Wet Goodnites Story

All I did was post a photo of the exquisite pink diamond necklace my dad gave me for my birthday. An intern, however, confronted me in front of everyone. “Miss Anderson, why is my necklace with you? Do you think being a manager gives you the right to steal from others?” I calmly explained that it was a birthday gift from my dad, personally purchased at an auction. She didn’t believe me. Instead, she pulled out surveillance footage showing me entering and leaving her office and flat-out accused me of being a thief. “Some people can’t get what they want, so they resort to stealing. Do you honestly think taking a necklace means you can take over someone’s entire life? And you’re actually trying to pass yourself off as the heiress of Anderson Corporation? Isn’t that completely ridiculous?”

In my last life, my sister and I got adopted into two very different worlds. My mom? The "cool" type. Let me perm my hair in elementary school, signed off on a nose job in middle school, and shoved me toward one of Northport's richest heirs right after college. Ella's mom? Hardcore strict. Pulled her out of a fling with some delinquent and married her off to a quiet professor with a just-decent paycheck. Ella hated it. Wanted my life so bad. So when I ended up in the hospital pregnant, she used her shiny doctor title to kill me—and my baby. Then boom—I woke up, and we were back to adoption day. This time, she dove for the mom she thought handed me the dream. What she didn't know? That "cool mom" she worshipped was straight-up a monster.

When my husband returned home to visit his parents, I noticed that he forgot to bring back the specialties he had bought. I ran after him, only to find him getting out of a car in a suit. His childhood friend stepped forward to welcome him. They held hands and smiled as they looked into each other’s eyes. They looked like a happy, newlywed couple. Only when my husband saw me standing not too far away did he hurriedly distance himself from his childhood friend. “Her mother’s critically ill, and her mother’s only wish is to see her get married. I’m just helping her.” I simply smiled. I pushed him right back to his childhood friend’s side and started cheering with everyone else. “When’s the baby coming?! I’ll be sure to wrap a nice gift!”

My best friend, Scarlett Throne, is diagnosed with cancer. After running away from home, she takes her own life. She leaves behind only a testament and a pair of eight-year-old twins, a boy and a girl. "You're the only person I can rely on in this world. I'm not asking you to adopt them, but just make sure they have enough to eat." Out of compassion, I take the siblings in. For the next 20 years, my husband and I have been working hard together to raise them, buying them cars and houses. But one day, my adopted daughter reports my husband for being abusive toward her. Even my supposedly dead best friend suddenly appears and testifies against him. I demand to know why she does such a thing. My best friend, filled with righteous indignation, says, "I see you as my best friend! I've never thought you adopted my children just to serve your husband's perversions!" My husband's reputation is ruined, and he's been thrown in jail. I desperately try to prove his innocence, only to be forcibly sent to a mental hospital by my adopted son. There, I wither away and die. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the very day my best friend was diagnosed with cancer.

My husband only lasts a minute each time. As a mature woman in my thirties, I often find myself lying awake at night, feeling like something is missing from my life. That is, until I met a rugged, muscular mechanic while getting my car repaired. Watching his strong muscles flex beneath his tank top awakened a desire I hadn’t felt in a long time. Our brief, intense encounter left me overwhelmed with emotions I couldn’t control. Just as things were about to go too far, I pushed him away, not wanting to make a mistake. But then I discovered that my husband had already been cheating on me with our pregnant neighbor. So, maybe I should just...

My neighbors across the hall had a nasty habit of stealing. This included my food deliveries, my shoes from the cabinet, and even my clothes drying on the rooftop. Nothing was safe from them. I had enough. One day, I placed a pair of shoes borrowed from my friend, who was battling an extreme case of athlete’s foot, outside my door. Not long after they stole them, they came banging on my door in the middle of the night, furious about the outbreak on their feet. They even filed a complaint at the hospital where I work. I was so furious that I invited a few homeless patients to move in. A muscular man with HIV, an elderly woman with syphilis, and a young man with severe mental health issues became their new neighbors. The thieves could not handle it and begged the landlord to evict them. However, the joke was on them. My family owned the entire building. If anyone was leaving, it certainly was not me.

From a stall in the office restroom, I overhear someone badmouthing me. Henry Fielder, the intern I've been mentoring for three months, grumbles, "The guy's got zero people skills. He's a total fossil, like a robot stuck in one mode." I'm about to push the door open and jump in when someone laughs and piles on. "The paperwork is incomplete. The receipts aren't compliant. I can't reimburse it without a manager's signature. We could recite his canned empathy lines in our sleep!" Once they're gone, I quietly head back to my office. Later, Henry drops a thick stack of expense reports onto my desk. "Quit waving the rulebook and rejecting everyone's reimbursements." I skim the fake receipts, and for once, I don't call him out. Instead, I give a thin smile and say, "I have a headache. I can't make out the words."

I had just placed the winning bid on an outrageously expensive piece of jewelry, but the auctioneer refused to close the sale. When I pressed her for an explanation, she turned to my husband with tearful eyes and claimed that I always bring different men here to spend money. “Ma'am, as a professional, I can’t sit back and watch you keep deceiving people. “Sir, I’ll refund your money and even cover the loss myself. Just open your eyes and find someone who truly loves you.” My husband looked visibly moved, their gazes locking in front of everyone as if I wasn’t even there. With all eyes on me, I snatched back my black card. “It’s my card, my money. Why are you giving it to some social-climbing chauffeur?”

I'm a dance major who's preparing for her exams. Everyone thinks I'm a good girl, but there's one thing they don't know about me—I've fantasized about being violated more than once…

After my husband cheats, my relatives advise me to be tolerant and forgiving. Why? Because my husband's mistress is pregnant, and I'm infertile. Even his parents hurry to our house in the middle of the night to say, "Don't worry—we won't let that woman step foot in this house. Once she gives birth, the child will be yours." Is that so? I sneer as I look at a medical report. Perhaps the child will have something to do with me, but it definitely won't have anything to do with my husband.