Vlad Hotel Transylvania 3: Summer Vacation

My dormmate falls in the dorm and sends the rest of us the hospital bill. She wants us to compensate her. "I only fell because you guys left a puddle of water at the door. It's only right that you compensate me, don't you think? It's not much—you each just have to give me a thousand dollars to cover the checkup, medication, transport, the classes I missed, and the mental distress I suffered." I exchange looks with my two other dormmates. All three of us politely decline. That's when she goes berserk. She screeches threateningly, "Do you know who my father is? I'll make sure you guys can't graduate if you don't compensate me!"

On Christmas Eve, my six-year-old, Yule, was dying from cancer, and all he wanted was a gift from his dad dressed as Santa. I called Peter, my husband, begging him to come. His reply? "Can you stop blowing up my phone? I don't have time for this! I'm helping Tracey find Puffy. Do you know how upset she is?" Oh, Tracey. His first love. And Puffy? Her dog. I told him Yule might not make it through the night. His response? A straight-up dagger: "Don't act like this isn't your fault, Freya. If Yule hadn't kicked Puffy, none of this would've happened. Tomorrow, make sure he apologizes to Tracey." Then he hung up. That night, I sat with Yule, crying as I helped him celebrate his last Christmas. By morning, Peter's social medias were still full of posts about that freaking dog. Mine? Yule's obituary. Ten years of marriage, gone.

On New Year's Eve, my husband, Max Davis, took me to a private dinner hosted by a big industry player. We had barely made our way around the room when a strange woman suddenly shoved me into the pool. When I insisted on checking the surveillance footage and calling the police, Max firmly held me back. He warned me to "remember my place" and not embarrass him in front of everyone. In the brief time I changed into another gown, I returned to find that same woman perched on my husband's lap, her red lipstick leaving traces on his collar. "Max, you're right! That nasty scar on her stomach really does look like a centipede. It's so hideous!" She giggled with mock innocence, adding, "It's been so fun messing with your wife. Next time, can I slap her when no one's looking?" Meanwhile, Max gazed at her like she was the only woman in the world, gently tracing his finger over her nose. "Of course, you can," he replied, eyes still locked on hers. "I'll even tie her hands behind her back for you."

The fake daughter married my boyfriend. My mouth was taped and I was being chopped into pieces by her admirer. The entire family took turns to call me. My mother said, "How ungrateful you are. I should not have brought you home back then." Father added, "Don't bother coming back if you do not attend Samantha's wedding." Brother said, "Let me tell you, you shall root in hell if you choose not to attend the wedding." At that moment, I didn't even have the energy to shout for help due to excessive blood loss. Everyone lost their patience, "Speak up! Are you dead or what?" I could only see the calls being disconnected. One thing they did not know, I was really dead.

What happens when the tormented female lead in a novel wakes up and decides to get together with the second male lead? Coincidentally enough, I'm transmigrated into the body of this tormented female lead!

My four-year-old son dies after someone crashes into him with a motorcycle. The culprit is a college freshman who's just been admitted. I'm devastated, but my husband generously forgives her. "We have to give her a chance since she's such an outstanding student. She's still young—we can't ruin her future." Ha. She has plenty of opportunities and a bright future ahead of her. What about my son? He was only four. Later, I rip his letter of forgiveness to pieces before his face. He wants me to forgive the young lady? No way in hell!

The night my parents were kidnapped, my brother—who happened to be a police officer—chose to go bungee jumping with the fake heiress. I didn't stop him. Instead, I called the police and began preparing the ransom. In my previous life, my brother had forgone the outing to rescue our parents. As a result, the rope snapped during her jump, sending her plummeting into the abyss. Her body was never recovered. He never spoke a word about it afterward. On my birthday, he drugged me and dragged me to that very cliff. "You orchestrated the kidnapping! You'd go this far for their attention? You're nothing but a monster! Lillian is dead. You don't deserve to live either!" When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the night my parents were kidnapped. This time, my brother didn't rush to their rescue. Instead, he ran to the fake heiress. But in the end, he regretted it so much that he nearly lost his mind.

