Emotional

On the night before our wedding, my fiancée's ex-boyfriend lost in three rounds of Truth or Dare. Round One was Truth. He had to confess the most intimate thing he'd ever done with the opposite sex. Rob Ross shot me a wink. "That scar on Dorothy's thigh? I accidentally bit her there." Round Two was Truth again. He had to reveal a secret no one else in the room knew. He blushed a little. "When Dorothy was fast asleep, I took care of her physical needs for her." Round Three was Dare. He had to kiss a lady in the room for a full ten seconds. Without hesitation, he turned and kissed my fiancée, Dorothy Bryant. Dorothy froze for a moment, then held the back of his head and kissed him back. As the room watched in shock, she pulled Rob behind a screen, and they proceeded to entwine passionately, oblivious to the stares. The entire room fell into a stunned, suffocating silence. Every pair of eyes swiveled toward me. They all braced for an explosive outburst. But when the pair finally emerged from behind the screen, still lost in each other, I was the first to break the tension by clapping enthusiastically. "Such being the case, why not make him the groom tomorrow?"

In my previous life, I, Ruth Spencer, fell seriously ill. Because of that, I managed to stop my husband, Zayne Colman, from going on a business trip to the country border. He immediately canceled his flight, pulled me into his arms, and gently comforted me. Over the phone, he gave instructions to my younger sister, Reagan Spencer. "The project comes first. You go in my place." But no one could have known that the so-called business partner was actually a ruthless scam syndicate. Reagan had her organs harvested and was tortured to death. I was devastated. Zayne held my frail body in his arms and hoarsely promised that even though Reagan was gone, he would still love me twice as much. And he kept his promise. For ten years, he never let me suffer at all. In fact, he spoiled me rotten. This went on until the day I gave birth. The pain nearly knocked me unconscious, but Zayne put his hand over the call button to prevent me from summoning help. The words he spoke were laced with malice. "If you hadn't gotten sick at such a convenient time back then, Reagan wouldn't have gone alone! I could have saved her. "It's your fault she's dead! She must feel so lonely down there. You and this bastard child can go keep her company!" That was when I finally realized that our love were nothing but a lie. When I open my eyes again, I am back on the day he is about to leave for that trip to the border. This time, I release them to the path leading to freedom, or, in other words, to hell.

When I saw my best friend tending to the elderly man upstairs with such diligence in washing his clothes, cooking his meals, feeding him medicine, and giving him massages, I immediately knew that she had been reborn, too. In my previous life, my best friend and I shared an apartment. We were often awakened in the middle of the night by the old man’s cough from upstairs. When I went up to check on him, I learned that his legs were paralyzed, and he had no children or family. Out of sympathy, I decided to care for him. I brought him his daily meals and gave him massages. A month later, out of the blue, the old man mysteriously handed me a bank card and said, “There’s eight million here. It’s my reward to you.” With that money, I immediately went and paid off my father’s medical bills. Later, the old man went even further and transferred the ownership of the apartment that we were renting to me. He told me, “When your father is discharged, move in together. That way, I’ll have someone to keep me company, too!” When my best friend learned of this, however, she went ballistic. During the few days I was having trouble sleeping, she had secretly spiked my water with a lethal dose of sleeping pills. She watched as I died in agony. After my death, my boyfriend, posing as my fiancé, cut off my father’s medical bills and took away the old man’s bank card. Meanwhile, my best friend spread slanderous rumors among the neighbors, claiming the old man gave me money because I had sold myself to him. Half a year later, the two got married and paid in full for a luxury apartment in the city centre. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that very day when the old man upstairs was coughing uncontrollably.

