Plot In A Story

I'm a nationally certified animal trainer running the Lion King, Caesar's final assessment. I've barely stepped into the enclosure corridor when the steel guillotine door slams down behind me. My wife's laughter crackles over the loudspeaker. "Everyone, we're doing the ultimate challenge today! We're locking the so-called number-one animal trainer in the Lion King's enclosure and taking bets on whether he wets himself in ten minutes!" Caesar crouches low and rumbles a warning. I reach for my tranquilizer gun but stop cold. The liquid isn't the right color. In a phony sing-song voice, the veterinarian, Hugh Archer, says, "Lucian, I forgot to mention, I swapped your tranquilizer darts for pepper spray so you won't hurt Caesar by mistake. "You two are so close. Just win him over with love!" I look at Caesar, his eyes bloodshot from the stimulant, and it clicks. Hugh still resents that I stopped him from touching a tiger with his bare hands a few days ago. I tune out the trash blaring over the loudspeaker, pull a remote from my pocket, and hit the button. It's the master switch for the electric fence gates around every predator enclosure in the zoo. If I don't make it out, no one does.

For snacking in the office during overtime, I was fined 600,000 dollars by my manager! She was extremely furious as she pointed at me. “Taylor, don’t be so arrogant just because you’ve secured a deal! “You should be working in the office. Go home if you want to eat! “You’re violating company rules. No snacking during working hours! You should be punished since you’re aware of that rule! “You won’t be getting the 600,000-dollar commission from this deal!” I looked at her and said indifferently, “Suit yourself.” Then, I decided to slack. She could not stand it.

I'm the top salesperson at a tutoring center. Payday comes, and my commission is 50 cents. I'm so furious that I march straight to my boss to demand answers, but his secretary, Sasha Watson, steps in front of me. She digs through her pocket, pulls out 50 cents, and flicks it straight at my face in front of everyone. "Here's your 50 cents!" My ears ring. Heat crawls up my neck and into my skull. "Ms. Watson, this has to be a mistake. I closed 1.5 million dollars on my own last month. My team pulls in over three million dollars. My commission should be at least 200 grand." Sasha rolls her eyes. She reaches into her wallet, pulls out a dollar bill, and slaps it against my cheek. "Stop barking! Fine, I'll throw you a dollar. Keep the change!" I'm about to lose it. "My mom is still waiting on that 200 grand for her surgery. Without it, she could die." The coworkers around us start whispering. "50 cents? For the top salesperson? That's insane!" "Lower your voice. She's the boss's niece! What she says goes. Unless you want to get fired, pretend you didn't hear anything." I turn away, pull out my phone, and dial our biggest competitor. "I'm in. Five million dollars a year."

My mother-in-law competed with me over everything. When she found out I was trying to get pregnant, she went as far as to use a folk remedy to get pregnant as well. It was a molar pregnancy, but she still flaunted it in front of me. I told her that it was a medical condition that needed immediate treatment or it could develop into a tumor and endanger her life. Nonetheless, she insisted that she was carrying a few gorgeous babies. I convinced my family to forcefully take her to the hospital, but my mother-in-law never forgave me. She pushed me off a balcony out of hatred, killing me. When I opened my eyes again, I found out I had been reborn on the day she first announced her pregnancy.

I've been dating the country's most eligible bachelor for two years. My base salary is $2 million, with bonuses based on performance. Holding hands costs $10,000, putting an arm around his waist is $20,000, and a kiss on the lips is a bit pricier at $50,000. As for certain bedroom activities, well, those come with a whole different price tag. Brad is fair-skinned and handsome, appearing only once a month – he's practically a walking Tiffany's diamond. Life is so sweet, it's easy to get complacent if you're not careful. One night, a DM popped up on Instagram from a stranger. "If you trust me, check your boyfriend's phone." "?" "I'm his girlfriend." "Am I the third party or are you the third party?" "You're third, I'm fourth." "Let's meet and talk details."

