Good Adventure Books

I was reborn before I signed up for a scientific expedition tour to the South Pole. My boyfriend’s adopted younger sister used a system to forcefully exchange my physical senses with hers. She deliberately went out to do something good on a day with a temperature of 107.6 °F, like delivering water to the outdoor workers. On the other hand, I got so hot in a 60.8 °F air-conditioned room that I fainted from heat stroke. I begged Wendy Little to stop, but she feigned innocence. “You must make a good excuse if you want to lie like that!” Max Little sounded disdainful. “How selfish! You’re quite lucky to enjoy yourself in air-conditioned rooms every day. You can’t tolerate Wendy doing something kind.” Wendy took her time and basked in the sun for a month outside. People took photos of her and put them on the internet. Countless netizens were moved by her. But I died from heat stroke in an air-conditioned room. Nobody even found my corpse. If that was how it was, I wanted her to enjoy the coolness of -184 °F in the South Pole.

Giselle Shaw, the intern, has sent a five-dollar bonus to the company's group chat that has 500 members in it. I get crowned as the luckiest person for being able to claim 20 cents from the bonus. So, Giselle tags me in the group chat immediately. "Hey Rebecca! Since you're the luckiest person in the group chat, why don't you send a bonus here? There are 500 people in this group chat altogether, so you can just send 5,000 dollars here. "5,000 dollars isn't much for you, right? It so happens to be the bonus you've received from Mr. Gallagher because of the project you've secured. You can send us the bonus so that we can get some good luck from you!" The moment I refuse, Giselle begins playing the pity card in the group chat by claiming that she can't reap good luck for everyone in the company. My boyfriend, Vincent Gallagher, rushes into my office and starts berating me angrily. "Rebecca Campbell, just how stingy are you to not want to send a five-thousand-dollar bonus to the group chat despite being a higher-up in this company? You even made a young woman cry! Is this how you do things? "You'd better send a 50-thousand-dollar bonus to the group chat right now and write a five-thousand-word apology letter by hand! I want you to sincerely apologize to Giselle as well! Otherwise, I'll break up with you! You can forget about retaining your position in this company, too!"

On our wedding night, my fiancé's best friend barged into our room for the third time, claiming a wedding prank. Having had enough, I warned Sam Whitman that if we didn't consummate our marriage that night, it was as good as over. He glanced at my half-unbuttoned dress and dismissed my words as a tantrum. Then Candace Lombard stormed in for the ninth time, ripped off the covers, and livestreamed our intimate moments. Sam merely pushed me aside and told me to be understanding. She climbed into our bed, smirking as she claimed the spot between us. "Wedding night prank? I get it," I grinned, leaning into her livestream camera. "Alright, everyone, fire up those donations! I'm about to let my husband take a mistress live. Let's make it a show!"

The conference room had started leaking, so my fiancé, Zack Tim, and I moved to a hotel to continue discussing work. We had barely taken out our documents when the door was suddenly kicked open. “Welcome to tonight’s first live bust from the Cheaters on Catch team, a special Valentine’s edition! Just look at her and her plastic surgery. She has the face of a homewrecker…” Amidst my confusion, a storm of punches and insults came crashing down on me. Zack, on the other hand, was gagged, tied up, and dragged to the side. They tore up my contracts, ripped apart my custom-made outfit, and kicked my unborn child to death. The streamer clapped her hands cheerfully. “That’s it for today’s livestream! Client, don’t forget to leave us a good review.” If they thought they could walk out that door, well, I’d be damned.

In my dormitory, there was a poor student. With all the good intentions in the world, my roommates and I were eager to help her, not realizing how much our help would cost. She wasn't impressed by the hairdryer we offered, insisting on borrowing a branded one instead. The skincare products we gave her? They were applied to her feet. And, as if that wasn't enough, she specifically demanded luxury face cream. One day, I lent her my tablet to look up some information, and to my surprise, she secretly opened up my gaming app, spent all the diamonds and reward tickets I had saved for half a year, and left me empty-handed. When I asked her to pay me back, she turned the tables and posted a public message online, accusing me. "I'm just a poor student from the countryside, never played games before. Are the materials in the game really worth this much?" Before I knew it, the comment section was flooded with criticisms of me. In a fit of frustration, I fired back with a post of my own, throwing her into the spotlight. "Well, I suppose you've never tasted the bitterness of being cyberbullied, have you?"

