Emotional

Mom is diagnosed with a benign fibroid during her check-up, but somehow, she ends up getting her entire uterus removed, leading to her getting an infection and dying from it. With the surgical records in hand, I decide to sue the doctor for malpractice. But my wife, Anastasia Ziegler, who's also the director of the hospital, personally steps in to vouch for him. Enraged, I question her why. However, Anastasia just shoves me away coldly. "Your mom was already that old. What use did she have for her uterus? Louis' future is more important! Anyway, I'll waive the hospital bills. You'd better take down the court case, though. Don't embarrass me any further in the hospital." As I gaze at Mom's cold corpse, I can't help but chuckle. It turns out that Anastasia has no idea that her beloved side piece has killed off her actual mom, who had stayed widowed for many years.

Three years after our breakup, I ran into my ex-girlfriend, and she had her new boyfriend by her side. "Hey, isn't that Henry the expert?" Diego Stanley taunted with a smirk. "Three years post-breakup, and you're slumming it here playing with clay?" I furrowed my brow, ignored them, and carefully moved the Victorian-era porcelain musician figurine onto its preset base in the display case. When I wasn't biting, he reached out to grab the figurine from my arms. "What's this junk you're treating like gold? Let me take a look." Cynthia Wyatt frowned, her voice laced with that familiar arrogance. "Henry, I've given you three years to shape up, and you're still the same loser? Come on, hand over that clay doll to Diego. Don't kill the vibe. If you play nice, I might even reconsider our old engagement." As Diego's hand neared the figurine, I dodged quickly and barked, "Hands off! It's a historical artifact!" Diego got pissed off and shoved me hard. "Some flea market find, and you're acting all high and mighty?" In the ensuing scuffle, I lost my balance, and the figurine slipped from my grasp, crashing to the floor. That sealed their fate. This entitled pair was about to go bankrupt trying to fix it.

I die in the basement after being burned by acid. My family doesn't recognize me, and they don't call the cops. My mother picks up the scalpel that hasn't been used in years and debones me. My father excitedly mixes my skeleton with concrete and turns me into an exquisite statue. My sister uses the sculpture she's made out of my flesh and portrays herself as a genius sculptor whom everyone admires. Later, the sculpture is shattered, revealing half a broken finger inside. That's when everyone panics.

While inspecting the hotel owned by my family, I start to feel hungry after ordering some food at the hotel restaurant. Before the food is served, I munch on a small piece of bread roll for the time being. Suddenly, the lobby manager comes up to me and hands me a piece of paper. "Hello, sir. We do not allow outside food here. It has been 8 minutes and 30 seconds since you entered our restaurant. The total cost of your meal is 1,500 dollars. You'll be fined 1.28 million dollars." I am briefly stunned as I look at the piece of paper detailing the amount I should pay. Then, I take a picture of the piece of paper and send it to the group chat that has all the members of the board of directors. I tag my elder sister in the next message I send. "I've received a fine at the hotel owned by my family. Is this how you've increased the hotel's revenue?"

Two years ago, my mother forced me to break up with my boyfriend so I could take my sister's place and marry her blind fiancé. Two years later, my blind husband regains his vision. Then, my mother demands I return him to my sister. My father glares at me. "Don't forget that Ethan was Rosie's fiancé from the start! Do you think you're worthy of being his wife?" I'm about to die, anyway. Rosalie can have the position of being Mrs. Sadler if she wants! I'll wait to see karma after my death!

After two years of development, my game finally launched successfully. My wife had promised me a $75,000 bonus, but instead, she gave the entire $750,000 payout to her male secretary, Wayne. All she tossed me was a $50 grocery coupon. "You're just a stay-at-home husband," she said casually. "You don't spend much. Go buy some groceries and cook dinner." I stared at her in disbelief. "That money is for our son's transplant surgery," I said. "If it's delayed for even a few days, he'll die." Her expression did not change. "He's weak. If he dies, he dies," she said flatly. "At least you won't bring any more bad luck into the office and pass it on to Wayne." She turned away, her tone instantly brightening as she talked about taking Wayne out that night to celebrate with a lavish dinner worth tens of thousands of dollars. In that instant, my heart froze. She had forgotten one thing. The game might be registered under her name, but I still held the core encryption key. I picked up the phone and called a rival company. "You've been trying to get Genyxis's core technology for a long time, haven't you?" I asked calmly. "All I want is $75,000, and it’ll be yours.”

