Emotional Inflammation

After I was reborn, I dumped the cheating bastard and married his older twin brother. But as it turns out, I still picked the wrong man. In my past life, I married Maxwell Vaughan, the younger twin. Not long after our wedding, he started sleeping with Kelly Sloan, the maid's daughter. For her, he set the house on fire while I was sleeping. I woke up burned beyond recognition. Amoura, the world-famous lingerie brand, dropped me overnight. Just like that, my modeling career was over. This time, I chose Charlie Vaughan, the older twin. We were in sync and deeply in love. I thought I'd finally made it, that I'd rise to the top and become the supermodel I was meant to be. But the night before my Amoura runway show, my face was burned again. Charlie uncovered the truth quickly and had Maxwell arrested. For a moment, I thought I'd made the right choice this time. Six years later, I overhear something I was never meant to hear as Charlie tucks our sons, Declan and Dylan Vaughan, into bed. "Dad, Uncle Max already took the fall for Kelly. So why did she have to leave the country? Couldn't she have stayed here with us?" "Yeah, Dad. We still want Kelly to be our mom. We hate that freak!" Charlie pulls Declan and Dylan into his arms. His gaze softens with sorrow, then hardens with quiet resolve. "I already betrayed your mom once for Kelly. I'll spend the rest of my life to make it right." A rush of emotion surged through me, the pain cutting deeper than the fire ever did. For six years of marriage and eight years of love, I've been nothing more than a joke. Only now do I see it—Charlie loved Kelly all along, just like Maxwell did. Our marriage was nothing more than a matter of convenience. Even Declan and Dylan call me a freak and wish Kelly were their mother. If that's how it is, then so be it. I'm done with all three of them.

After half a month of nonstop overtime, I secured a contract worth over ten million, pulling the company back from the brink of collapse. My boss, Richard Gray, was overjoyed. At the celebration party, he called me the pillar of the company and announced that he would reward me with a bonus. However, when the end of the month came, and I opened my payslip, I froze. Negative 250 dollars. A negative commission? I actually owed the company 250 dollars? I immediately called the finance department, asking if there was a mistake on my payslip. They replied, "No mistake. This is the cost calculation formula that Mr. Gray personally instructed us to use. He said you'd understand once you saw it." I went straight to Richard for an explanation. He laughed. "The contract that you signed, after factoring in the concessions, upfront resources, and hidden expenses, left the company with a net loss of 150 thousand. Since the loss was due to your personal decisions, you're responsible for five percent. That totals to 7500. "Considering how hard you worked, we deducted it from your base salary first. But your salary wasn't enough, so you still owe the company 250. Don't worry. The company treats its employees well. We'll write that off." Soon after, he awarded 100 thousand dollars to the newly arrived intern. I watched the newcomer, probably connected to Richard, cheerfully treat the entire company to dinner with her bonus, and something inside me just snapped. From that day onward, I did the bare minimum. I clocked in. I clocked out. Nothing more. Later, when a critical project went catastrophically wrong and the company faced a colossal compensation demand, Richard came begging me to fix it. I just smiled and said, "Sorry, Mr. Gray. I've already resigned. If there are any problems, you can ask the intern who got the 100 thousand dollar bonus to handle it."

My husband's ex-girlfriend left behind a cat that could nurse my daughter like a woman. I turned on my camera and livestreamed this horrifying scene. The stream instantly went viral, and people approached me offering high prices for the cat. When I agreed to sell it, my husband went crazy, clutching the cat and screaming that it could not be sold. Even my sister-in-law, who had always doted on me, furiously yelled at me for being brainless. In my previous life, I accidentally discovered the cat in our house nursing my daughter. I was terrified when I saw my daughter's satisfied expression! What made me feel even more horrified was that the cat's chest area had no fur at all. It was smooth and delicate, like a nursing woman's. Moreover, this cat usually either bared its teeth at me or scratched me with its claws. Every night, it slept in my husband's arms. Thinking of all this made my skin crawl, and I immediately decided to throw the cat out. Unexpectedly, my usually gentle and refined husband became incredibly frenzied. "I raised this cat with my own hands. It's no different from my child! If you dare throw away my cat, then we're getting divorced!" My sister-in-law also urged me to keep the cat. She even gave me sleeping pills, claiming I had been under too much stress lately. That night, my daughter died in my arms, and I also died in bed from excessive grief. Only after my death did I learn that the cat was my husband's ex, and my daughter was the medium for her life exchange. Their true purpose was to steal my body. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day I was just discharged from the hospital.

Five years after Mom and Dad died, my sister, Miley Jenkinson, sent me away to a residential treatment center to "fix" me. She flung my luggage at me and roared, "You love fighting so much, Delia? Then, stay here. Maybe I'll come back for you once you've learned to behave." Next thing I know, Miley's sworn enemy is beating me senseless. Meanwhile, Miley loses it on the other end of the line. "Fight back! Why aren't you fighting back?" My gaze is blank as I say, "Because you said fighting made me one of the bad ones."

My ex-fiancé made me do a blood test the night before our wedding. The next day, he threw the genetic report on my face and dumped me over defective genes. The reason was that the Zimmer family only wanted perfect heirs, and he said that I was not worthy. He broke off the engagement, and instantly married the girl-next-door with perfect genes. Five years later, he reappeared in the hospital, clutching his ill son. He saw my daughter who had similar rashes, and he thought I had given birth to his daughter in secrecy. Little did he know that my daughter had nothing to do with him and only had a mild seafood allergy. I would not be defined by the so-called defective genes again, while me and my daughter live happily and healthily, it was their turn to be destroyed.

