Couture gowns from a Parisian atelier. A pigeon-blood ruby brooch won at Sotheby's. The keys to an island villa.

He seemed capable of seeing everything he'd given me, yet somehow blind to the color draining from my face each time the pain hit, the trembling, the weak moans I couldn't swallow back.

No matter how fast the healing came, it was still my flesh absorbing the blow. I still cried from the pain.

And now I'd lost even that.

I wanted to scream, to call out, but the moment I opened my mouth, a gush of black blood surged up my throat.

It was thick and clotted, laced with fragments I couldn't identify.

Damien's expression shifted.

He barked orders. Someone forced ginseng broth between my lips. An IV needle slid into my arm.

"Antonia, you hold on. You hold on at least until Alma's had her fun."

I curled into his arms and laughed.

He thought I'd endured ten years without fighting back for the sake of a promise. A title. A ring.

He had no idea.

My healing ability existed because I was bound to the Tragic Novel Self-Rescue System.

Every instance of suffering earned one anguish point.

Years of silent endurance had served a single purpose: accumulate enough points to leave this world behind.

Now the quota was met. The ability had expired. All I had to do was wait for the System upgrade to finish, and I could go.

My heartbeat slowed.

Just before consciousness left me entirely, Alma finally broke the surface of the water.

Deep in my mind, the mechanical voice chimed.

【System Upgrade Progress: 90%.】

I woke up in a hospital.

"Your healing is gone. Why didn't you tell me?" Damien's voice was low, threaded with a rare exhaustion. "You were unconscious the whole time. The doctors said it was critical. I stayed for three days."

I blinked, caught off guard.

The bruised shadows under his eyes looked real enough. The retort forming in my throat died there.

When I said nothing, he sighed and cupped my bloodless face in both hands. "Still upset with me?"

His thumb traced my cracked lips. "Alma's a little spoiled. I know that. Just bear with her a bit longer. For my sake. Can you do that?"

My nails dug into my palms.

He always did this. Whatever catastrophe Alma created, he smoothed it over with a single word: spoiled. As if that explained everything. As if that excused it.

And then he asked me to pay for it with my body.

I couldn't hold it back. "Don't worry. I'll be gone soon enough. I won't be in your way anymore."

"Gone?" His brows drew together. "The wedding preparations have already started. Where exactly do you think you're going?"

"The wedding?" A cold laugh scraped out of me. "You think your precious little sister would allow that?"

He paused. Then his brow smoothed, and something close to relief crossed his face. "So that's what this is. You're still sulking."

"Don't worry. Alma's been very mature about it." His tone softened. "She's been putting a lot of effort into our wedding."

The words had barely left his mouth when Alma bounced in, tablet in hand.

"Damien! What if we made the wedding's main color scheme black? It'd be so edgy and unique!"

I frowned. Were we planning a wedding or a funeral?

But he just looked at her with a faint smile. "Sure."

"And a mango cake for the wedding?"

I was allergic to mango.

He nodded. "Whatever you want."

"I'm tired," I cut in. "Take it outside."

The room went quiet for a beat.

Alma's lip jutted out. "What's that supposed to mean? You think my ideas aren't good enough?"

"Of course they are. Alma has great taste." He pulled her into his arms, then cast a glance my way. "Apologize to her. Or you can check yourself out of this hospital right now."

The last trace of warmth in my chest went cold.

I ripped the IV needle from the back of my hand. Blood beaded on my skin. I threw off the covers and swung my legs out of bed.

Alma's eyes darted, calculating. She planted her hands on her hips and blocked my path.

"Damien, do you think she's been lying to you?"

"If she really lost her healing ability, why isn't she resting and recovering like she should?"

"Maybe she made the whole thing up for sympathy."

Those words made Damien's expression darken instantly. "Antonia, when did you learn to play these little games?"

"Disobedience comes with consequences. Family punishment."

"The whip or an apology to Alma. Your choice."

Either way, he wanted to see me bleed.

I reached for the fruit knife on the nightstand and dragged it across my wrist without hesitation.

Skin split open. Scalding blood surged out, soaking the white sheets red.

Alma shrieked and stumbled backward.

"Are you insane?!" Damien's face changed too, his eyes full of shock.

"Is that enough of an apology?" My voice was steady.

Alma's lip trembled with practiced hurt. "Damien, you only asked her to apologize. Why would she do this? She's making it look like we're the ones bullying her. She scared me half to death!"

She burrowed into his arms. "I told you she was faking it. She didn't even flinch when she cut herself."

"Don't be scared, Alma." He held her close, his voice soft and soothing. But the look he turned on me could have frozen steel. "Cheap theatrics. Disgraceful. You need to be taught a lesson."

"Bring the whip."

I was pinned down, arms locked in place.

The cane struck my back, each blow harder than the last.

I clenched my teeth. Not a sound.

Only when the cane snapped in two did Damien stop. "You've had your share of pain. Consider the matter closed."

"The engagement banquet is tomorrow. Make yourself presentable. Don't embarrass me again."

He wrapped his arm around Alma and walked out without looking back.

Through the heavy smell of blood, I heard the system notification.

[System upgrade progress: 95%.]

I lay facedown on the cold floor, and a memory surfaced unbidden.

Three years ago, I could have left.

I gave up that chance. For him.

Three years ago, Damien had been ambushed by a rival. He was on the edge of death.

He survived what everyone called a miracle, and he credited his own resilience.

