There was only one death left.

The final one.

“Tristan,” Diana whispered, “she’s survived ninety-nine times. If our child could be like that too…”

“I know a lab,” Tristan replied darkly. “They specialize in deprogramming people with… unusual body types.”

“Deprogramming?”

Tristan’s voice dropped even lower.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

A heavy silence fell between them, until Diana broke it with a soft, innocent question.

“Is this mango fresh?”

Seeing me step out of the room, she walked over, holding out the fruit with a sweet smile.

“Could you taste it for me, Winda? I’m pregnant, so I can only eat fresh ones.”

Tristan’s chest visibly rose and fell as he looked at my pale lips.

He remembered—I’m deathly allergic to mangoes.

Today had already been messy enough. He was just about to stop her.

But I didn’t wait.

Without hesitation, I grabbed the mango from her hand and shoved the whole thing into my mouth.

Juice spilled from the corners of my lips as I bit into it desperately.

Perfect.

This should be the last death.

Finally.

But before I could even swallow, Tristan rushed over, grabbed the back of my neck and forced me to spit it out.

Then came a slap—hard and unforgiving—lighting up my cheek with fire.

“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?!”

Ignoring the sting on my cheek, I forced myself to swallow what was left in my mouth.

As his footsteps drew closer again, I closed my eyes.

Then, unexpectedly, his hand cupped my face.

His voice dropped to something almost gentle.

“Spit it out.”

But it was too late.

A wave of suffocation surged up my throat. I started gasping for air, my lungs clawing for oxygen.

At that moment, Diana suddenly began to gag. Loudly.

The second he heard it, Tristan dropped me and turned to her in panic.

“This mango tastes awful…” she whined.

The housekeeper came running, took one look at me and blanched.

“Madam is allergic! Call the doctor!”

Tristan hesitated—just for two seconds—then swept Diana into his arms.

“Take care of Diana first.”

“To the rest of you,” he added coldly, “cover Madam’s mouth and lock her in the bathroom. I don’t want even the scent of mango near Diana.”

The housekeeper was frozen, overwhelmed and sweating.

But I didn’t wait.

I dragged myself up, leaning against the wall for balance and walked to the bathroom.

I locked the door behind me.

Tristan watched my fading figure, brows drawn tight.

He truly didn’t understand me anymore.

“Do you have to die again just to be satisfied?’

“Is this another trick to get my attention?”

But I said nothing.

When I woke again, I sighed in frustration.

The dose had been too small. I was still alive.

Turning my head, I noticed a bottle of allergy meds on the nightstand. A small note lay beneath it.

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

No signature.

But the handwriting—I knew it too well.

A long time ago, we used to leave notes like this for each other.

His reminders would be stuck to the fridge every 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.]

Then one day, the fridge was replaced.

And no one mentioned the notes again.

“Still upset you didn’t die?”

Tristan entered the room, face unreadable.

Only then did I realize—I’d sighed again just moments before.

He walked over, his tone curt.

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

He reached out, hesitating for a second, as if to touch me.

But he stopped himself.

It had been too long.

Forget it.

He pulled his hand back.

“Tristan,” I said quietly, “I’m sorry. I made Diana vomit again.”

I picked up the medicine bottle from the nightstand, poured all the pills into his palm and looked him straight in the eye.

“You can deprogram me. Or just kill me.”

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

My tone was so twisted, so calm in its defiance, that Tristan stood there, stunned for several seconds.

"Winda, are you insane? Do you want to die that badly?"

He suddenly flung the bottle of pills to the floor, his voice raw with fury, jaw clenched tight.

"You want to die? Fine. But I won’t let you."

He froze after the outburst, as if even he couldn’t believe what had just come out of his mouth.

He hadn’t been this angry in years.

He was Tristan—he wasn’t supposed to lose his composure like this.

With a bitter scoff, he loosened his tie and sat down, his expression cold and unreadable.

"Stop throwing tantrums."

"You’re not going to die. We’ve checked everything and we still don’t know what’s wrong with you. I recently acquired a lab. They’ll draw some blood—figure it out."

"Maybe… maybe we can use it for the baby in Diana’s belly..."

Before he could finish, I silently rolled up my sleeve and offered my arm.

"Go ahead. Draw it. The more, the better."

His chest tightened inexplicably.

But he had already promised Diana he would uncover the secret in me—for the sake of their child.

So he swallowed whatever discomfort twisted inside him and called the doctor.

The needle was thick, nearly the width of a baby's finger and plunged deep into my vein.

I didn’t tell Tristan the truth.

From the first time I died for him, I knew I could only die one hundred times.

And once I’ve died in his hands a hundred times, my karmic punishment will be complete.

Then I’d disappear—gone to a place no one can find.

From then on, I would no longer belong to love.

To humanity.

To anyone.

Tristan’s phone rang. He answered without looking at me.

"I’ll pick you up tomorrow and take you to the lab."

The doctor hesitated mid-motion. "Mr. Jagger, with Madam’s current condition… she really needs rest."

