Emotional Inflammation

The factory had just finished expanding when my wife insisted on bringing her older brother in as our driver. The very next day, my brother-in-law sold my $45,000 business car to a used car dealer. Not only that, he had the nerve to lecture me. "You're just a small business owner," he said. "Driving a car this expensive is a waste. You might as well sell it and buy gold for my sister. At least that'll appreciate in value." I swallowed my anger and tried to explain. "I've never treated her poorly. I've never missed a holiday gift. Compared to what others spend, driving this car is already modest." He flew into a rage instantly. "You still dare talk back? My sister gets treated like a maid by your mother every day, and you pretend not to see it. "Driving a luxury car, pretending to be rich, probably thinking about keeping a mistress. As long as I'm around, don't even think about it. "In my family, women handle the money. You'd better transfer all your assets to my sister." I turned to leave, but he punched me straight in the eye. When my wife rushed over, she did not defend me. Instead, she scolded me for looking down on her family. While I was being treated for my eye injury, she even allowed her brother to sell all the gold and expensive watches in our house. They used the money to buy a car for his son and even sold the house just to show off their wealth. Meanwhile, she went online and complained about how miserable her married life had been. I was so furious I was speechless. In the end, I called the police. Since they were so eager to get their hands on my money, I decided they would not get a single cent.

I got a security job in an upscale neighborhood.  One day, I got a call from a resident.  “I think there’s been a break-in.”  I rushed to the scene. Instead of an intruder, I was greeted by a beautiful woman in barely anything.  She held me and pleaded, “I’m scared. Can you stay with me?”

My sister, Winona Clarke, was stabbed to death by a thug in order to save me. My mom, Amber Green, does not want my nephew, Sonny Cohen, to suffer. So, she suggests that I marry my brother-in-law, Kenneth Cohen, and take care of the father and son. For Sonny's safety, I end up on the verge of death due to Kenneth's relentless and merciless torture. Just then, Winona, who should have been dead, returns! Her arm linked with a millionaire's, she boasts to me, "Thank you for putting up with that maniac and sticking around until he died. Not only did you help me raise Sonny, who has Super Male Syndrome, but you even made it possible for me to inherit all of Kenneth's assets through Sonny." Sonny joins Winona in belittling me and even spreads rumors that I killed Kenneth. Because of her lies, I become notorious online and eventually die while being the subject of everyone's criticism and ridicule. The heavens must have taken mercy on me, for I am granted a second chance at life. Now, I am back to the day Mom wants me to marry Kenneth.

The day I died was the same day as my twin sister’s birthday party. She was in tears and was wrapped up in my boyfriend’s arms. My mom was seething with anger and kept calling me over and over again. My brother was clearly upset and sent me a text saying, "You’re so selfish. You just can’t stand to see anyone else happy." Even my usually quiet dad was furious and said, "She’s nothing but an ungrateful brat." I touched my chest. Thankfully, it did not hurt anymore.

I'm the daughter of a gang leader. The thing is, I never liked violence since I was a kid. All I want is to live life like a regular person. Upon realizing that I'm still single despite being 28 years old, Dad issues me an ultimatum and forces me to go on a blind date. Otherwise, he will never acknowledge me as his daughter. Soon, I arrive at the location of the blind date. When I walk past a luxury store, a handbag happens to catch my eye. Just as I'm about to pay for it, a woman pops out from behind me and slaps a black card onto the counter. "I'm buying that bag, and that's final! Wrap it up for me!" I tell the woman nicely, "Miss, I'm the one who wants to buy this bag first." Unexpectedly, the woman begins berating me arrogantly. "A broke bitch like you only has the right to feast your eyes on this bag! Now get lost! I'm the secretary of Mr. Cohen Campbell, the CEO of Skyreach Corp! No one in this city has the guts to fight over the things that I want with me!" Cohen Campbell? Isn't that my blind date partner? I pull out my phone and call him right away. "Cohen, do you have any idea that your secretary has a habit of using your name just to bully others?"

