Really Good Actually

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.

My sister accompanies me when I go for my premarital medical checkup. When I'm preparing a urine test, I hear embarrassing sounds coming from the cubicle next door. I'm about to leave when I hear the conversation. "Keep it in you, Willow. We're doing this again if it slips out." The voice belongs to my fiancé, Zachary Hilton. The woman to whom he's speaking is Willow Langley, my sister. I dial his number hysterically to see whether it really is him, but my calls go unanswered. All I hear is the incessant ringing of a phone next door and moans alongside it. I'm rooted to the spot, too stunned to do anything. Zachary once vowed to love me for life, yet he's doing something like this with Willow prior to our wedding. The moans and pants next door take a long time to subside. Once I hear them leave, I call home, my face wet with tears. "Mom, change my husband-to-be to Thomas Hilton, Zachary's youngest uncle. I don't want to have anything to do with Zachary anymore."

My wife, Charlene Weber, has taken me to the Scumbag Court. If I'm found guilty, all my assets will be taken from me, and I'll face 10 years of imprisonment. Charlene, on the other hand, will get to marry her ideal man—Joel Quinlan—as she wishes. If I'm acquitted of all charges, Charlene will be made to divorce me without alimony. She'll also be cursed with bad luck and disfigured so badly she'll be the ugliest woman in the world. Conversely, I'll be given 10 million dollars in reparations and gain a lifetime's worth of good luck. Everyone is advising me to admit to my mistakes, but only because Charlene has always been a virtuous, devoted wife in their eyes. They think that there must surely be some complicated grievances between us at the moment. However, they are unaware that I've been reborn. This time, I'm going to tear off Charlene's mask of hypocrisy.

At my wedding, a video of my fiancé cheating was exposed. I didn't make a scene; just turned around and walked away, left him to clean up the mess himself. I went back to my room and kissed my younger boyfriend. We were halfway through when we got interrupted. My fiancé stormed in, face red with shame and rage. "Is this really the time? All you can think about is kissing?" I smacked my lips, still savoring the moment. "Weren't you the one who introduced us?"

My wife—Nancy Valente—had been "missing" for three months after some fake skiing accident. I spotted her at a bar. She was draped over Finley Bennett's shoulder, laughing like she hadn't wrecked my life. "Good thing you came up with this plan. I almost forgot what freedom felt like." Her crew kept clinking glasses, asking when she planned to pop back up. She glanced down. "Maybe in a week. I'll show up once he's lost his mind." I stayed in the shadows, watching her bask in her little escape act. Then I grabbed my phone and called a buddy at the Vital Records Office.

This story is about the forbidden love of not only a Witch and Werewolf but a lesbian couple. It takes place in good New Orleans. Tala, witch and Luna, werewolf both undergo so much pressure in both their communities and when it is discovered they are not only interspecies but lesbians there they must really fight hard to sustain their love.

A week after I gave birth via C-section, Mark Whitman invited his friends over to celebrate the birth of our son. The crowd was boisterous—more than a dozen people. Not one of them bothered to remove their dirty shoes. The wooden floor was soon covered in muddy footprints. Mark came into the room and, without a hint of concern, ordered me out of bed. "Everyone's waiting outside. Don't just hide here and rest—you're embarrassing me in front of our guests." I had no choice but to push through the pain, forcing my body to prepare a huge meal for the large crowd, all on my own. When I carried the final bowl of steaming soup to the table, Lily Hoyte—whether intentionally or not—jabbed her hand against the wound on my abdomen. My hand trembled from the sudden pain, and the bowl slipped slightly, spilling the hot soup onto Lily's shoes. Mark's face darkened instantly. "What the heck did you do, Cammy? Lily rushed here right after her plane landed from overseas to see our son, and this is how you treat her?" The crowd quickly chimed in. "Come on, Cammy, no need to be so petty." "Mark and Lily grew up together. If there was really something between them, do you think you'd even be here now?" "Do you even know how much those shoes cost? They're limited edition—easily over ten thousand dollars. And you just ruined them." Lily stood up awkwardly, her eyes misting with tears. "If Cammy doesn't like me," she said softly, "then I'll leave. I don't want to be a bother." But Mark grabbed her hand in an exaggerated display of protection, his voice harsh as he turned to me. "Wipe Lily's shoes clean. Right now." His partiality for Lily made something sharp twist in my chest. My lips quivered as I fought back tears. "The wound on my stomach hasn't healed yet. I can't bend over." At that, his expression grew colder. "Don't use childbirth as an excuse. If you can't bend over, then kneel and wipe them. And if you won't, get out of my house!"

After her divorce and a series of toxic relationships, Margot Simmins ... not her real name ... was done. Free-spirited, and a hippie at heart, she never wanted to be attached to anyone or anything anymore, not even for a job. She works as a freelancer, and resorted to one-night-stands for a free, no strings attached, good lay, for one night only. No drama and life were good. And then she met Richard, who seemed reluctant to join in her fun, not having a clue that he was actually a very well-known reclusive billionaire that will change her life forever.

My husband, Matthew Glover, fabricates a scandal to help his childhood sweetheart, reporter Melanie Reed, boost her numbers. "Mrs. Glover Sleeps Around—Multiple Affairs Lead to Repeated Miscarriages." He uses it as a gimmick to grab attention. Next thing I know, my name's in the mud and the internet's tearing me to pieces. When I bring up divorce, Matthew says I'm blowing things out of proportion. "Melanie just started at the TV station. If she doesn't deliver, her coworkers will laugh at her. You're just doing her a favor. It's not like you're actually losing anything." I don't even bother arguing with him. I simply push the divorce agreement toward him. "If you want to help her, go ahead. But we're getting divorced!"

My best friend and I married the Luther brothers. I married the older brother, a legendary specialist in childbirth. My best friend, Autumn, married the younger brother, the CEO of a pharmaceutical company. On my birthday, my husband’s crush, Kirsty, scared me into early labor by sending me the carcass of a rotten, dead cat. Autumn rushed me to the emergency room. The doctors had their hands tied as I went into premature labor with a case of amniotic fluid embolism. With the last of my strength, I turned to my husband for help. Instead, I was berated. “So I missed your birthday. Do you have to make a big deal out of it? Why are you lying to me? Kirsty’s pet dog is having puppies. I need to help with the birth, so stop getting in the way!” Later, Autumn took charge and operated on me. I managed to pull through, while my baby was rushed to the ICU. Autumn tearfully called her husband, pleading for the specific medication produced by his company. “Kirsty’s dog is struggling in labor. I’m making a nutritious meal for it. You sure are good friends with Bella to take turns stirring up a fuss. Don’t you have anything better to do than act out in jealousy?” In the end, I lost my child. My heart shattered into pieces. “I want a divorce, Autumn.” “I’m with you! The cheating bastards don’t deserve wives.” We filed for divorce, and the brothers panicked.