The next day, he called me, his tone unusually soft as he said, “Victoria, get ready. My friend has invited me to the inauguration of his new shopping mall brand in our city.”

“I have ignored you for the past few weeks. This time, I’ll make it up to you.” He added, as if I cared.

The luxurious brands and expensive jewelry were the least things I was interested in.

Had he noticed me throughout the time I spent with him, he would have known I hadn't spent a penny from his money.

But, before I could refuse, he hung up the call. And, an hour later, I was standing behind Edwin at Richard's new mall, holding dozens of shopping bags that didn't belong to me.

Rose walked by Edwin's side, her hands leisurely wrapped around Edwin's arms with an authority that looked like she owned him.

And I was walking behind them, carrying her bags. As it turned out, I was invited just to assist Rose in the shopping and not because Edwin was considering my feelings.

As Rose threw one more bag on me to carry, I sighed. One more week. I thought. One more task and I would be free.

My arms ached under the weight of Rose’s "delicate" whims—satin dresses, designer heels, and jewelry that cost more than a suburban home.

“Oh, Edwin, look at this!” Rose chirped, pointing toward a diamond display. She leaned her head on his shoulder, her eyes shimmering with a calculated frailty.

Edwin glanced back at me, his eyes flickering over the mountain of bags I carried. For a second, a shadow of hesitation crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, practiced indifference.

“Keep up, Victoria. Don’t fall behind and embarrass me.”

I didn’t answer. I didn't have the energy to waste on words. I was simply counting the seconds.

Suddenly, the polished atmosphere shattered.

The sound of crashing glass erupted from the main entrance, followed by the heavy, rhythmic thud of combat boots.

Screams tore through the air as a group of masked men, armed and moving with military precision, stormed the atrium. These weren't petty thieves; they were the subordinates of the Moretti family—Edwin’s most ruthless rivals.

“There he is! Secure the target!” a voice roared.

Chaos descended. The crowd surged toward the exits, a panicked tide of humanity. Edwin’s bodyguards moved to intercept, but the attackers had the advantage of surprise.

In the heart of the crisis, Edwin’s instinct was instantaneous. He didn't look at me. He didn't call my name. He lunged for Rose, wrapping his massive frame around her small body to shield her from the flying debris.

In a desperate attempt to protect Rose, he pushed me into one of the attacker’s arms just to stop him. When he realised, his legs paused. A moment of panic flickered through his eyes. But Rose’s voice, filled with fear and panic, forced him to keep going.

He pulled her behind a marble pillar, his back turned to the open hall—and to the gunman aiming directly at his spine.

“Edwin, watch out!” Rose shrieked, but she didn't move to help him; she only buried her face further into his chest.

The lead gunman leveled his suppressed pistol. He had a clear shot at Edwin’s unprotected back.

A part of me was satisfied watching this.

But in the end, I dropped the bags. The designer silks and leather hit the floor like dead weight.

Time seemed to liquefy, slowing down until I could see the gunman’s finger tightening on the trigger.

If Edwin died, the hundredth wish was never completed. If he died, I would never see Mark.

I didn't move out of love. I didn't move out of a sense of martyrdom. I moved because this man was my ticket home, and I refused to let a bullet cancel my flight.

I threw myself forward, my body a human shield between the barrel and the man who had spent the last three years breaking my heart.

THWIP.

The sound was sickeningly quiet. The impact felt like a molten iron rod being driven into my shoulder. The force of it knocked me into Edwin, sending us both crashing to the floor.

Edwin scrambled up, his eyes wide with shock as he realized he wasn't hit. He looked down at me, his hands trembling as they touched the rapidly spreading crimson stain on my white blouse.

“Victoria?” His voice was a strangled whisper, the coldness finally shattered by a raw, primal terror. “Why… why did you do that?”

The pain was blinding, but through the haze, I saw the system notification flashing in the corner of my vision like a neon sign.

[Progress: 99/100 Wishes Fulfilled.

Current Status: Final Sacrifice in Progress.]

I looked at Edwin, seeing the guilt and confusion warring on his face as he ignored Rose’s hysterical sobbing to hold me. I wanted to tell him not to flatter himself. I wanted to tell him that this blood wasn't for him.

“Just…” I coughed, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. “Just schedule the surgery, Edwin. Don’t… don’t let this heart go to waste.”

I closed my eyes, the darkness pulling at me. One more wish. The surgery. Then, I would finally be able to tell Mark that I was coming home.

***

When I opened my eyes, the antiseptic smell of the hospital was the first thing that greeted me, followed by the rhythmic, artificial hum of a heart monitor. Every beat of my heart felt like a dull hammer striking the wound in my shoulder.

I opened my eyes to a sea of white. As the blur faded, I saw a figure sitting by my bed.

Edwin looked terrible. His expensive suit was wrinkled, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were bloodshot. The moment he realized I was awake, he leaned forward, his hand hovering over mine as if afraid I might shatter if he touched me.

“Victoria,” he breathed, his voice thick with an emotion I hadn't heard in years. “You’re awake. Thank God.”

I tried to sit up, but a sharp spike of pain forced a gasp from my lips. Edwin was immediately on his feet, gently pressing me back into the pillows with a tenderness that felt alien.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, his eyes searching mine with a desperate, soft intensity. “The bullet missed your vitals, but you lost a lot of blood. Why... why did you do it, Victoria? After the way I’ve treated you... Why would you throw yourself in front of a gun for me?”