After my granddaughter is bullied by her classmates, the bully's family not only refuses to apologize but behaves arrogantly as well. Since they have connections in the city, the school doesn't dare intervene. I turn to the police, but they only urge me to let it go. The bully's family even boasted that they have people in the court, daring me to sue them. With every path to justice cut off, I have no choice but to take out the two Medals of Honor left behind after my son and daughter-in-law died in service, and kneel at the gates of the military compound. Six years ago, when the general personally delivered those medals to our home, he'd said, "Your son and daughter-in-law gave their lives for the country. They are heroes, martyrs, and the pride of our nation." But now, I want to ask him again. Why is it that when a martyr's daughter is bullied, no one protects her?

I help my students gain admission to top state art academies, yet my boss, Sebastian Emerson, withholds every cent of the pay I earned from 24 consecutive days of overtime. When I confront him in anger, he accuses me of stealing 120 thousand dollars in training fees from the students. "Honestly, being poor is no excuse for being shady. And having disabled parents doesn't give you the right to steal. "You've got two days to pay it back! Otherwise, I'll make sure you spend a few nights in jail, and I'll even inform your parents!" When a student calls, he snatches the phone and starts screaming, "There's no money! All your tuition went into buying your art supplies! If you've got a problem, go ahead and sue me, brat!" Meanwhile, Jayla Buckley, who is curled up in his arms, keeps placing order after order of Chaennal haute couture without the slightest hesitation. Watching the two of them colluding so shamelessly, I grip my attorney license in my pocket until my knuckles ache. Take it to court? Litigation? That's my arena. And I'll make sure both of them end up exactly where they belong—behind bars.

My family was supposed to be the richest of the land, yet I had to refund even a cheap delivery. Why? In my previous life, my housekeeper's daughter got her hands on a trading system. Every cent of money I spent would be hers. She started trying to guilt-trip me into donating to all the impoverished students in her school. It was charity anyway, so I signed a check worth 300 grand. The moment I did, that money became part of her savings, and the amount on my check was zero. Everyone called me names, called me a charlatan. Even the boy toy I spent good money on broke up with me. That girl used my money to donate to charities and became the kind and beautiful heiress. She told everyone I was the housekeeper's daughter instead. Furious, I grabbed my black card and started shopping like crazy. I wanted to prove I was the real heiress, but the balance in my account was cleared immediately. That girl then spent 1.2 million right away, like it was one dollar. She scoffed at me. "Don't try to act like you're rich when you're a broke loser. Your mother doesn't make enough as a housekeeper." The Internet decided to hunt me down. I could not handle the stress, and my mind broke. For some reason, my body withered away at a blistering rate. Before my father could save me, I drew my last breath. When I opened my eyes again, I returned to that fateful day. The day the housekeeper's daughter made me donate to the school.

Kate Horton tries to comfort a depressed patient with suicidal tendencies to make herself look good. However, all she does is aggravate the patient so much that he jumps off the building. Kate cries and says, "I only wanted him to know how much his mother loved him…" To help her get away with it, my boyfriend and professor conspire to make me her scapegoat. I'm cyberbullied, fired, and betrayed by everyone I know. In the end, the patient's family even push me off the balcony. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the day when Kate tries to save the patient. I'm going to stop her—she's the one who deserves to die, not innocent others!

Queenie Livingston, my best friend whom I have cared for over the years, gives me a bottle of perfume. I immediately turn around and pour its contents down the toilet. In my previous life, that perfume made me sprout hair all over my body and reek. I was shunned by my colleagues, and my then-boyfriend and superior, Preston Zimmerman, wasted no time in dumping me and hooking up with Queenie. I desperately sought medical treatment back then, but with nowhere left to turn, I died in utter agony and despair. Only after my death did I learn that the grotesque condition was caused by the perfume Queenie had maliciously tampered with. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the exact day Queenie gave me the perfume.