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My parents were award-winning teachers, having nurtured countless outstanding students. However, I had always been the last in line, failing every single class. After yet another gentle warning from my homeroom teacher, my dad finally snapped. "How did I end up with a kid this dumb? You're deliberately trying to torture me, aren't you?" He disappeared for three days. When he returned, he had a boy with him. "From today on, Josh is the only true child of this family. You are no longer allowed to call us Mom and Dad. "Get out! You'll only earn the right to be my son once you can actually pass your exams." The next time I saw them was at the hospital during a check-up organized by their school for all the staff. The head of guidance recognized me immediately. "Yale? Isn't this Shane from your family? "He works here now. And Josh's condition, there's hope for him! You should have him contact the new Dr. Cunningham right away." Seeing me in my white coat, my dad's expression shifted again and again. "This kid… switched jobs and didn't even tell me." I subtly used my coat to cover the badge hanging on my chest. It read: Department Director: Asher Cunningham

I went to visit the set where my chaste fiancee, the award-winning actress Whitney Lockwood, was shooting her new movie. When I heard she was shooting a bed scene, I frowned but still agreed. However, her scene partner, a young actor named Yarden Stein, could not get into character. Whitney grew impatient. She said they should do it for real. I stopped her and said they could use a body double instead. She slapped me across the face and glared at me with teary eyes. “Yale, this movie is very important to me! I have to make sure it’s perfect! Or do you think my first time matters more than the career I love most?” In the next second, she tore off all her garments and climbed onto the young actor without hesitation. She turned to look at me. Her eyes were full of sorrow. “I’ll imagine Yarden is you. Then, it will be no different from being with you.” I watched them slowly prepare for the scene. I heard the clapboard snap as filming began. My face stayed blank as I made a phone call. “Blacklist Whitney and Yarden. Anyone who still hires them will be making an enemy of the Foster family.”

My fiancée was infamous in Culberra for being a heartbreaker. She had countless ex-boyfriends, and only stopped fooling around once she started dating me. However, we had only just planned to get married when her first love returned from overseas. Everyone mocked me, saying that I was a fool for thinking that I'd be any special. Unbeknownst to them, however, I'd long since gotten sick of playing the part of a lovesick idiot.

My wife, a doctor, treated our daughter like a walking blood bank. When our daughter passed away, she took it even further. She transplanted her corneas into her old flame’s son. Before our daughter’s body was even cold, she was out having dinner with her ex and his son. They were celebrating that the boy could see again. She even went so far as to secretly burn our daughter’s body to get rid of any evidence. By the time I got there, all I saw was my daughter's ashes being swallowed up by the flames. I told her I wanted a divorce. She just sneered, “It’s only a daughter. Are you really going to divorce me over this?” But later, she was down on her knees, begging me not to leave her.

Misty Lawrence has an ex-boyfriend whom she can't forget—Zach Sterling. Carter Flanagan has always hoped that he would one day replace Zach's place in Misty's heart. In the eighth year of his and Misty's marriage, he accidentally breaks a bowl that Zach randomly bought. Misty screeches, "Get the hell out of here! I don't want to see you anymore!" That's when Carter realizes he'll never win when it comes to Zach, especially since the latter is dead. This time, he prepares a divorce agreement and leaves after signing it. It's Misty's turn to panic…

Ever since I married Myra Cowan, I started living like a beggar despite making an annual salary of a million dollars. She kept telling me, "We should hang in there for now, honey. Once we've saved enough money, we'll be able to live however we want without worrying about our financial situation." My closet was stuffed with old suits bought ten years ago. My lunches were always sandwiches, which were nearing their expiry dates, bought from convenience stores. My friends made fun of me for marrying a woman who was addicted to saving money. But my heart went out to Myra for suffering with me in life. But when I was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer and needed money for a life-saving surgery, Myra broke down in tears and told me that all of our savings were kept in a fixed-term deposit. Before I drew my last breath, I heard Myra telling her younger brother, Dwight Cowan, over the phone in a gentle tone, "I've already transferred you the down payment for your house." When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Myra demands that I sell my gaming account in exchange for money. The monitor shows a familiar login screen. Myra can be seen standing next to me. "This account can be sold for 8,000 dollars. We can save three months' worth of expenses with this money!" I just laugh in response. In my previous life, I had done nothing but save money. In the end, all of my money became someone else's assets. Why the hell should I save money in this life? With just one click on the mouse, I reload a million dollars into the game right away. Immediately, a reddish-golden meteor shower covers the skies of the entire server. The system makes an announcement in a bold, enlarged font that gets repeated for a long time. "Player 'Void' spares no expense, inviting fair maidens from across the realms to forge a destined bond! Those who are interested are welcome to attend the Celestial Lake Gathering. A bride price of one million awaits—offered in exchange for a single, sincere heart."

