I twisted with everything I had, refusing to cooperate.

"Maisie Henson, you're not even a real surgeon!"

"Forget that you've never done a craniotomy in your life. For three years you kept forgetting to sterilize the scalpel. Do you have any idea how many times you infected me?"

"You're a lab tool. Why would I bother sterilizing anything for you?"

Maisie snatched the syringe out of the nurse's hand, impatient. "If she doesn't want the anesthetic, then we'll operate with her awake."

The doctor hesitated. "Without anesthesia, the pain will kill her."

"She won't actually die anyway. This is a perfect chance to observe how a conscious subject reacts to having her brain removed."

She tugged at the hem of Nigel Farley's shirt, her voice going soft. "Nigel, an opportunity like this doesn't come often. You'll say yes, won't you?"

He glanced at me, then looked away just as fast.

"Whatever you want."

The last thread inside me finally snapped.

Cold metal pressed against my skull.

My head was locked into the surgical frame, unable to move.

At the end of my life, I felt myself go strangely calm.

"Nigel Farley, for the sake of all the years we've known each other, after I'm dead, bury me next to Dolly."

Dolly was our unborn daughter.

"You still have the nerve to bring up Dolly?"

His lips pressed into a hard line, his voice turning cold. "The baby died because you didn't respect yourself."

"I never brought it up afterward, but that doesn't mean I didn't care."

I stared at him, unable to believe it. "Nigel Farley, what are you talking about?"

Maisie's hands stopped mid-preparation.

"Faith Fox, how are you even able to say that? Five years ago Nigel was kidnapped on his birthday. If I hadn't gotten there in time, they'd have killed him!"

"And you? While he was hanging between life and death, you ran off to a bar to mess around with a bunch of men, and partied until you miscarried a baby that was already eight months along."

"You've never once repented for that. What right do you have to yell at him?"

The more she said, the more worked up she got, her expression like she wanted to kill me.

Nigel gripped her wrist. "That's enough. Don't make yourself sick. Just do the surgery."

I felt the high-frequency electric knife move across the top of my head, clear as anything.

The sound of searing skin left my whole body numb.

It hurt so much.

I couldn't move. All I could do was clench my teeth.

The smell of charred flesh crawled into my nose, and my mind began to blur.

Five years ago, on his birthday, Nigel Farley was taken by a rival.

I was the one who found him, using the tracker he'd installed in my phone himself.

To buy time, I had my subordinate carry him out first while he was unconscious, then locked myself inside the warehouse and let them take me instead.

Pregnant, I was beaten and abused by the kidnappers until death would have been a mercy.

I barely managed to escape, and collapsed at last outside a bar.

When I woke again, I was in the ICU.

Nigel was badly hurt too, his bandages not even off yet, and still he sat with me in silence for three days and three nights.

After we were discharged, he never mentioned it again.

He was still gentle with me, but he would never touch me again.

I thought it was guilt and grief over the baby, so I never dared bring it up either.

To save him, I lost my child and nearly threw away my own life, and all I got in return was one line from him: that I hadn't respected myself.

The pain in my skull grew sharper, cutting through my thoughts.

The top of my head was cut fully open and held apart with a retractor.

Before I could adjust to that pulling sensation, the drill started up.

Maisie's hands were clumsy. The bit kept slipping off its mark, testing back and forth in one spot three times before it finally bit in.

Powder sprayed everywhere, much of it sticking to my face.

Cold sweat soaked through the sheet beneath me, and I couldn't hold it in any longer. I cried out.

"Maisie, stop for a second."

It was Nigel Farley's voice.

I thought his heart had finally softened for me.

Then he lowered his head.

A pet dog was circling his feet.

"Jacob came looking for you."

There was a smile in his eyes.

The pressure of the drill against my skull eased off.

Maisie set down her instrument and rushed over, still in her surgical gown, to scoop him up.

"I'm sorry, baby! I missed your feeding time! It's all that mean Faith Fox's fault!"

She rubbed his head and took the dog food from the nanny's hands. "I know you only let Mommy feed you. You must be starving. Eat up."

I was left on the operating table, a hole open in my skull, watching her feed a dog in a room that was supposed to be sterile.

Nigel turned back and met my eyes. His brow furrowed.

"Why are your lips so pale?"

He picked up the restorative broth sitting to one side and came toward me. "Drink."

I felt dazed.

I thought of my pregnancy, how he always woke early to make me soup, carried it to the bed, and fed it to me.

Sometimes when I fussed and refused to get up, he used this same gentle tone.

"Drink it. I simmered it for over two hours. Take pity on me, won't you?"

I sank into the memory and said nothing. Maisie spoke first.

"Nigel, that's for Jacob. What has she done to deserve something this precious?"

He explained. "She's too weak. I'm afraid she'll die on the table before the surgery is even finished."

"You don't get chances to practice like this often. I don't want to see you upset."

"Jacob can go without for today. When it's over I'll buy him treats."

"Fine." She held the dog and looked at me, put upon. "You lucked out. If you live through this, remember to thank us."

I almost laughed out loud.

