Frederick's patience finally ran out. "Get on your knees and apologize to Sophia. We'll call it even."

Pushing through the burning pain in my leg, I hauled myself up from the deck. The crowd expected me to cry, scream, or beg for mercy, but I did none of those things.

Instead, I simply straightened my wrinkled skirt and dropped to my knees right in front of them. My knees hit the hard deck with a resounding thud, sending a wave of pain that was even worse than the kick.

The deck fell into dead silence.

I raised my head and locked eyes with Frederick, who seemed to be stunned by how quickly I had given in. Forcing a smile that looked uglier than a grimace, I declared, "Consider this my way of repaying you for five years of putting me up, Frederick. But my apology doesn't come cheap, and neither does my pride. $30 million, pay up."

Shock twisted into rage on his face in an instant. "Damn you!"

He yanked out his checkbook, tore off a check, and hurled it at my face. "Take your money and get lost!"

The paper's edge sliced my cheek, leaving a thin streak of blood. I ignored it, snatching the fluttering check and planting a light kiss on it. Then I looked up with a wide grin. "Thanks, boss."

Just then, my phone started vibrating wildly in my pocket. The screen flashed with the caller ID: Samuel York, the doctor who'd used me as a lab rat.

Limping on my injured leg, I made my way to his private clinic. The air inside reeked of strong disinfectant, creating a cold and impersonal atmosphere.

Samuel stood at the sterile lab door in his spotless white coat, holding a vial of liquid. His eyes were colder than the hallways themselves. Through the large glass window, I could see his true love, Charlotte Hayes, lying in the isolation ward.

She looked perfectly healthy, with color in her cheeks and steady breathing—far better off than I was with all my injuries. Samuel had claimed she suffered from a rare inherited disease that required fresh clinical data for treatment, and I was the only matching live sample they could find in Arirwatch.

Sliding a consent form and a pen toward me, he said in a flat tone, "Sign it. This is an improved version with minimal side effects. Perhaps just some nausea and vomiting."

I eyed the blue liquid, and my stomach began to churn. He had said the same thing last time, but I had ended up confined to bed for three days, too weak to even stand.

Taking a deep breath, I looked up and forced a pleading smile. "It's my birthday today. Can we skip this one?"

I hoped, just this once, that he might show a spark of kindness and maybe even wish me a happy birthday. Instead, he frowned in annoyance. "Charlotte can't afford any delays. Don't be dramatic."

Those few words shattered any illusions I still held.

What was I even expecting? A touch of warmth from a man who saw me as nothing more than data and a test subject?

Wasting no more breath, I grabbed the pen and signed the content form. Then I took the blue vial, twisted off the cap, and chugged it down like ordinary water.

The effects hit faster than ever before, churning my stomach as if it were in a high-speed blender. Pain exploded from my core and spread rapidly through my entire body. I curled up on the cold floor, convulsing uncontrollably while sweat soaked through my clothes.

Through the thick glass, I caught sight of Charlotte watching my agony with a faint smirk. Samuel remained in place, tablet in hand, focused on recording my vital signs—heart rate, blood pressure, and nerve reactions.

He didn't even glance down at me once. To him, I wasn't a person; I was merely animated data providing results for his experiments.

The agony intensified, and it felt as if my organs were shifting out of place. Finally, I couldn't hold it back and began vomiting violently on the floor. What came up wasn't food remnants but bright red blood, splattering like petals on his pristine, expensive shoes.

Samuel reacted at last, stepping back with a look of disgust.

"What a mess," he said impassively, as if addressing himself or me. "Clean it up. The data collection is nearly complete. Charlotte's next treatment should proceed smoothly."

Lying there completely drained, I could barely lift a finger.

The system prompted: "Host's health dropped to 30%, danger zone. Samuel's affection up 5%, heartbreak value +30%."

It was ironic how my suffering could boost his fondness for me.

Using my final reserves of energy, I propped myself up, wiped the blood from my mouth, and extended a weak hand toward him.

My voice came out raspy and broken. "Hazard pay is due, right? Cash this time."

Checks could get frozen, after all. Cash was always the safest option.

Samuel paused, clearly not expecting me to focus on money even in that state. His contempt deepened, and he tossed a credit card into the puddle of blood. "PIN's six zeros. Now get out."

My hands trembled as I picked up the stained card and clutched it tightly. It was what I had earned. Leaning against the wall for support, I staggered to my feet and headed out.

At the hospital entrance, craving a breath of fresh air, I bumped into a solid chest. It was Theodore Xander.

"Lindsey, I'm here to pick you up," he said, smoothly guiding me into a black sedan parked by the curb.

He took the driver's seat, looking every bit the polished gentleman in that sharp suit. He was like a knight arriving to rescue me, but his following words plunged me straight into despair. "Wendy got into a hit-and-run last night."

Wendy Tate was Theodore's naïve yet trouble-prone sweetheart, and the car involved in the accident was my red Ferrari—his birthday gift for me the previous year.

The car was registered under my name, and now I understood that every so-called gift had come with a hidden price tag.

He pulled a document out of his briefcase and slid it toward me. It was a confession letter.

Adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, he spoke softly, but each word cut deeply. "Wendy is heading abroad for further studies soon. Her record can't have any blemishes."

I stared at him in disbelief, unable to fathom this was the same man who'd once vowed in court to protect me with the full force of the law.

My voice trembled as I asked, "So, you want me to take the blame and go to prison for her?"

"Fair deal, isn't it?" His tone remained eerily calm. "You're an orphan with no family ties. Serve a few years inside, and I'll pay you enough to live comfortably for the rest of your life. When you're out, I'll handle everything."

He paused, his eyes narrowing behind the lenses. "But if you refuse, I'll use every resource at my disposal to ensure you can't survive in this city. And all the money I've given you? It will be reclaimed."

Money... He knew it was both my weakness and my armor.

My tears splashed onto the confession paper as I trembled from head to toe.

The system prompted: "Host's acting skills at Oscar level. Strategy mission enters final settlement phase. Prepare for Faking Death exit."

Finally, it was coming to an end.

Theodore observed my reaction, assuming I'd caved in. Satisfaction flickered in his eyes as he reached out to pat my head like he always did, offering false comfort.

I dodged instinctively, leaving his hand hanging awkwardly in the air. His expression shifted, but I ignored it, grabbing the pen and signing the document.

Afterward, I felt completely drained. Theodore tucked the form away, his gentle façade returning. "Good. Tomorrow is the joint engagement party for the Jameson, York, and Xander families, with the media everywhere. Once it's over, the police will escort you for questioning. Enjoy your last taste of freedom."

I bowed my head, letting my hair hide my face. In the shadows where he couldn't see, a smirk crept across my lips. Yes, tomorrow truly marked the finale.

Back at my condo, my phone pinged with two messages arriving simultaneously.

Frederick: [Dress down for tomorrow's party, serve Sophia drinks, and make amends.]

Samuel: [Meet some pharmacology experts tomorrow. Your body data is gold for research.]

Staring at the texts, I laughed until tears streamed down my face. Each of them had already scripted out my role for tomorrow. Too bad for them—I was the one directing the show now.