Good Guy Names

On Valentine's Day, I suggest going to a restaurant to celebrate, but my boyfriend, Michael Nelson, refuses. He says impatiently, "Why should we celebrate some lousy holiday? I don't want to waste good money on it." He turns around and happily chats away on his phone, completely absorbed in the conversation. Then, I hear the system's notification going off in my head. "Congratulations. You have received 2,860 dollars." This means that Michael just transferred 1,430 dollars to his side chick. He doesn't know it yet, but I have a system. It's called the Infidelity Cashback System. Every time he spends money on his other woman, I get double the cashback in my bank account.

Maxine Alcott knew she’s different. Her senses are sharper than everyone and every full moon, the color of her eye's changes. Still, she did her best to hide her indifference and tried to live a normal life. One night when she attended an engagement party, she met her college friend who are now living successfully with each perspective lives. Jealous, Maxine lied to her friends that she’s also doing good with her job and with her non-existing boyfriend. When they asked her who her boyfriend is, Maxine used the name that she heard from her mother from a very long time ago. “Chandler Wayne. He is the owner of WayHoRix corporation.” Chandler Wayne and WayHoRix. These are the names that her mother murmured before dying. Maxine thought there will be no harm in using names which she doesn’t know is existing. However, the Chandler Wayne from the clan of WayHoRix werewolves, whom she thought isn't existing, is at the same party. In a world where humans have no idea that a group of werewolves co-exist with them, how will Maxine deal with her lies, the wolves who’s been looking for their mate for a long time, and at the hidden secret of the beasts?

Valentine's Day. I was stuck on ER duty at Brighton City Hospital. Theodore Madoff, who was supposed to be working late, strolled in carrying his student—Cecilia Kuntzer. She had red marks everywhere and that smug little smirk. "Relax, Mrs. Madoff. Just stomach pain. Lucky me, Prof. Madoff rushed me here." Theo pushed me to treat her. Turns out? She was pregnant. From rough intercourse. And the dad? Theo. My husband. The same guy who'd sworn off kids with me for ten years. Felt like a punch to the gut. But I still saved her baby. Next day, she uploaded a video—ID in hand, cheesy PowerPoint, accusing me of malpractice. Claimed I killed her kid. Then Theo asked for a divorce. Priscilla—his mom—stormed the hospital, shrieking about her dead grandbaby. She brought a mob. All these "righteous" strangers who stabbed me to death. Right there in the ER. I died with my eyes wide open. Then—bam—I woke up. Valentine's Day. Again.

At the factory, my arm is pulled into a machine. After the surgery, the factory supervisor tells me it's my fault. Because of my arm, the machine has to be shut down for repairs, and every day of downtime will cost them millions. "Someone has to take responsibility for this, Zachary," the supervisor tells me. "It wouldn't make sense to demand millions from you, so just compensate us with 300,000—that's all." Under their threats—and my family's desperate begging—I sign the IOU for 300,000. With one arm gone, I can no longer find a job. All I can do is collect trash to repay the debt. While picking up bottles outside a restaurant one day, I hear the factory supervisor laughing and bragging inside. "Actually, that one-armed guy didn't violate any rules. In fact, the HQ gave three million dollars in compensation. My house and car? All bought with that money," he said. "I mean, who'd ever find out? With that debt hanging over him, he's probably already run off somewhere." Shaken by the news, I stagger onto the street. A truck roars out of nowhere, slamming into me and throwing me 16 feet across the road. When I open my eyes again, I had returned to the day I lost my arm.

My best friend was obsessed with playing the part of a socialite, always chasing after rich heirs. When she saw posts online about guys making money over the summer by 'renting themselves out,' she decided to copy them. Two thousand for a hike. Five thousand for a dinner date. Twenty thousand for a trip. The prices kept climbing. I was worried she would run into the wrong kind of people, so I tried everything to talk her out of it, to keep her from walking straight into trouble. Later, the wealthy guy she had her eye on went public with another influencer who had built the same 'socialite' persona. She took it out on me. Sold me to a nightclub. I was abused in every way imaginable until I died. There was not even enough left of me to bury. Then, I opened my eyes again. She was already scheming: "Guys like that can make 500 just tagging along on a hike. I'm way prettier. Charging 2,000 isn't too much, right?"