Made to drink a dog's tonic, and expected to be grateful for it.

Nigel forced the broth into my mouth, bitter and salty and faintly like blood.

The moment I swallowed the last mouthful, the drill I'd been spared started up again.

A fresh round of torment began.

The whine of the drill went on shuddering through me.

Maisie's hands were clumsy. After endless agony, she finally finished drilling and switched to the saw blade.

The instant the bone was cut open, my nails dug into my palms and tears spilled out beyond my control.

Nigel wiped the sweat from my temple.

"Faith, it's almost over. Hold on a little longer. Afterward, whatever compensation you want, you can have it."

"A house, a car, jewelry, anything else. You decide."

I gave a bleak smile.

One weightless word, compensation, and he thought it could cover four years of what I'd suffered.

Four years ago, Nigel's manner toward me turned cold overnight, colder than I could accept.

I said he loved me like his own life. He gave a thin, cold laugh and said I was deluding myself, that he'd only gotten engaged to me because I was easy to handle.

I said he used to dry my hair for me, that he'd sat up all night when I was sick, that he'd once driven across half the city because I offhandedly said I wanted cake.

He tossed me a therapist's business card and told me to go get treated if I was sick.

I actually went.

His manner really did make me doubt it, doubt that the love we'd shared had ever been anything but an illusion.

And it was after that therapy session that the "system" appeared.

The talk of a "parallel world" felt like a lifeline I could seize.

The goal of "one hundred surgeries" made me lie down on the operating table again and again, willingly.

I still remember the first thing they took was a kidney.

For Maisie, who had kidney failure.

She'd been living off Nigel's funding for years, and for the first time she had a healthy body.

And at last she had the means to chase her dream of medicine.

And I was the perfect test subject to practice on.

They'd gouged out an eye, cut away my stomach, removed my gallbladder.

Ninety-nine wounds had scabbed over, leaving scars that wound across my whole body.

I used to love wearing dresses more than anything. By the end I didn't even dare put on short sleeves.

It wasn't until today that I understood.

Four years of torment I never had to suffer at all.

I gritted my teeth and asked, "Nigel, if I die this time—"

He stroked my cheek. "Don't say things you don't mean. Even if you really die, I'll go with you."

I closed my eyes, holding back the swelling ache in my bladder, my back teeth grinding until I tasted rust.

"You'd better... keep that promise."

"So it's a life for a life?"

Maisie, who should have been focused on the surgery, cut in. "And what about me?"

"You saved my life. Of course you matter more than mine does."

Nigel's voice was all indulgence. "Whatever you want, just ask, and I'll give it to you."

"Really?"

Her voice lifted at the end, then sank again. "But I wanted to livestream this surgery, and you won't even let me."

"It's for your own good."

"Livestreaming is stressful. What if you slip up, and it wrecks your confidence?"

Maisie wouldn't let it go. "But my followers have never seen a craniotomy, they all want to watch, and a livestream would definitely get me more subscribers."

"Please, Nigel, support my content career."

"I really can't win with you. If something goes wrong, don't come crying to me."

He actually took out his phone to start the stream, without once thinking to ask what I wanted.

Beneath the calm I was fighting so hard to keep, the pain had already pushed my sphincter past my control.

Even if I died, I would die with dignity.

Looking at the streaming equipment already set up, I clenched my jaw and forced the words out through my teeth.

"I don't agree to this."

Nigel didn't pause, his hands still moving.

"Just this once. When it's over, you can have any wedding you want."

"Traditional or Western, here or overseas, whatever you say."

My unfocused eyes settled on his face. "Nigel, our wedding, is that just a bargaining chip to you?"

"You don't actually... love me at all, do you?"

For four years I'd doubted whether fate had cheated me, whether some cruel joke was being played, I'd even doubted whether I just wasn't good enough, and that was why I'd been thrown into this world to suffer.

The one thing I never doubted was Nigel.

But just now, something came back to me.

Not long before I "crossed over," there was a car crash. I threw myself in front of Nigel to protect him, and a freight truck sent me flying.

Most of the bones in my body broke. My organs ruptured.

Before the ambulance came, he watched with his own eyes as I lay dying and my severed hand grew back, and the parts too deep to see seemed to be rebuilding too.

The moment I stood up without a scratch, I saw the shock and the wild joy in his eyes, clear as day.

From that day on, he was even better to me.

So good there wasn't a crack in it, and he took me in for a full-body examination.

I was naive enough to think he was just afraid of losing me again.

Now I understood.

Back then Maisie had shelved her medical dream because of her own health, sunk in her failure to get anywhere.

And me, with a kidney type that matched hers perfectly and a body that regenerated, I was practically made to order for her.

My voice was very soft. "You even hate me, don't you? That's why you can be this cruel to me."

He was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was calm.

"Faith, how could I hate you? If you want to blame someone, blame your own loose ways, for costing us our child."

"These four years were a chance for Maisie to practice. And a punishment for you."

"Don't worry, the punishment is almost over. Once we're married, I'll treat you the way I used to."

I laughed. I laughed until the laughter turned into tears.