It was only in the eighth year of our marriage that I discovered my husband had a mistress in the neighborhood. Her place had the same layout as mine, except her furnishings were more luxurious. He was a good husband for her, meticulously caring for his young and beautiful wife. They were even expecting a baby. She sent me a message, eager to get rid of and replace me. She had forgotten I was the one who had been through hard times with him, Clyde Sherwood, and fought alongside him for more than a decade. Her pregnancy was what they both wanted, but there was no way I would allow things to work out the way they anticipated. Taking advantage of his conflicted feelings, I made sure he didn't have any more assets. Everything came with a price. Not only would I make him fall from grace, but I would also make him rot in ruins.

My wife, Alisha West, has always been obsessively frugal. After marrying her, my single guilty pleasure became blowing money on luxury watches—almost like revenge for how absurdly tightfisted she was. By the time our daughter, Elyse Day, turned 7, she had inherited every bit of her mother’s penny-pinching nature. The two of them looked completely out of place in our sprawling mansion. And I loved it. I’d slip into my latest custom-tailored suits and watch them wince at my credit card statements, their expressions twisted in quiet pain. Until one day, lines of floating text suddenly appeared before my eyes. [This spendthrift idiot is still shopping? Doesn’t he know his wife’s company is about to go bankrupt?] [She’s been drained dry supporting this parasite. Her T-shirt collar is practically worn out from washing. Good thing the financially savvy male lead is about to show up and save her.] [Can’t wait for Alisha to file for divorce and kick this useless freeloader out. Let’s see how he survives fighting stray dogs for scraps under a bridge.] I slammed the limited-edition Richard Mille watch onto the table. Alisha, who was crouched on the floor breaking down delivery boxes for recycling, and Elyse, who was helping stomp them flat, both jumped in shock. A chill ran through me. I lunged forward, snatched the battered cardboard box from Elyse’s hands, and held it tightly against my chest. "No… no more buying. I’m returning this watch. "And these boxes… don’t sell them. I think we might need them someday… to lay out under a bridge when we’re sleeping outside…"

During a charity gala, my boyfriend bids on a pair of matching watches but gives one of them to his true love. The media excitedly capture the scene and ask, "You bought a million-dollar watch without even batting an eye, Mr. Loewe. You've been single all these years—is it time for you to make an official announcement on your relationship status?" Everyone off stage applauds him, and I join them. I give him my blessings for his so-called announcement. To make it up to me, he attends my birthday celebration. Yet he pushes me into the cake to make his true love happy. Unbeknownst to him, there's a steel rack in the cake to keep it steady. I end up bloodied and on the brink of death.

Although I've bought my mom the golden bracelet that she's always wanted, she still looks glum. "Honestly speaking, you really know how to take advantage of others. Previously, Henry treated us to some pancakes, but you still haven't wired him your share of the money." While I have yet to register the meaning of Mom's words, my cheeks have already flared brightly out of embarrassment. Mom continues, "Even though you've taken good care of our family, you're not as caring as Henry at all. In fact, you're no different than that of a caretaker." I feel as though someone has dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on me. My mind keeps buzzing loudly the whole time. Mom just rolls her eyes at me before picking out a gold necklace so that she can put it on Henry's neck. "Give this necklace to Henry. Think of it as your way of making it up to him." At that moment, my love for my mother finally dissipates. Hence, I give the gold bracelet to my wife, Evelyn Gilbert. Then, I call the movers to move the new furniture into my home before having my mother's targeted medication discontinued.

I once thought Jareth was the love of my life. He said "Mom's in the hospital," but then turned around and kissed Lily in the VIP seats at the concert; when his bipolar disorder flared up, he was violent with me, but then told Lily, "You’re such a good girl"; he had videos with Lily saved on his phone, and in the chat records, he called me "the cold, emotionless finance robot." Five years of love, ruined in his lies and betrayals. He thought I would cry and scream, but all I did was watch him finish his final act. When he knelt on the ground and said, "I was wrong," what I handed him was the merger agreement: "Sign it. This is the first debt you owe me." Those broken hearts will eventually turn into sharp blades that will pierce him. And I will rise from the ruins, living more beautifully than anyone else.