A sudden gust of wind cut through my thoughts, sharp and cold, snapping me back to the present. My body swayed slightly, but I steadied myself and climbed out of the trunk. My legs felt heavy, each step an effort, but I forced them forward.

I had barely taken a few steps when his voice rang out behind me, cold and sharp as a blade.

"Did you forget something?"

I stopped.

For a moment, I said nothing. Then, quietly, almost mechanically, I replied, "…Sorry."

Every time I came back, this was what he demanded.

An apology to Celeste.

For making her nauseous.

For dying in front of her.

For existing at all.

The words came out calm, stripped of any emotion. I straightened my back, as much as my battered body allowed, and continued walking without looking back.

Perhaps it was my obedience this time that pleased him. Or perhaps he simply hadn't had enough.

"This car is dirty," Dominic said after a pause. "Clean it. We'll ride back with the steward."

I heard the car door open and close behind me. When I turned slightly, I saw him stepping out, one arm carefully shielding Celeste's belly, his brows drawn together in concern, every movement gentle, protective. Two soldiers materialized from the follow car and flanked them without a word, hands loose at their sides, eyes scanning the road.

I had been pregnant once too.

But at three months, the dog I had raised barked at Celeste, startling her.

That was enough.

Dominic had unleashed two mastiffs on me without hesitation. Their teeth tore into my flesh, ripping through skin and muscle alike. I could still remember the pain, sharp and endless, the way my body collapsed under their weight.

And the child inside me…

Didn't survive.

He had looked at me afterward, expression cold, almost bored.

"Children can come again," he had said flatly. "But if I don't teach you a lesson, you'll never learn your place."

Now, I would never bear a child again.

But at least…

I was free.

The walk back to the estate felt endless. Each step dragged, pain radiating through my entire body. The road blurred in and out of focus, but I kept moving, driven by nothing more than habit. The iron gate of the Bellandi compound rose against the dark sky long before I reached it, flanked by cameras that watched everything and forgave nothing.

By the time I reached the house, they were already there.

The two of them walked in together, close, intimate, as if the world existed only for them. His hand rested protectively on her, his posture soft in a way I had never seen directed at me.

I stepped forward to follow.

But the house steward blocked my path.

His expression was awkward, almost apologetic, but he didn't move aside.

"I'm sorry, signora," he said hesitantly. "The young master said Miss Russo can't stand the smell of blood."

Before I could react, a high-pressure water hose was turned on me.

The force hit like a blow. Ice-cold water slammed into my wounds, tearing through already damaged flesh. Pain exploded instantly, sharp and merciless, ripping a broken cry from my throat.

My body gave out beneath me. I crumpled to the ground on the stone courtyard, shaking uncontrollably as the water continued to pour over me, washing away the blood along with what little warmth I had left.

Every second stretched into eternity.

Ten unbearable minutes passed.

By the time it stopped, I could barely feel my limbs.

I lay there for a moment, trembling, before forcing myself to move again. Slowly, painfully, I dragged my soaked, broken body toward the bathroom.

Head lowered.

Clothes clinging to me.

Barely holding together.

There was only one death left.

The final one.

The thought settled in my mind with a strange, quiet clarity, like the last flicker of a dying flame. After everything, after all the pain and the countless times I had crossed that line between life and death, there was only one more step left to take.

"Dominic," Celeste whispered softly, her voice light and almost dreamy, "she's survived ninety-nine times. If our child could be like that too…"

Her words floated in the air, gentle on the surface, but heavy with something darker underneath.

"I know a black clinic," Dominic replied, his tone low and shadowed, as if even speaking about it required caution. "They specialize in deprogramming people with… unusual body types."

"Deprogramming?" Celeste tilted her head slightly, her brows knitting in innocent curiosity, as though she were asking about something harmless.

Dominic's gaze flickered briefly in my direction before he lowered his voice even further.

"We'll talk about it later."