He never knew that I had already earned enough points, that one foot was already through the exit. I traded half of everything I'd accumulated to buy back his life.

The system called me a fool.

But some things only the person living them can understand.

I remembered the tsunami. How he clawed me out of the mud like a man possessed, his fingers torn and bleeding.

I remembered craving warm ginger pudding in the middle of the night, and how he drove across the entire city to bring it back still hot.

I remembered an ordinary dinner when he pulled out an antique necklace, casual as anything. "Saw it at an auction. Thought it suited you."

And my birthday, when I mentioned offhand that I wanted to see snow. He canceled every meeting and flew me to the Alps.

That day, snowflakes fell into our clasped hands. Real and warm and ours.

But eventually the snow melted. And so did everything else.

I was jolted awake by noise. Damien walked in with his people.

"Time for the engagement banquet."

I had no interest in the engagement, but I was leaving soon anyway. It didn't matter where I went.

At the hotel entrance, Alma came up and linked her arm through mine, all warmth. "I'll take Antonia to change into her gown."

I pulled my arm free. "I can manage."

Her lips instantly pursed into a pout.

Damien glanced over, his tone flat. "She's being kind. Don't be ungrateful."

A look from him, and two of his men seized my arms and steered me after Alma into the dressing room.

The door shut. Two girls ripped my clothes off without ceremony.

The gauze on my back was torn away in one rough motion.

The wounds hadn't healed. Skin and flesh tore open all over again.

Pain blackened my vision. I had no strength to fight.

In the chaos, a kick landed square on my stomach. My body, still wrecked from Alma's poisoning, convulsed, and I spat out a mouthful of bloody foam.

Alma leaned down and whispered in my ear, a smile in her voice. "Antonia, tonight, everyone will know you're nothing but a whore."

When they half-dragged me to the center of the banquet hall, the entire room fell silent.

I turned my head in a daze and caught my reflection in the glass window.

A bunny-girl outfit. Every inch of it obscene.

Fuzzy rabbit ears on a headband, a skirt so sheer it was nearly transparent with a slit cut all the way to my waist, and a fluffy white pom-pom tail pinned just above my backside.

My bare back was a raw mess of torn flesh.

Alma let out a little "Oops," sticking her tongue out playfully. "I must've grabbed the wrong outfit. You won't blame me, will you, Damien?"

He froze for a split second, then patted the back of her hand. "You were in a rush. Mistakes happen. How could I ever blame you?"

"But won't the guests think I did it on purpose?" she murmured, pouting.

"They won't." His voice was certain. Then he seized my wrist and dragged me onto the stage.

My body had no strength left. I stumbled after him like a rag doll.

His steady voice carried through the microphone across the entire banquet hall. "Thank you all for attending my engagement party. This is my fiancée. She has a rather... bold sense of style, including her choice of clothing."

"I've always respected her preferences, and I'm sure distinguished guests like yourselves won't mind."

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

"Rich people really do play different games. Marrying a woman like that into the family."

"What do you know? That's exactly the type that hooks a man. That waist, those curves... mm-mm."

"Don't be naive. A trophy like her is just for show. He'll still have his fun on the side."

Someone called out loudly, "Mr. Ashford, what happened to her back?"

He paused, slipped off his jacket, and draped it over my shoulders. "Just a bit of bedroom fun. Apologies for the eyeful."

The press section erupted. Every reporter looked like they could already see tomorrow's front page.

Shutters clicked in a relentless barrage, camera flashes merging into a solid wall of white light that burned my eyes shut.

I stood rigid on that stage, stripped bare in every way that mattered, with nowhere to hide under the weight of a thousand stares.

Somewhere in the roar of gossip and laughter,

a cold, mechanical voice cut through my skull.

[System upgrade progress: 99%.]

[Initiating countdown to world departure...]

The reporters finally cleared out. Damien hauled me into a back room, his expression black as a storm.

The first thing out of his mouth was an accusation. "When are these wounds going to heal? You're really getting addicted to this little act, aren't you?"

"Making it look like we owe you something. Did you do this on purpose?"

My voice came out hoarse. "Nobody owes anyone anything. Damien, we're even now."

"From here on out, we go our separate ways."

Damien's brow creased. He grabbed my wrist. "What do you mean, 'even'? What do you mean, 'separate ways'? Stop talking nonsense."

"The engagement is done. Once the wedding is over, you'll be Mrs. Ashford. Officially."

He paused. The jut of my wrist bone pressed sharp against his palm, and his tone softened a fraction.

"I won't treat you badly. You'll have the kind of wealth and status most people couldn't dream of in a lifetime."

I looked at him. The calm in my eyes unsettled him. "No..."

"Enough. Stop saying things you don't mean." He cut me off before I could finish, shooting to his feet. Something flickered behind his eyes, quick and panicked.

"I need to see to the guests. Clean up your wounds. And stop embarrassing me."

He tossed gauze and a bottle of antiseptic onto the table and slammed the door on his way out.

I didn't move.

I was leaving soon. Medicine or no medicine, what difference did it make.

I lay down on the cot and waited for the moment to come.

But someone couldn't let me have even that.

Alma shoved the door open, venom dripping from every word. "What are you playing dead for now?"

"Let me make one thing clear. No matter what stunts you pull, Damien will always choose me."

"So what if you marry him? Even when I'm the one who's wrong, he'll protect me just like he did out there and grind you under his heel."

I didn't bother opening my eyes.