The New Year was just around the corner. While I was doing a thorough cleaning, I stumbled upon something beneath the couch. It was a damp, used condom, and it still had a faint lipstick stain on the edge. One thing I was sure of was that I didn't use this brand, but the lipstick color? It matched perfectly with my girlfriend Lindsey Stirling's.

When I'm paying the pension for my jobless wife, Lilith Ingram, I accidentally find out that she's had a job this whole time. She's paid a salary of two thousand dollars, which is wired into her personal bank account. Every month, the money will be transferred elsewhere, leaving her without a single cent. I've never seen the money before. Back when our daughter, Maisy Ingram, was severely ill, we were 200 dollars short to pay for her hospital bills. I was so poor that I had to sell my blood and beg everyone around me just to get them to lend me money. But during that time, Lilith never thought of sharing the burden with me. She merely comforted me with empty words before transferring two thousand dollars to her first love, Hayden Grant, the next day. Our marriage of 30 years is reduced to nothing but a laughingstock. I place the divorce agreement that I've printed out in front of Lilith. It's a silent confrontation between us. "Must you really resort to this method?" Lilith snaps impatiently. "It's just two thousand dollars! You have an annual salary of 200 thousand dollars! Why care so much about chum change?" Even Maisy takes her side by calling me a petty, stingy geezer. "Everyone has an unattainable first love when they're still young! You should be grateful that Hayden has been holding back his urges without crossing the line for so many years!" I feel as though I got struck by lightning at that moment. It's then that I belatedly realize I'm the only outsider in this family. "Getting a divorce is fine by me. Hayden's getting on with the years. I just want to take care of him and send him off when his time eventually arrives." Maisy adapts a righteous tone. "As compensation for me, I get the house, the car, and the savings. You're leaving this marriage without a single cent under your name."

At midnight, I accidentally stumble upon the boss' daughter, Julianne Carter, pleasuring herself in the dimly-lit adult store. Her eyes are blindfolded, and her legs are spread on a special chair, where they are propped up on the arms. At the moment, she's cruising through the waves of pleasure uncontrollably. But when the chair malfunctions, Julianne is unable to free herself from the restraints no matter how hard she tries. That's when she starts calling for help. "Please… Please help me…" But I crouch down instead, allowing my fingers to glide across her thighs, past her calves, and back to her inner thighs. "Don't move. This chair's mechanisms are very complex. I need to study them thoroughly and slowly." "P-Please… hurry up…" I watch as Julianne's expression shifts from embarrassment to yearning. She finally stops struggling against the restraints when she breaks down from all the overwhelming sensations. "Give it to me… Please give everything to me…" Just as I'm about to yield, I hear the sounds of the boss, George Carter, opening the door coming from the outside. So, I quickly wheel Julianne into a nearby storeroom. That's where I see hyper-realistic molds that look exactly like Julianne.

On the fourth day after our son died, I decided to end my military marriage. Before that, I spent three days taking care of what remained of him. On the first day, I tricked my wife into signing the cremation papers. On the second day, I went to my son's school and collected the textbooks he never had the chance to use. On the third day, I prepared a table full of his favorite dishes and begged my wife to come home so we could celebrate his birthday one last time. She agreed. Then she turned around, claimed she had a mission, and spent the entire night setting off fireworks with her childhood sweetheart. That night, I sat beside my son's memorial photo and ate alone. The next day, she came home looking guilty and handed me a brand new backpack. She said it was a gift for our son to use at school. She did not know that our child would never live to see his first day of school.