Right after finishing a meeting, I opened a forum and saw a warning post. The location tag was our company. The title read: “Red flag! What a cheap company. Anyone who joins is a total sucker. They can’t even afford a decent coffee break.” The photo attached showed the expensive coffee and five-star desserts I had just asked my assistant to distribute to everyone. I frowned and tagged the entire group chat, asking if anyone had suggestions about the afternoon tea. A Gen-Z intern who had just joined, Julian Hayes, instantly replied with a voice message: “Boss, no offense, but these assembly-line desserts are full of trans fats. Nobody would eat them.” “A truly humane company hires a Michelin chef to cook and slice everything fresh on site. That’s what real respect for employees looks like.” I laughed in disbelief. Our company’s daily coffee break budget was thirty dollars per person—already considered top-tier in the industry. So I replied, “Since it’s impossible to satisfy everyone’s taste, we’ll cancel afternoon tea from now on and convert the budget into cash for everyone instead.” Less than five minutes later, that post was updated: “Guys, can you believe this? I made a perfectly reasonable suggestion and the lame boss immediately canceled the whole coffee break perk! This is the true face of corporate greed—can’t handle even a little bit of honesty!”

My younger sister and I were born twins, yet from the very beginning, our parents had zero fondness for me. My sister was the family's good-luck charm, while I was hailed as the harbinger of misfortune. I was blamed for every calamity, while she got all the credit for every blessing. Even after my death, I heard them say, "If we had abandoned her at birth, or even ended her life then, none of this would have happened." I had once tried desperately to win their approval, only to be met with cold indifference. When I finally secured a coveted civil service post, they celebrated me for the first time in my life. I naively believed that I had been acknowledged at last. But then, they said, "Give your job to your sister. She needs it more." At that moment, something inside me completely died. I tried so hard to cling to the hard-won proof that I was not the family's misfortune, yet even that slipped through my grasp. In the end, I lost everything, even the life they had never once cherished.

On New Year's Eve, my girlfriend of three years, Gina Jarrey, invited me to her place for dinner with her family. Before I could even take a bite, she drugged me and left me half-conscious. She mumbled, "If we don't pay them back, they're going to cut off my brother's hand. I had no other choice but to hand you over. Don't blame me for this. You're just unlucky for having a face identical to the man Ms. Carmelia Sanders is obsessed with. Once my brother's gambling debts are cleared, you might even end up living the high life. It's a win-win!" My mind drifted in and out as her entire family handed me over and sent me to a mansion that looked eerily familiar. First of all, unless I was mistaken, this place belonged to my aunt. Second, she had an extreme brother complex and had never liked any man other than Dad. And finally, years ago, a distant relative of mine got sent off to work in the mines in Frongo just for rolling his eyes at Dad. So really, who was the unlucky one getting delivered to my aunt's doorstep? Oh my, what a tough mystery to solve.

"Ms. Smith, a complaint has been filed with HR. You have been accused of misusing your personal vehicle for unauthorized commercial activity." The administrative manager dropped a printed copy of the so-called joint complaint onto the desk, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. The company had decided to issue me a fine, placed a formal warning on my record, and revoked my performance bonus for this quarter. I stared at the handwriting on the complaint, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. I recognized it instantly. It was Selena Rogers. The same coworker who had been hitching rides with me to and from work every day for the past three years. It was all because of last night's storm. She had insisted I take a long detour to drive her to the mall so she could pick up her boyfriend, and I had said no. Then, in the break room, Selena's voice carried loud and clear. "Jennifer, I didn't have a choice. "We have to keep work and personal matters separate. The transportation stipend from the company isn't for you to make extra money." Around us, coworkers glanced over, whispering and pointing, as if they had completely forgotten how eager they once were to ask for a ride home. I took a slow breath. "Fine. I accept the company's decision." Then I pulled out my phone and made a call. "Mr. Wallace, I won't be renewing the lease on those two vans. "Yes. The ones that have been picking up and dropping off the admin and sales teams every day, free of charge." For three years, I had been the easygoing one, paying out of my own pocket every month to lease those vehicles so my coworkers could treat it as a perk. If that was now considered unauthorized business activity, then from this day on, everyone could figure out their own way to get to work.

"Eve Spencer, I just got into an accident. I hit someone, and I think he's your son!" The day after getting her driver's license, my best friend, Esther Lawson, insisted on driving alone to pick up her son from kindergarten. I warned her that the road was full of heavy trucks and told her to practice a few more days. She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. I'm a great driver!" She floored the gas pedal and sped off. Not long after, she called me. She was crying so hard she could barely breathe. She said she hit a child at the kindergarten. The boy's face was covered in blood, and he looked like my son. I froze. My son had a fever today. He didn't even go to kindergarten. So who had she hit?