During the Thanksgiving holiday week, my husband, Caleb Whitman, keeps working overtime. I feel sorry for how hard he's working, so I take over all the household chores. While doing the laundry, I pull a food delivery receipt from the pocket of his coat. Everything on the order appears to be intended for a pregnant woman. It has bone broth, baked salmon, and fresh seasonal vegetables. It's obvious that everything was chosen with care. There's even a note that says, "For an expectant mother. Keep it low in oil and salt. Make sure the utensils are sterilized." The delivery was sent to a luxury apartment above Caleb's office building. I crumple the receipt, let out a cold laugh, and deliberately call him during lunch. "So, when's the baby shower for your kid? Don't forget to send me an invite."

I had just won the Hawthorne Scientific Laureate on the international stage when my father called me back home. "Bring the betrothal gifts to the Hayes family. That childhood engagement should finally be fulfilled." Afraid of getting stuck in traffic, I took my modified motorcycle, carried the national heritage porcelain obtained through generations of the Keane family's military merits, and headed toward their house. Just as I arrived at the community gate, a Porsche suddenly cut across the lane, nearly knocking me over. A heavily made-up woman, Zoey Mercer, stepped out of the car, raised one sharp high heel, and kicked the top box off my motorcycle. "You rode this junk motorcycle yet dared block my way? If you dent my car, your whole family won't be able to afford the compensation!" My heart sank. I quickly opened the case, only to see the entire box of celadon porcelain shattered. "So you’re just some delivery guy. Think this pile of trash is worth even one of my shoes? "You even know whose neighborhood this is? It belongs to Kingshore's Hayes family! My best friend’s family developed this place! Believe it or not, I can have you thrown out right now!" Right then, my fiancee, Lauren Hayes, called me. "Where are you? My friend just messaged me saying there’s a delivery guy causing trouble at the entrance."

My daughter, Vivian Montiago, is born with a heart condition. To protect her, I decide to spend 200 million dollars on building a prestigious preschool for her in the company's park. I don't want her to be lonely, so I also decide to allow the other employees' children to attend the preschool for free to keep Vivian company. However, on the first day of preschool, Vivian's smartwatch alert keeps going off. When I rush over to the preschool, I find out that Vivian is all tied up and left to die under the hot afternoon sun. Her skin is red and blistering, and her lips are purple as she teeters on the edge of death. "Are you all blind? Call the ambulance!" I yell in anger, grabbing Vivian and rushing out of the place. However, Hailey Lester, my husband's secretary, gets in my way. "You seduced my husband and birthed an illegitimate child. How dare you try to get away without being punished?" she screams, slapping me hard in the face. "I'm telling you that this preschool is a gift to me and my son from Rhett! And you're not allowed to step out of this place without my explicit permission!" "Her life is in danger! We'll talk about that later!" I exclaim, not wanting to argue with her. However, she kicks me to the ground and says, "So what if his bastard daughter dies? He can have a daughter with me if he really wants one!" The company employees don't seem to care about Vivian's health condition at all. They point at me and say, "Ms. Lester is Mr. Montiago's beloved wife, and she also owns this place! You're nothing but a homewrecker trying to take advantage of the free preschool program. Get down and apologize at once!" Fine. Since everyone is as blind as my husband, Rhett Montiago, in realizing who the real deal is, I decide that I am not sparing a single one of them.

My twin sister, wanting to be with her thug boyfriend, secretly planned to apply for a junior college. When I could not talk her out of it, I told our parents and managed to stop her. However, just a month into the new semester, her thug boyfriend cheated on her. She left a suicide note, blaming it all on the long distance between them. She wrote that if she had gone to that junior college, her boyfriend would never have cheated. Grief‑stricken, my parents turned all their rage on me. "You wretched girl, this is all your fault for meddling! What business was it of yours which school your sister went to? Even if she didn't go to college, we could still support her. We didn't need your big mouth!" "If it weren't for your spiteful tongue, your sister wouldn't be dead!" "We were cursed to have a vicious, unfilial daughter like you!" They locked me in her room, ordering me to repent. Then they took her ashes on a trip, saying they wanted her to see the beautiful mountains and rivers she never got to visit in life. A month later, they returned from their travels to find me long dead, starved to a withered husk in front of my sister's photo. Their eyes held no grief, no guilt, only a faint, scornful curl of the lips. In their eyes, my death was nothing more than justice served. My broken soul saw their icy expressions, and despairing tears burned my eyes. Then my sister's familiar voice rang out again: "What business is it of yours which school I go to? You're just jealous that I have a boyfriend, aren't you?"