On the day we receive our bonus, one of the staff members of the finance department gives me 500 dollars worth of vouchers for the fast food restaurant downstairs. He tells me that my wife, Jillian Dunn, who is also the company's president, specifically ordered him to do so. In utter disbelief, I seek out Jillian and question her. "Didn't we agree that whoever secures the project will get a 50,000-dollar bonus? Stop messing around! I still need to pay for Freya's cochlear implant!" "I'm not messing around with you," Jillian answers seriously. "These vouchers can last you for a whole month. I wouldn't even give them to you if you were anyone else. "Money is tight right now at the company. Besides, Freya has been deaf for more than a decade now. She can survive being deaf for another decade." The next day, Jillian gives one of the interns a sports car that's worth 50,000 dollars. I look at the photo she uploads of her and the intern grinning widely as they sit in the car and give it a like. Jillian must assume that everything is proceeding smoothly since she has signed the contract. However, she misses the additional condition that's printed on the last page of the contract. I dial her rival's number, asking, "Ms. Swan, are you interested in Project Charlie?"

The butler's son took my secondary credit card and burned through my money so he could play the part of a trust-fund prince everyone envied. He made me, his employer's real daughter, bring him lunch every day and run errands for him. In front of his classmates, he smeared me as his family's servant and a desperate girl chasing after him. He even stole my family's heirloom jewelry to impress the campus belle. I finally hit my limit. I decided to give him a lump sum and cut ties completely, treating it as payment for the life-saving favor he once gave me. But after I brought it up, he and his father poisoned my family's food and seized every bit of our property for themselves. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my college classroom. Facing the butler's son, who was still flashing the wealth he stole from me, I took his card and cut it in half. "If you keep pretending like this, your butler dad's salary won't cover the act."

My younger sister, Sophia Ashford, got pregnant before marriage. To protect her reputation before marrying into a wealthy family, she abandoned the baby at our doorstep after giving birth. Our parents, Owen and Julia Ashford, begged me to adopt the child, Tom Ashford. Seeing how pitiful he was, I agreed. Raising Tom consumed nearly all my time and energy. I lost my original job and ended up washing dishes and carrying trays, juggling three jobs on my own just to survive. When Tom grew up and was accepted into a top university, Sophia suddenly returned, crying and accusing me of stealing her child. She had successfully married into a wealthy family and lived happily with her CEO husband, Sebastian Langford, for years. Now, she wanted Tom, who had already grown into someone accomplished, back. "She was the one who stole my baby! I finally found you, my precious child! Your CEO father is rewarding you with a million dollars for getting into university. Work hard and inherit the family business in the future!" Just like that, the son I had raised for over a decade threw himself into her arms without hesitation and cut off all ties with me. The situation spiraled out of control. Our parents were ashamed of me and kicked me out of the house. To prove my innocence, I drove to the police station to retrieve surveillance footage from back then, but I died in a car accident on the way. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I discovered the abandoned baby. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I called the police immediately.

During our New Year’s Eve dinner, I told my family that my company was not giving out year-end bonuses. The table went silent. Even the TV host counting down to midnight suddenly sounded grating. My husband and daughter slammed the table in frustration. “No year-end bonus?! How are we supposed to pay the mortgage and the car loan? I didn’t marry you so you could live off me!” “Other moms either buy designer bags or send money. You’re the most useless one. You can’t even bring home a $100,000 bonus.” My in-laws sat there with dark looks on their faces and said nothing. I looked at their self-righteous faces and felt a lump in my throat. All these years, every expense in this family was paid with the money I earned from late nights, overtime, and project commissions. But all they could see was the $100,000 bonus I did not bring home. “If you can’t make any money, then get out!” My husband grabbed my arm and pushed me toward the door. My daughter was not satisfied and kicked me on the lower back. I did not turn around. I took out my phone and booked the presidential suite at a downtown five-star hotel. My bank account had just received a $1 million dividend payout. It was true that I did not get a year-end bonus. But I got promoted to management. From this day onward, I would receive $1 million in dividends every year.