I just closed a deal worth 50 million. The room did its job, so I went to the reception to check out, and I got myself a bottle of water worth 2 dollars. That very same day, I got an email from the company accusing me of misusing company funds. They canceled three months' worth of KPI from my records and fined me 5,000 dollars. I ignored that, thinking that it was a mistake some new guy in finance made. When I went to work the next day, my access card was denied. It was canceled. I couldn't even get into the building. Furious, I called my CEO fiance, but his secretary took the call instead. "How many times do I have to tell you to follow the rules when it comes to money? Did you tell finance about that bottle of water? No? Then that's against the rules! Everyone else follows the rules, so why can't you? You're a veteran!" The CEO chimed in, "Christina, you're a veteran of the company. You must be an example. You're not allowed back to work until you finish your 8000-word reflection and read it out loud at the all-employee meeting!" They tossed the phone aside, and a moment later, moans of delight and passion traveled through the air. Stone-faced, I hung up and called our competitor's CEO. "I've got a 50-million-dollar deal and a sales manager who just got fired for you. Are you taking that deal?"

On the day that I returned to the country, Lola Lawson, the one who was once the love of my life for ten years, sent me a picture of a baby. She told me to think of a name and meet her at the city hall to register the baby, as she had prepared a welcome-home gift for me. So, I rushed over with bags full of baby supplies. But when I arrived, she and her girlfriends were bent over with ridicule and laughter. "I told you! Even though he was gone for a year, he's still a loyal lapdog! Just a wave of my hand and he'd even be willing to raise someone else's kid for me!" She sized me up with mocking amusement. "Kevin Sheraton. How could you still be this naive? Just one joke and you come running?" They laughed without any restraint, calling me names and hurling insults, saying I'd do anything for Lola. But when I walked past them and took a number to register my own child's birth, and later wrapped my arm around my wife as the three of us took a family portrait, Lola's eyes were completely reddened with tears.

I'm the heir of the York family in Yarrowdale. My parents request that I choose either June Langley, my female bodyguard or Jasmine Turner, the low-income student that my family has been sponsoring as my wife. I had had a crush on Jasmine for a long time. On the day I was supposed to draw lots, I tampered with the box and chose her as my wife. But after we got married, Jasmine plotted to let the butler's son, Marcus Lockwood, take my place as the new heir. Just like that, I fell from grace and became the impostor that everyone looked down on. Then, I was cast out of my own home. Jasmine then introduced Marcus and their illegitimate child into the York family. Her actions gave my parents heart attacks, leading to their deaths. Before my death, I witnessed Jasmine gifting the Yorks' shares to Marcus. She even shattered my parents' urns just to appease him. "Tristan, you had spent your life in luxury. Now, it's Marcus' turn." When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day I'm meant to choose my wife by drawing lots. This time, I've changed the names on both lots to June Langley, my loyal bodyguard.

"Does riding a horse feel good?" The saddle jolted beneath us as the horse trotted along. I steadied myself by holding the slender waist of my friend's alluring wife. Her skirt fluttered constantly in the wind. My friend was in a nearby house, completely absorbed in a card game—while right in front of him, I was out riding a horse with his beautiful, delicate young wife…

My husband's childhood sweetheart took the Cullinan I gave him for a midnight joyride. One person ended up critically injured. He wired half a million euros from the family account to hire a fall guy, then flew her to Switzerland for a ski trip. I called him from outside the operating room, desperate. "Your father is dying. Authorize the surgery, now!" He laughed, her head on his shoulder in the video call. "Using my father's health to lie? Sofia, you've crossed a line." The line went dead. The heart monitor flatlined. Later, at his father's funeral, he raged, swearing to find the killer and make them pay. I looked at the gathered family elders, then pointed at the trembling woman behind him. "The killer is right there. The one you paid to protect."