A thick silence followed, pressing down on the room. The kind of silence that lived inside the walls of the Bellandi estate, where even the guards outside the door knew when to stop breathing. It lingered, uncomfortable and heavy, until Celeste suddenly broke it, her tone turning light again, almost playful.

"Is this mango fresh?"

The shift was so abrupt it felt unreal.

As I stepped out of the room, my movements slow and steady despite the weakness still clinging to my body, she walked toward me, holding the fruit out with a soft, sweet smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her smile appeared half a beat too quickly, then vanished just as fast when she remembered she was supposed to look concerned.

"Could you taste it for me, Serafina?" she asked gently. "I'm pregnant, so I can only eat fresh ones."

Her voice was syrupy, coated in false innocence.

Dominic's chest rose and fell visibly as his eyes landed on my pale lips. For a fleeting second, something flickered across his face.

He remembered.

I'm deathly allergic to mangoes.

Today had already been chaotic, messy, out of control. I could see the hesitation in his posture, the slight tightening of his jaw. His signet ring turned once along his knuckle. He was just about to stop her, just about to say something.

But I didn't give him the chance.

Without a moment's pause, I reached out, grabbed the mango from her hand, and shoved the entire fruit into my mouth.

The motion was sudden, almost violent.

Juice burst between my teeth as I bit down hard, spilling from the corners of my lips, sticky and sweet as it ran down my chin. I chewed desperately, swallowing the taste that would soon turn into poison.

Perfect.

This should be the last death.

Finally.

Relief, faint but real, flickered through me.

But before I could even swallow properly, Dominic rushed forward. His hand clamped around the back of my neck, fingers digging in as he forced my head forward.

"Spit it out!"

His voice cracked with something dangerously close to panic.

He forced my mouth open, making me spit out what I hadn't yet swallowed. The next second, a sharp slap landed across my face, loud and unforgiving, the impact sending my head snapping to the side as heat exploded across my cheek.

"Are you trying to die?!" he shouted, his voice trembling with fury. "You know you're allergic to mangoes! Dying once a day isn't enough for you?!"

The sting on my face pulsed, but I ignored it.

Instead, I forced myself to swallow whatever remained in my mouth, pushing it down despite the instinct screaming at me to stop.

His footsteps approached again, heavy and urgent.

I closed my eyes.

For a brief moment, everything felt still. The estate went quiet around us, the way it always did when Dominic's anger filled a room. Even the low hum of the surveillance feeds seemed to hold its breath.

Then, unexpectedly, his hand came up and cupped my face.

The touch was warm.

Familiar.

His voice dropped, losing its sharp edge, softening into something that almost sounded like the past.

"Spit it out."

But it was already too late.

A sudden wave of suffocation surged up my throat, violent and overwhelming. My chest tightened as if an invisible hand had wrapped around my lungs, squeezing the air out of them. I gasped, my body instinctively fighting for oxygen, my fingers clawing weakly at his sleeve.

The world tilted.

My breathing grew shallow, broken.

At that exact moment, Celeste suddenly gagged.

Loudly.

The sound cut through everything.

The second Dominic heard it, his grip on me vanished. Without hesitation, he let go and turned toward her, panic flashing across his face.

"This mango tastes awful…" she whined, her voice trembling.

The house steward rushed in, took one look at me, and his face turned deathly pale.

"The Signora is allergic!" he exclaimed urgently. "Call the family surgeon!"

Dominic hesitated.

Just for two seconds.

Two seconds where his gaze flickered between us.

Then he made his choice.

He swept Celeste into his arms, holding her close as if she might break.

"Take care of Celeste first," he ordered quickly.

Then, turning to the others, his voice hardened again, cold and commanding. The voice of the Bellandi heir who gave orders that no one in the household questioned.

"To the rest of you, cover the Signora's mouth and lock her in the bathroom. I don't want even the scent of mango near Celeste."

The house steward stood frozen, clearly overwhelmed, sweat forming along his brow.

But I didn't wait.

I pushed myself upright, my body swaying as dizziness washed over me. Leaning against the wall for support, I forced one step after another, dragging myself toward the bathroom. My thumb pressed against the pulse in my inner wrist. Still there. Still beating.