While studying abroad, I move into a shared apartment. Not a single day goes by without my housemate, Stuart Harper, calling himself some variation of a sweet, brave, and responsible guy. On the very first day he moves in, he hires workers to take out the insulation from the walls. I confront him about it, but he simply grins at me and proudly boasts about his decision. "That was all just some shoddy foam that the construction workers padded the walls with. Not only was it useless, but it was even taking up so much space. The fact that I forked out my own money to get rid of it proves that I'm such a sweet and responsible guy!" With a scowl on my face, I explain to Stuart the purpose of having proper insulation. He immediately leans in close with an admiring gaze. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea! I just wanted to do something nice for us. What should I do now? You have to help me think of something!" I naively assume Stuart just lacks common sense and doesn't act with malice. Thus, I willingly enter into a cycle of always cleaning up after his messes. One day, I get a fever. He ends up buying a secondhand electric slow cooker and declares he's going to take care of me by cooking me soup. My head throbs as I quickly put a stop to his attempt to heat the electric slow cooker on the induction stove. I tell him to let me catch a nap before I teach him how to cook later. But not long after I fall asleep, he secretly sticks the electric slow cooker into the microwave to heat it up. The microwave explodes. As the flames start to spread, Stuart screams and dashes out of the apartment at once. The fire alarm wakes me up. I try to evacuate the burning building, only to find that Stuart has locked the door from the outside. In the end, the fire burns me to a crisp. After that, however, he starts twisting things around. He goes online and says with a helpless expression, "My housemate set the apartment on fire while cooking. I'm the one who had to call the fire department on his behalf, and I even had to compensate the landlord for him. I'm definitely the sweetest, bravest, and most responsible guy to ever live!" As the online community proceeds to condemn me, Stuart uses the attention and publicity to go viral as a content creator. Some time later, my eyes open again. This time, I'm going to roast him good.

As the year ended and payday finally arrived, my salary still hadn't hit my bank account. I headed straight to the finance department to sort it out, but Sarah Thompson dismissed me impatiently. "You picked up those coupons last week, didn't you? The ones for "Spend 2,000, save 1,000". You got ten of them, adding up to $10,000. Your salary is $8,000, and that extra $2,000 is a perk." I stared at her, stunned. No one had said a word about this when the coupons were handed out. Worse, they could only be redeemed at our boss's supermarket, where commodities were ridiculously marked up. Items that cost $19.99 at a regular supermarket went for $49.99 there, more than double the price. It dawned on me that the boss was just shuffling money from one pocket to another, which meant I had been basically working for free. I shoved the coupons back at her. "I don't want these. Just deposit the cash into my bank account." Michael Wright walked over with a frown. "What's all the yelling? We gave you an extra $2,000, and you are not even grateful? You're stirring up trouble for nothing. You'd spend your salary on stuff anyway. We're just making it convenient." My voice rose, shaking with fury. "What you're doing is illegal!" He laughed, cold and scornful. "Then sue me. I manage things here. You think I'd be scared by a minor employee like you?" Right then, my phone buzzed with a text notification: [Lisa Matthews, congratulations on securing the Enforcement Officer position at the tax bureau.]

At the company team-building event, I got called out by my colleague Samantha Rowler for not removing my price tag—she accused me of being a "freebie chaser." "Oh wow, Carla, you drive a BMW 5 Series. Are you seriously planning to return your clothes within seven days too?" she sneered. I tucked the tag back in and ignored her snide remark. But after the event, as soon as I got home, my phone started blowing up. My chat apps were going insane. A friend had sent me a link: [Luxury-Car Executive Turns Out to Be a Return Addict!] Someone had filmed me leaving the price tag on and posted it to a short-video platform. I opened the comment section and was met with a barrage of insults. [Can't afford to live, huh? Tag warrior.] [Is this car a sugar-daddy gift? Those who know, know.] [OMG, does this woman have some kind of illness? Which brand is this so I can avoid it!] I immediately knew Samantha was behind it. I messaged her to delete the video. Instead, the next second, she blocked me—and pinned a comment to the top of the thread: [You can know a person's face but never their heart!] I was about to post a statement to clarify, my finger hovering over the send button, when I noticed the video's likes had already shot past ten thousand. I laughed. If they wanted a scene, fine—let's make it bigger. I quickly posted a new update: [The outfit is really nice. I'll wear it again next time.] The netizens erupted. The insults doubled, the heat skyrocketed, and the post shot straight to number one trending. I just put my phone down and went to sleep.