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.

"Edwin, I... I was just trying to help her!" Rose’s voice shifted instantly, the venom replaced by a high-pitched, trembling sob. She looked down at her hands, smeared with my blood, and let out a theatrical gasp. "She was falling, I tried to catch her, and then... There was so much blood! I’m so scared, Edwin!"

She moved toward him, her arms outstretched, waiting for the familiar warmth of his protective embrace.

But Edwin didn't move. He stood like a statue of ice, his gaze fixed on my pale face and the way the crimson pool was rapidly claiming the white sheets. For the first time in three years, the "Rose" spell was flickering.

"You were digging your nails into her wound, Rose," he said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "I saw you."

Rose froze. Her eyes darted around the room, realization dawning that her mask had cracked. Then, her expression shifted into something manic. "You’re choosing her? After everything? Fine! If you want her, what's the point of me living?"

Before anyone could react, she grabbed a surgical scalpel from the bedside tray—left behind by a distracted nurse—and dragged it across her wrist.

"Rose!" Edwin screamed, finally jolting into motion.

The room became a whirlwind of chaos. Nurses rushed in, Edwin grabbed a towel to staunch Rose’s bleeding, and the sounds of her hysterical weeping filled the air. Even as he held her, Edwin’s eyes kept snapping back to me. I lay there, feeling my life force ebb away, a spectator in my own death.

An hour later, Richard, Edwin’s closest friend and the head of the hospital, walked into the hushed room. He looked at Edwin, then at the weakened state I was in.

"The situation has changed, Edwin," Richard said solemnly. "Rose has lost too much blood, and the stress has put her heart into a critical failure. If we don't do the transplant now, you’re going to lose Rose."

“But, Victoria has lost as much blood as her. How can I-”

“You have to choose between them, Edwin.” Richard’s words were cold and final, “You can't save both of them!”

Edwin looked at me, his face a haunted mask of regret. He stepped toward my bed, his voice trembling. "Victoria, I... we can wait. We can find another donor. I can't let you do this while you're this weak."

I looked at him, the edges of my vision beginning to fray into white light. This was it. The final door.

"No," I whispered, the word carrying a weight that seemed to rattle my very soul. "Do it now. This is what you wanted, Edwin. My heart… in Rose’s chest."

“I have already signed the papers,” I said, looking at Richard. “Make it quick.”

Edwin looked like he wanted to scream, to beg for forgiveness, to turn back the clock. But the doctors were already moving, wheeling my bed toward the cold, sterile glow of the operating theater.

As the anesthesia began to cloud my mind, I felt the bed stop. The last thing I saw was Edwin standing behind the glass of the observation deck, looking at me with a look of utter devastation.

The scalpel touched the skin.

Suddenly, a sound that shouldn't have existed in that sterile room echoed—not in my ears, but in the air itself. A sharp, digital ping that made Edwin jump.

A holographic screen, identical to the ones I had seen for three years, materialized directly in front of Edwin’s face. His eyes widened in confusion and terror as he read the words glowing in the air:

[MISSION COMPLETED]

Condition: You have successfully revived your lover’s heart through the ultimate sacrifice.

Reward: Your contract with this world is terminated. You may now return to your true reality.

Edwin’s breath hitched. "Lover's... heart? Victoria?"

He looked down at the operating table, but my body was already beginning to glow with a soft, ethereal light. I wasn't the donor. I was the mission. And he wasn't the hero of this story—he was the obstacle I had finally overcome.

"Goodbye, Edwin," I thought, the darkness finally taking me. "I'm going to meet Mark now.”