Tristan paused, then answered tersely.

"She won’t die."

The doctor broke into a cold sweat and dared not speak again.

But the next day and the one after that, Tristan didn’t come.

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

Couple’s down jackets.

Thermal winter sets.

Wool socks.

A sled.

Unbidden, a memory surfaced.

Once, we had gone to Antarctica together.

Somehow, Diana found out and followed us all the way there—dressed only in a thin sweater, her body trembling, lips blue with cold.

Like a madman, Tristan threw his coat over her shoulders. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he stripped the coat off my back and gave her that too.

Diana sobbed in his arms.

"Winda didn’t want me to come… she threw away all my clothes. But Tristan, I just wanted to see the penguins with you."

He glared at me, full of scorn.

"You’re jealous. Poisonous. Vicious."

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

Then they left me behind.

I died there, in nothing but a single layer of clothing.

Snapping out of the memory, I quietly ordered a pair of couple’s snow goggles for them.

Then I canceled the joint account with Tristan.

A short while later, he sent me a message.

[Just one symbol?]

I didn’t respond.

Soon after, I heard the sound of familiar footsteps outside my door.

"Pack up. We’re going to the lab."

I lowered my eyes and quietly stood.

From behind him, Diana stepped forward, her smile sweet but sickening.

"Winda, it must’ve been so hard for you, giving so much blood for the baby. But if the tests don’t yield results… we might need your help again."

"You’re not going to die anyway. Winda, maybe you could even lie on the operating table and let us deconstruct you. For Tristan’s child, of course."

"Alright," I said calmly. Without hesitation.

Tristan’s expression darkened. His voice was cold.

"We’ll talk about that later."

A flicker of jealousy crossed Diana’s face—but it vanished in an instant.

The three of us got into the car.

Tristan turned on the music.

The silence between us was louder than any song.

Diana playfully smacked Tristan on the chest.

“Why jazz? You know I hate jazz.”

Tristan immediately apologized, but his eyes drifted to the rearview mirror—glancing at me in the backseat.

I like jazz.

His expression darkened with a faint frown, irritation flickering across his face as the realization hit him.

But then he saw how indifferent I was, completely unbothered—and the shadow in his heart grew heavier.

These days, even with Diana chattering beside him, he could barely muster a response.

He seemed somewhere far away.

When we arrived at the lab, the lead researcher came out eagerly to greet us.

He grinned at Diana and joked,

“Mrs. Jagger, you don’t know how many priceless samples Mr. Jagger has sent over these past few days—each one a treasure worth thousands.”

Then, lowering his voice and shifting his gaze to me, he asked knowingly,

“Is this the new experimental subject?”

Tristan’s expression stiffened. He quickly changed the subject.

“How’s the blood sample I sent earlier?”

“The results are in,” the researcher replied. “The reanimation factor inside is slowly degrading...”

He motioned for Tristan to follow him into the lab to review the findings.

Concerned about radiation exposure, Tristan gently urged Diana to wait outside.

As soon as he was gone, Diana’s demeanor snapped like a broken mask.

She pulled a small pill bottle from her purse, her gaze sharp and venomous.

“Winda, you’re really hard to kill. After everything, you're still alive.”

“Let’s make a bet. Let’s see who Tristan really cares about. Whoever loses… vanishes.”

There was nothing to bet on.

I was destined to lose.

“I bet Tristan will deconstruct you himself,” she sneered. “Don’t worry—once it’s done, I’ll have the lab declare you dead. Then you can disappear forever. Never show your face to us again.”

“Alright,” I replied without hesitation.

Diana paused—clearly surprised I agreed so quickly.

Then she grabbed my hand and forced it around her throat.

In the same instant, she swallowed the pills she’d hidden in her palm.

Foam bubbled at her lips as she collapsed to the ground with a loud thud.

I stumbled back in shock, legs going weak beneath me.

Tristan’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“Diana—!”

He rushed in, eyes immediately locking on Diana’s convulsing body. He dropped to her side in panic.

“Diana! Wake up! Diana!”

He whipped around and shouted at me,

“What did you do?!”

The lab director arrived, sweating profusely but quick to assess the situation.

After a quick examination, he gave his grim recommendation.

“Madam’s fetal vitals are unstable and she’s suffocating. If we don’t act fast, we’ll lose the baby!”

“We need to deconstruct the subject now to determine the survival potential!”

Tristan’s chest heaved with violent breaths as he stared at me, torn but resolute.

“…Prepare the operating table!”

Soon, I was strapped onto the lab table, cold metal beneath me.

The final death was coming.

As the anesthesia began to flood my veins, Diana leaned in, her voice like a razor.

“Don’t worry. Once you’re dissected, I’ll personally send your ashes to the crematorium. No matter how powerful you are… you can’t come back from dust.”

I saw Tristan, standing on the side, heart clenched, brow furrowed, yet unmoving.

I closed my eyes.

This was the hundredth death.

From this moment on, Tristan and I...

No longer have anything to do with each other.