The wife of the richest man, Andre Walker, in town needs blood desperately after suffering from complications in childbirth. Upon realizing that she has a rare blood type, which I share, I don't hesitate to lend her a helping hand. In order to thank me properly, Andrew decides to gift me a villa located in the heart of the city as well as 30 million dollars in cash. My roommate, Vera Hawthorn, who always rides the high horse of morality, is pissed off when she finds out about the rewards. "Your blood is a part of your body! What's the difference between you selling your blood and selling your body? I can't imagine just how filthy and disgusting you are right now! "That man already has a wife, and yet you still throw yourself at him! You're no different from a homewrecker!" In my previous life, I was filled with shame after hearing Vera's brainwashing reasoning. Not only did I turn down Andre's rewards, but I also cut off all ties with all men in my life. Since then, I never attended any classes conducted by male lecturers, which resulted in me flunking many subjects even though I was about to graduate. So, the head of my department decided to delay my graduation. Left without a choice, I begged Vera to help tutor me in my studies, only for her to post my desperate visage on the Internet. "What an idiot! Independent women must solve every hardship they come across in this era! Don't you feel ashamed for asking me for help? "I can't believe you failed this many subjects! If I were you, I'd just kill myself!" The video went viral on the Internet. My desperate expression was made into a meme, which circulated around the Internet like crazy. Meanwhile, Vera became a famous influencer because of this incident. That night, I suffered from a mental breakdown and took my own life by overdosing on pills. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day I'm about to donate my blood.

When I get mutilated by the killer, my Mom, who works as a forensic doctor, is currently shopping with my older sister, Winona Langdon. After the killer gouges out one of my eyes, he unlocks my phone and sends Mom a video call invitation. But the video call only rings a few times before Mom rejects it. When the killer tries calling her again, he finds out that my number has already been blocked. He merely shoots me a mocking smile in return. Once the police have discovered my body, Mom can't help but curse at the killer for his brutality after seeing how badly I was decimated. But what she doesn't recognize is that the twisted-looking corpse actually belongs to me, her unloved daughter.

After failing the SAT, my parents had kicked me out and sent me overseas to work, forcing me to earn money to support my younger sister's college education. I had worked abroad for ten years, sending almost everything I earned back home. When the first song I wrote was released, it gained a bit of attention. Around that time, my childhood friend, Ian Swain, flew in from overseas just to find me. "Lexi, I didn't know your family sent you here to suffer like this. From now on, you won't have to face it alone." He had registered our marriage with me abroad and stayed by my side while we worked. I had been deeply moved—I shared every song I wrote with him and even let him manage my accounts. That was, until I overheard a conversation between Ian and my family. "Ian, isn't it a bit wrong for you to keep giving me the songs she wrote? What if Lexi finds out?" "Relax. Back then, when your family handed me her college admission letter, she didn't suspect a thing. Compared to that, this is nothing."

While presiding over a transnational meeting, I received a distressing call from my daughter's kindergarten teacher. "Mrs. Payton, a kid drew a massive clown on Anna's face during nap time! No matter how much I try to wash it off, it won't come off!" I immediately rushed to the kindergarten. My daughter, Anna Payton, was sobbing at the door. Her usually fair and tender face was now red and swollen. The clown drawing on it was particularly eye-catching. The new teacher was so panicked that she was crying herself, her voice trembling. "The parent of the other child is in the office. They said they're willing to compensate any amount, but... But there's no way you can make their son apologize." My anger surged as I kicked open the office door. However, I instantly froze in place. In the office, my husband, Arlo Payton, who was supposed to be in Swizor for a year of intensive studies, was holding up the bully. The next second, the little boy in his arms pointed at Anna and laughed. "Look, Dad. Clownface is here!"

The new intern in the unit had to be chronically incompetent. He handled my mother's post-surgery medication and somehow mixed up the drug. He gave her a potent blood thinner. That night, she died from a hemorrhage after her operation. Before I could even accuse him, the intern had his puppy-dog eyes ready. "I'm sorry, Dr. Benford, but I thought that was the drug you wanted me to mix. Who was I to question my superior's order?" Then the hospital director, who was also my wife, chimed in, "Your mom is the idiot for taking her meds without checking. She brought this on herself." I was so enraged that I had a heart attack, which meant I had to undergo surgery in the same hospital. The intern insisted on redeeming himself and assisted Victoria during the operation. He could not even thread a needle because his hands kept trembling. In the middle of the procedure, this medical fraud removed his mask and wet the end of the surgical thread to force it through. I died in the ICU the next day. The cause was a bacterial infection. As I neared death, I heard the intern whine through tears, "How could I be so careless? If I weren't so clumsy, Dr. Benford would have lived." Victoria gently ruffled his hair. "Don't take it to heart, pumpkin. Everyone knows how risky medical procedures can be. You're just starting out, so don't be so hard on yourself." Because of my wife's efforts, both my mother and I were cremated without any investigation or disciplinary action. You would think that was the end. It wasn't. The next time I opened my eyes, I was back on the day Hugo Spencer first joined our hospital as an intern.