"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.”