantic, undisturbed date together. When I came home, I found our daughter still sleeping. By the time we arrived at the hospital, it was too late. I called my wife, but she answered with irritation. "Is it because I'm celebrating Shawn's birthday that you must ruin it? I'll go home after the celebration is over." Then, she turned off her phone. Little did she know that, for the sake of one romantic date, she had taken our daughter's life.

Astrid was aware that her daughter, Coco, loved her father. The problem was that the father, Isaiah, did not love her, nor did he love Coco; he only ever allowed Coco to address him as uncle. After Isaiah dismissed the three chances Coco gave him, she decided she was going to leave him for good. It was only then that Isaiah changed his mind and started pleading desperately, “My dear, I want nothing more than to hear you call me your father.”

The night before the annual gala, my wife promised me a big surprise. But the very next day, she publicly quintupled the marketing manager's bonus. To me, she just gave a curt nod and a half-hearted "keep up the good work". When I questioned her decision, she brushed it off casually. "You've racked up some impressive wins in court. I'll give you that, but let's be real. Without Kevin hyping you up, you'd never have hit top-tier status. Plus, what's mine is yours. Why nitpick over a bonus?" The room buzzed with anticipation of my explosion. But I held my tongue till the gala ended. The next morning, I marched into her office and slapped my resignation letter down on her desk. "Might as well tack my salary onto Kevin's. Consider it my wedding present to you." She erupted, branding me as narrow-minded and dooming me to the unemployment line. She conveniently overlooked my track record as a powerhouse attorney. For that alone, elite firms were lining up to recruit me.

My insanely wealthy parents always tell me that they came from a poor background. As their children, my siblings and I mustn't waste our lives away on fun and games. They set up a trial for me by requesting that I submit an application in advance for all expenses that are over 50 cents. On the day I'm supposed to take my SATs, it's raining heavily outside. Since my exam venue is located 18 miles away from home, I decide to submit an application for a 100-dollar Uber fee. But my dad slaps me in return. "We used to scale over mountains just to get to school back in the day! Don't think you get to enjoy the perks of transportation just because we have money!" After that, he empties my pockets before kicking me out of the house. I end up all sprawled on the muddy ground while feeling raindrops pelting on me relentlessly. When I finally reach the exam venue on foot, I notice the news being played on the huge screen across the street. It turns out that my parents and William Gentry, my older brother, have spent ten million dollars on a popular band to celebrate my adopted sister, Selene Gentry, earning a passing grade on her math test. Apparently, passing her math test is her trial.

The supplementary card I've issued for my grandmother shows that an eight-thousand-dollar purchase has taken place in another city. But the transaction records show that the money is used on hymenoplasty. I'm shell-shocked, to say the least. Grandma is 84 years old this year. She's been bedridden and paralyzed for years. Why would she even get hymenoplasty done on her, to begin with? But when my investigation leads me to a plastic surgery hospital, I find out that my wife, Stella Watson, is actually the lead doctor of said clinic. So, I call her to demand answers from her. However, Stella refuses to answer my questions properly. "Don't worry, honey. Something's most likely wrong with the system. Betsy is already this old—why would she have her hymen repaired?" That's just a bullshit answer coming from her. She seriously thinks I'm gullible enough to believe her. I merely huff coldly in return before calling my dad, who works in the Department of Commerce. "Dad, Stella is most likely cheating on me. I want her plastic surgery hospital as compensation for my impending divorce!"