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.

With a bitter scoff, he loosened his tie, tugging it down impatiently before dropping himself onto the chair nearby. His posture relaxed, but his expression hardened again, settling back into that familiar coldness. His signet ring caught the lamplight as his hand came to rest on the arm of the chair, perfectly still.

"Stop throwing tantrums," he said flatly, as if trying to erase the moment that had just passed.

"You're not going to die. We've checked everything, and we still don't know what's wrong with you." His tone shifted, becoming more calculated, more deliberate. "I recently acquired a black clinic. Private. Off the books. They'll draw some blood. Figure it out."

He paused briefly, his gaze flickering as if weighing his next words.

"Maybe… maybe we can use it for the baby in Celeste's belly…"

Before he could finish, I had already rolled up my sleeve.

Silently.

Calmly.

I extended my arm toward him, pale skin exposed, veins faintly visible beneath it.

"Go ahead," I said softly. "Draw it. The more, the better."

Something in his chest tightened.

He couldn't quite explain it. The feeling was subtle but unmistakable, like a thread pulling somewhere deep inside him. But he had already promised Celeste. He had already decided that whatever secret existed within me would belong to their child.

So he forced that discomfort down, burying it beneath logic, beneath purpose.

Without another word, he called the family surgeon.

When the surgeon arrived, his movements were hesitant, almost uneasy. He prepared the equipment in silence, his eyes darting toward me more than once. He knew what he was. He knew who paid him. And he knew that questioning the Bellandi heir's orders was the kind of mistake a man only makes once.

The needle he used was thick.

Too thick.

Nearly the width of a baby's finger.

When it pierced my skin, it sank deep into my vein with a dull, invasive pressure that spread through my arm. Blood flowed steadily through the tube, dark and steady, as if my body had already accepted what was happening.

I didn't tell Dominic the truth.

From the very first time I died for him, I had known.

I could only die one hundred times.

And once I had died in his hands one hundred times, my blood-vow curse would be complete.

After that, I would disappear.

Gone completely.

To a place no one could reach.

From that moment on, I would no longer belong to love.

Nor to humanity.

Nor to anyone at all.

Dominic's phone rang, cutting through the silence.

He answered without even glancing at me, his attention already elsewhere.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow and take you to the clinic," he said, his tone brisk and efficient.

The surgeon hesitated mid-motion, his hands pausing slightly as he looked up.

"Don Bellandi," he said cautiously, "with the Signora's current condition… she really needs rest."

Dominic paused for a brief second, as if considering it.

Then he replied, curt and dismissive.

"She won't die."

The surgeon's expression stiffened instantly. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. He lowered his head and said nothing more, not daring to argue. In this house, a medical opinion weighed nothing against a direct order.

But the next day came.

And Dominic didn't show up.

Neither did he the day after that.

Instead, the joint account we shared began lighting up with transaction notifications.

One after another.

Couple's down jackets.

Thermal winter sets.

Wool socks.

A sled.

The list went on.

Without warning, a memory surfaced.

Once, long ago, we had gone to Antarctica together.

It had been one of the rare times when things still felt… almost right.

But somehow, Celeste found out.

And she followed us there.

When she arrived, she was dressed in nothing more than a thin sweater, her entire body trembling violently from the cold. Her lips were pale, tinged blue, her breathing uneven.

Like a man possessed, Dominic had rushed to her.

He pulled off his own coat and wrapped it around her shoulders without hesitation.

Then, as if that wasn't enough, he turned to me.

And stripped the coat from my back.

Without a word.

He gave that to her too.

Celeste collapsed into his arms, sobbing softly.

"Serafina didn't want me to come…" she cried, her voice fragile, trembling. "She threw away all my clothes. But Dominic, I just wanted to see the penguins with you…"

He looked at me then.

Not with doubt.

Not with hesitation.

But with pure scorn.

"You're jealous," he said coldly. "Poisonous. Vicious."

His gaze was sharp, cutting.

"Fine. Taste for yourself what it's like to freeze to death in Antarctica."

And then they left.

Together.

Leaving me behind in the endless white.