I looked at him, my expression blank. He was looking for a confession of undying love. He was looking for the old Victoria—the one who would have wept with joy at this sudden display of affection.

When I didn't say anything, he spoke, “If there’s anything I can do for you, just tell me.”

“I’ll do it for you.” He said, his voice firm.

“Anything?” I raised my eyebrows.

Edwin nodded eagerly, clutching my hand. “Anything. Just name it. I’ll get you the best specialists in the world, the finest recovery suite—whatever you want.”

“Hasten the surgery,” I said.

The air in the room seemed to freeze. Edwin’s grip on my hand loosened as his face went pale. “What?”

“The heart transplant,” I continued, my gaze steady on his. “Don’t wait for my shoulder to heal completely. If Rose needs the heart, let’s get it over with. Schedule the surgery for as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if the doctors allow it.”

Edwin recoiled as if I had slapped him.

“Victoria, I—I was angry when I said those things at your door. I was frustrated. I didn't mean...” He swallowed hard, his eyes shimmering with a sudden, panicked guilt. “You just saved my life. How can you ask me to take yours?”

‘It was your hundredth wish, Edwin.’ I replied, though the words never came to my lips.

“Don’t back out now. I’m ready.” I said instead.

He looked like he was about to break. He opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, perhaps to tell me he had changed his mind, perhaps to finally see the woman he had ignored for three years. His fingers brushed my cheek, his eyes filled with a raw, blooming regret.

“Victoria, I think I—”

Bang!

The door to the private suite swung open. A frantic nurse stood there, breathless.

“Mr. Edwin! It’s Miss Rose! She collapsed in the recovery ward. The trauma from the mall... her heart rate is spiking, she’s fainted, and the doctors can’t stabilize her!”

The softness in Edwin’s eyes vanished, replaced by the familiar, sharp panic he only ever felt for her. He looked at me, then at the door, his body already pivoting toward the exit.

The regret he had started to show was swallowed whole by his obsession with Rose.

“I... I have to go,” he stammered, already halfway to the door. “She’s delicate, Victoria. She can’t handle stress as well as you can. I’ll be back.”

He didn't wait for my response. He turned and ran, his footsteps fading down the hall as he rushed to her side, leaving me alone in the cold, white room.

I let out a long, quiet breath and looked at the ceiling. The monitor beside me beeped steadily—the sound of a heart that was finally, blissfully, almost finished with its duty.

Go to her, Edwin, I thought, a ghost of a smile touching my lips. Keep her alive. Because the sooner you save her, the sooner I get to go home.

Less than an hour later, the door creaked open again. It wasn't the heavy, purposeful stride of Edwin. These footsteps were light, clicking sharply against the linoleum.

Rose walked in. She didn't look like someone who had just "collapsed from trauma." Her cheeks were flushed with a healthy anger, and her eyes were sharp as flint. She slammed the door behind her, the sound jarring my injured shoulder.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" she spat, hovering over my bed. The "delicate" mask had completely slipped. "Taking a bullet for him... did you think that would make him love you? Did you think a little blood would make him forget me?"

I looked at her, my expression flat. "I don't think about his love at all, Rose."

"Liar!" she hissed, leaning down until her face was inches from mine. "Listen to me, Victoria. You can give him your heart, your life, or your soul—it won't matter. Edwin loves me. He only stayed with you because you were a convenient tool. Even after the surgery, when my chest would be beating with your heart, he’ll be kissing me while you would be rotting in the ground. You’re nothing but a donor. A spare part."

I felt a strange sense of pity for her. She was fighting so hard for a man I was literally dying to leave.

"Is that all?" I asked quietly. "If you're finished, I'd like to rest. I need to be in good shape for the transplant."

My indifference acted like gasoline on fire. Rose’s face contorted with rage. "How dare you look at me like that! Like I’m beneath you!"

In a fit of blind jealousy, she reached out and grabbed my wounded shoulder, her manicured nails digging directly into the bandaged entry point of the bullet hole.

"Don't you act superior to me!" she screamed, twisting her hand.

A white-hot flash of agony exploded through my body. I gasped, my vision swimming as the stitches tore. The warm sensation of fresh blood immediately began to soak through the hospital gown, spreading in a terrifying, vivid bloom of scarlet.

"Stop," I choked out, the room spinning.

"I'll show you who he chooses!" Rose cried, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. She shoved me back against the pillows, her hand now covered in my blood.

BANG.

The door flew open with such force that it hit the wall.

Edwin stood on the threshold, his face frozen in a mask of horror. He didn't see a delicate girl who had fainted from trauma. He saw Rose—his "angel"—standing over my shaking, bleeding form with crimson-stained hands.

"Rose?" Edwin’s voice was a low, dangerous growl.

The blood continued to pour from my shoulder, dripping onto the white sheets, and for the first time, Edwin didn't run to her. He didn't even look at her. His eyes were locked on the sight of my life force draining away because of the woman he claimed to protect.

I looked past him, my consciousness fading, and saw the system notification glowing one last time.

Warning: Physical Integrity Compromised.

Final Wish: Impending.