รสกลมกล่อม สดชื่นมาก น้ำหวานถูกดื่มจนหมดก่อนจะเติมใส่อีกครั้ง และแล้วมื้อนั้นก็จบลงพร้อมกับความตึงเครียดเข้ามาปกคลุม "เจ้าไปเรียนรู้วิชาทำอาหารพวกนี้มาจากไหน" "เอ่อ ช่วงนี้ข้าชอบอ่านหนังสือ เลยได้เรียนรู้วิธีการทำอาหารจากในนั้น" เธอก้มหน้าซ่อนไว้ ไป๋หู่เองก็ไม่ได้คาดคั่นเอาความต่อ มือหนายื่นไปจับแก้วน้ำผลไม้ ถึงจะไม่มีกลิ่นหอมเท่าชาที่กินประจำ แต่มีเอกลักษณ์ทั้งของคาวและของหวาน เห็นทีต้องเก็บนางไว้ใกล้ตัว "เจ้ามีฝีมือดีเช่นนี้ก็ทำอาหารให้ข้ากินซะ" "ห๋า แล้วท่านกวงจิ้งล่ะคะ" "เหวินเซียวแจ้งให้กวงจิ้งหยุดทำอาหารให้ข้าตั้งแต่วันนี้เป็นต้นไปแต่ยังทำให้เซียนคนอื่นตามปกติ และเลื่อนขั้นให้นางเป็นแม่ครัวของที่นี่แทน" อีกฝ่ายเรียกคนสนิทและสั่งการไป "ขอรับ" ทั้งสามมองตาโตไม่นึกว่านอกจากไป๋หู่แล้วจะมีคนอื่นอยู่อีก "เจ้าจะใช้ครัวที่นี่ก็ได้ข้าไม่ว่าอะไร" ชายหนุ่มลุกขึ้นเต็มความสูง "ค่ะ" "จริงสิ เจ้าชื่ออะไร" "เฟ่ยเฟ่ยค่ะ" หญิงสาวช้อนสายตาตอบนัยน์ตาเป็นประกาย ไม่ว่ายังไงเทพไป๋หู่ก็ยังเป็นคนที่เธอชื่นชอบ

After my husband's car accident, I did a checkup and found out he had a malignant brain tumor. Instead of telling him right away, I stuck the report in my bag, planning to wait for the right moment. Guess what? He found it first—and thought I was the one with the tumor. A few days later, I overheard him in his office, laughing with a buddy: "My wife? No looks, no figure, just money—and now she's got a brain tumor. Talk about a win for me. If Rainee hadn't gone abroad, I'd never have married her. Bad luck, huh? At least I dodged the kid bullet. Once she's gone, I get everything." Then he pulled the amnesia card, blamed it on the accident, and started treating Rainee like his wife. He even welcomed her into our house. I smiled and said, "Nathan, let's get a divorce."

On our first wedding anniversary, my husband came home with a woman who was six months pregnant. He introduced her as his cousin, someone who had fallen on hard times, and asked me to take care of her. I was just about to agree when fragments of imaginary commentary floated through my mind: [She's just my 'cousin'. Uh-uh, that's a cliche.] [Poor supporting female character! A maid by day, the husband's bedwarmer by night.] [But she totally deserved it! If she hadn't broken up the main couple, they'd have a whole soccer team of kids by now!] Wait—what? Supporting female character? Me? And what's this about breaking them up? So now these two get to cheat under my roof, and somehow I'm the villain? Before I could process it all, my husband was already dragging her luggage inside. "Alice doesn't like fried food," he said matter-of-factly. "And nothing too salty or spicy. Make sure you keep that in mind when you're cooking. "Oh, and pregnant women love sweets. Go out now and buy a cherry cake. The one from that bakery in the suburbs."