Still refusing to stop.

Each breath burned.

Each step felt heavier than the last.

I reached the door, stepped inside, and locked it behind me.

The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed faintly.

Outside, Dominic watched my retreating figure, his brows drawn tightly together.

For the first time in a long while, there was confusion in his eyes.

He truly didn't understand me anymore.

"Do you have to die again just to be satisfied?" he muttered under his breath.

"Is this another trick to get my attention?"

But I didn't answer.

I didn't have the strength to.

When I woke again, a frustrated sigh slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

The dose had been too small.

I was still alive.

The disappointment was dull but heavy, settling deep inside me.

Turning my head slightly, I noticed a bottle of allergy medication sitting on the nightstand. Beneath it was a small note, the paper slightly crumpled at the edges.

[Take your meds when you wake up. I'll be there in a few minutes.]

There was no signature.

But I didn't need one.

I knew that handwriting too well.

A long time ago, we used to leave notes like this for each other all the time. Back when things were different, back when his care wasn't something I had to question. Before the blood-bound alliance had turned into a cage. Before Celeste. Before the ninety-nine deaths that taught me what this family truly cost.

His reminders would be stuck to the fridge every single day.

[Wear something warm. It's cold today.]

[No ice during your period.]

[Text me if you're out late. I'll come pick you up.]

Simple words.

Small things.

But they had once meant everything.

Then one day, the fridge was replaced.

And with it, those notes disappeared.

No one ever mentioned them again.

"Still upset you didn't die?"

Dominic's voice broke through my thoughts.

He entered the room, his expression unreadable, his gaze steady but distant. He moved the way he always moved through the estate, as though every room belonged to him and every person in it existed at his discretion.

Only then did I realize that I had sighed again just moments earlier.

He walked toward me, his tone curt, controlled.

"Did you take your meds? Next time you run into something you're allergic to, don't be stupid enough to swallow it."

There was a pause.

He reached out, his hand hovering in the air for a brief second, as if he intended to touch me.

But he stopped himself.

Something in his expression shifted, hesitation creeping in. His signet ring was perfectly still on his finger.

It had been too long.

The distance between us was no longer something a simple gesture could bridge.

In the end, he lowered his hand and pulled it back.

"Dominic," I said quietly, my voice calm and steady despite everything, "I'm sorry. I made Celeste vomit again."

The apology came easily.

It always did.

I picked up the bottle of medicine from the nightstand, twisted it open, and poured all the pills into his palm. The small white tablets collected there, meaningless and cold.

Then I looked up at him, meeting his eyes directly.

"You can deprogram me," I said softly.

"Or just kill me."

"That's it. Hand it to me. I'll take it myself."

My voice came out eerily calm, almost detached, the kind of calm that didn't belong in a moment like this. It was twisted in a way that made even me sound unfamiliar to my own ears, steady but edged with something quietly defiant.

Dominic froze.

For several long seconds, he didn't move at all, as if my words had struck him somewhere deeper than he expected. His eyes locked onto mine, searching, trying to understand, but finding nothing he recognized.

"Serafina, are you insane?" he snapped finally, his voice rising sharply. "Do you want to die that badly?"

Without warning, he flung the bottle of pills across the room. It hit the floor with a sharp crack, scattering white tablets across the marble. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles along his face rigid with barely contained anger. Somewhere beyond the bedroom door, a soldier's weight shifted at the sound, then went still again.

"You want to die? Fine," he continued, his voice raw, almost hoarse with emotion he couldn't fully suppress. "But I won't let you."

The words echoed in the air.

And then, just as suddenly, he went still.

It was as if even he hadn't expected himself to say that.

A flicker of something crossed his face. Surprise. Irritation. Maybe even confusion. He hadn't been this visibly angry in years. Dominic was always composed, always controlled. The heir apparent of the Bellandi Family did not lose his temper. It was a luxury the rank didn't permit.