Emotional Deep Drawings

I was locked in a fridge for 40 days while the uncensored photos of me spread like wildfire across the internet. In the face of the salacious rumors about me, my mother reacted by reposting them. Then, she turned to warn my sister, "Look at how disgusting the entertainment industry is. Don't join it, alright? Stay home and inherit your sister's assets instead. My dearest daughter must be innocent and pure, unlike her." She forgot. She forgot I only joined this 'disgusting' industry to pay for her cancer treatment.

I was the top engineer at the National Deep-Sea Institute—and the only person in the world with real deep-sea rescue experience. When my younger brother's submarine went down and he called for help from 35,000 feet below, I hung up on him. Then, calm and unhurried, I went straight to the police station and turned myself in for leaking classified research data. A few minutes later, my father called, furious. "Your brother's life is hanging by a thread—where the hell are you?! I demand you to get to the site and save him right now, or you won't see a single penny of the family fortune!" I pulled the blanket over myself and said into the phone, perfectly composed, "Busy. Don't bother me—I'm trying to sleep."

I had everything planned a month in advance for our holiday. I was going to take my wife and daughter on a trip to see the country's beautiful landscapes, but just before we were supposed to leave, they both disappeared. I ended up standing alone in the pouring rain, trying to call them. My daughter's voice came through over the phone—it was cold and impatient. "Mommy's having dinner with Uncle Skyler. We don't want to go anymore." Right after that, the call was cut off. I had been blocked. They locked me out of the house on purpose and left me to freeze out there all night. The rain had already drenched me, and I was running a high fever that turned into pneumonia. Meanwhile, the two of them were off enjoying a vacation with Skyler Shire. That was the moment I knew—this marriage was well and truly over.

After my father-in-law, Oswald Leyton, is diagnosed with a complicated form of heart disease, I rush to Germasia for an intensive training on the most advanced medical technique just so that I can operate on him and treat his condition. When I return home after the training three months later, I gleefully find my husband, Nicholas Leyton, to tell him about the good news that I have mastered the technique. The plane lands. However, the luxury car that should have come for me turns out to be a broken-down van instead. Someone throws a sack over my head, and I can hear Nicholas' cold laughter next to me. "Did you have lots of fun with your boytoy overseas for the last three months, Victoria Rosewood?" After he and a few other men force themselves on me multiple times, Nicholas slides open the door, planning to abandon me in the wilderness. "Nicholas! You can't do this to me! I'm pregnant…" I try to explain myself, throwing myself at him despite all the cuts and bruises on my body. However, Nicholas gets even angrier after hearing that and forcefully shoves me aside. I feel an excruciating pain coming from my lower abdomen. Warm, sticky blood starts flowing down my thighs. Then, my vision blacks out, and I lose consciousness altogether.

My younger twin sister, Emma Lawson, is everyone's favorite because she is sickly. A snowstorm traps us on the mountain and the rescue helicopter arrives with room for only one more. I have terminal cancer and am ready to let Emma take my place. Then she suddenly clutches her head and cries that she feels dizzy. My whole family rushes to her side and together they push her into the cabin. My husband, Leon Ziegler, touches my fractured arm and says, "Sarah, you'll have to wait for the next helicopter." My daughter, Daria Ziegler, even throws a snowball at me. "Aunt Emma is sicker than you. Stop trying to take her spot." Only when the helicopter takes off do I see Emma pressed against the window, smugly sticking her tongue out. She has been lying the whole time. When I am finally rescued, the doctors tell me I have three days left to live. I decide to trade everything I own for a small piece of my family's affection.

My childhood friend, whom I hadn’t contacted for years, kept calling nonstop during an important meeting. After the meeting, he spoke in a sharp tone. “Do you think you’re too big for your britches? I’m getting engaged and you’re not even coming back to help out. Do I have to invite you?” I was representing my country at an international scientific forum, so I could only decline politely. Unexpectedly, he turned all haughty. “Fine then. If you’re not coming back, then just send me a gift with four circles and I’ll let it slide. Four circles? Thinking he meant ten thousand with four zeroes, I immediately agreed. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you ten thousand dollars as a wedding gift.” “Ten grand? Who the hell are you kidding? “My wife is the eldest daughter of the Jeffersons, the most prestigious family in Cirrus. Only the most distinguished people are on the guest list. Seeing that we’re old friends, I’m letting you attend. It’s your great honor!” He cursed angrily and sent me the invitation. I was struck dumb the moment I opened it. My aloof ice queen of a wife, who kept strangers at bay, was locked in a passionate kiss with her arms wrapped around my childhood friend’s waist. “Four zeroes, huh? How about four wreaths?” My gaze darkened as I clutched my phone. Four funeral wreaths ought to count as four circles, too!

I go to the boutique my son has invested in to pick up the gown I've ordered for a banquet. Just as I'm about to leave, the manager, Wendy Reed, stops me and says that I still owe them money. She pulls out the bill. I look down at it and see that the boutique is charging me 300 thousand dollars for their creativity, 500 thousand dollars for fabric therapy, and one million dollars for their chief designer's mental wellness. On top of other expenses, the price totals up to two million dollars. I laugh incredulously and send a message to my secretary. "Withdraw our funding from my son's company and this boutique!"

During the holiday, my six-year-old son received his cleft-lip surgery. He wore a mask and sat quietly in our family bookstore, engrossed in a picture book. A young man came in, pinching his nose dramatically as he swaggered up to the manager. "Why did you let someone with an infectious disease in here?" he demanded loudly. "Get them out!" The manager winced. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I don't have the authority to remove other customers." Undeterred, the man marched up to me. "Be wise and get out of here. My girlfriend is Imogen Slater, CEO of the Slater Group. You don't want to mess with me." I froze in stunned silence. Imogen despised all men except me, and this guy claimed she was his girlfriend.

One year had gone by since my husband got married to me. I went back to the company for a celebration party. I'd just taken my seat when a woman with a Cartier ring around her finger splashed a glass of red wine in my face. "That's the chairman's seat, you slut! Who are you? How dare you take his seat!" The guests surrounded me and grabbed my hands and feet. Someone even kicked me down to the ground. I held my fury back. "I'm the chairman's wife! Matthew Grayson is my husband!" The woman yanked my hair and sneered at me. "So, you're the bitch he's forced to marry. He's already generous enough, letting you marry him. You live on his money, and now you're trying to steal his place and be the boss. I know sluts like you know no shame! Guards, throw her out!" I laughed mirthlessly. The man who leeched off me thought he could call the shots now. Still, I kept my fury in check and called his number. "Hello, Matthew. Did you tell everyone I lived on your money and that you're the boss of the company?"

My sister pulled a knife during a robbery attempt, and we got into a brutal fight. My mom, an auxiliary police officer, arrived at the scene but totally ignored my injury. As I lay in a pool of blood, begging for help, she just cradled my sister and yelled at me, "You're so desperate for attention that you'd hurt your sister? How did I raise a heartless monster like you?" She branded me as the aggressor, ignored my pleas, and rushed my sister, who had mere scratches, to the hospital. I was left alone to die miserably in that deserted alley. When the news of my death arrived, my mother dismissed it as another one of my lies, pointing at my body and demanding I get up to apologize to my sister.