I had regressed ninety-nine times, and it all started because I brought home an injured man.

Every time I came back, strange floating comments appeared in front of my eyes. I could also hear my baby brother's thoughts.

The moment my brother saw Tristan Price, he screamed and refused to stop crying.

"Send that man back! He's going to get our whole family killed!"

I reached out hesitatingly toward Tristan, and the chat overlay flickered to life again.

[The man lying in your bed is your future husband and the prince regent. He never forgets a kindness. Save him, and he will make you his princess consort. Your entire family will be protected and well provided for.]

The first time, I followed my heart and did what the messages told me to do. I saved Tristan, and he used me as a human shield. The assassins hunting him found us, and my entire family was slaughtered.

The second time, I listened to my brother instead and sent Tristan back where I found him. His men came to our door anyway, accused me of leaving him to die, and killed everyone.

The third time, I found Tristan's closest aide before the assassins arrived and quietly handed Tristan over. Then Tristan went mad without warning and stabbed me himself. When my family tried to avenge me, they were killed too.

I tried every approach I could think of to avoid my family's tragic fate, and every single one ended in failure.

This time, I chose to wait for death.

Then the comments appeared again, and something about them caught my eye.

I was back at the moment I'd just fed Tristan Price the medicine that saved his life.

I stared at his sleeping face, and my blood boiled.

Why?

Why had I brought him home and saved him?

If I was going to regress, why couldn't I have gone back to before I ever met Tristan?

I clenched my fists tightly, afraid I wouldn't be able to stop myself from wrapping them around his throat.

My baby brother, Caleb Lloyd, stirred in his cradle and let out a soft murmur.

I covered his eyes before he could look at Tristan, scooped him up, and carried him away.

Would things have turned out differently if I'd never been able to hear what my brother was thinking?

I sat as far from Tristan as I could, watching the comments scroll across my vision in a constant stream.

This was the first time I'd ever wasted precious moments, moments that could have been spent keeping Tristan alive, reading the chatter of a bunch of strangers.

[Why isn't the female lead taking care of the injured male lead? What's so great about that dumb little brother of hers?]

[Seriously. The novel said she fell for him at first sight and spent three days nursing him without ever leaving his side. This drama is changing way too much.]

[Oh, stop complaining. Adaptations always change things. They're still going to fall in love. We just have to wait for the sweet moments.]

My hand paused mid-pat on Caleb's back.

I'd known for a long time that I was living inside a story. The people leaving comments were viewers who'd already read the original novel.

If what they said was true, that Tristan and I were always meant to fall in love, then why did my entire family have to die repeatedly across ninety-nine lifetimes?

Was all of it just the result of what they were calling an adaptation?

I frowned, going over those ninety-nine lifetimes again and again.

Even though I was living inside a story, every choice I made still felt like my own. There was no sense of being controlled or guided by some outside force.

That meant there had to be something I was still missing, some detail I'd overlooked.

'Natalie, make that man leave. He's going to kill our whole family!'

Caleb was facing away from Tristan, cradled against my chest. But his voice rang out inside my head just the same.

A chill shot straight down my spine.

How did Caleb know who I'd brought home when he hadn't even seen the man's face? How was he so certain Tristan was going to kill our entire family? And why was what Caleb said the complete opposite of what the commenters kept insisting would happen?

I forced myself to breathe, to think. If I wanted any chance of escaping the fate that had killed me so many times before, I had to get through today first.

The only way to find a way out was to stay alive long enough to look for one.

I walked to Tristan's bedside and pressed my golden needles into several points along his body. Then I grabbed his collar, pulled out the bone whistle hanging around his neck, and blew it hard.

I'd found that whistle in my forty-eighth lifetime. Its sound worked like a signal, guiding the people closest to Tristan straight to its source.

Less than two hours later, a team of ten appeared at my door, all of them dressed in black.

And with them came Tristan's childhood friend, Selena Miller, the prime minister's daughter.

She was also the woman who had killed me thirty-six times.

"Tristan!"

Selena burst through the door in a panic, then stopped dead when she saw Tristan unconscious on the bed.

Her eyes snapped to me.

"What happened to him? Did you do this?"

I held up the bone whistle.

"He was hurt and lying on the side of the road. I'm the one who saved him." I paused. "And I'm the one who called all of you here."

She lunged for the whistle. I stepped aside and let her grab at nothing.

"How do you even know what that does? Give it back. You're a commoner. You have no business touching anything that belongs to Tristan."

I knew what the whistle did because in another lifetime, Tristan had told me himself.

By that point, I'd already regressed forty-seven times, and each life had lasted a little longer than the one before. He'd said he wanted to repay me for saving him, so he'd brought me to his estate and announced to everyone that he intended to make me his consort.

Gold and jewels had poured into my room like water. He'd walked me through every corner of the estate and introduced me to each member of his household staff by name. Then he'd given me the bone whistle and told me it would summon his private guards and keep me safe.

All of the capital had praised him for it. His reputation had never been higher, and every noble girl who wanted to marry him had learned to hate me for it.

One day, I'd gone up to the mountain to pray for him at the shrine. Selena had ambushed me on the way. By the time she was done, I was pinned to a rack, my body covered in cuts and welts from her instruments.

The comments had scrolled across my vision and given me something to hold onto.

[Just hold on a little longer. You already blew the whistle. He'll hear it and rush over to save you.]

[I've been waiting for this scene forever! He's going to drop in out of nowhere, scoop her up with one arm, and make that awful woman pay. I can't wait!]

I held on for a long time that day, long enough that I'd nearly bled out completely.

Tristan never came.

When I regressed again, I set down the medicine bowl and yanked the bone whistle from his neck before I'd even caught my breath. The sound rang out, familiar and sharp, and his people arrived within two hours.

That was when I finally understood. It wasn't a problem with the whistle.

In his hands, it was protection. In mine, it was a death sentence. The more affection Tristan showed me in front of others, the faster I died, and the worse it was each time.

But he owed me his life. So why did he hate me so much?

Caleb's voice cut through my thoughts. 'Natalie, tell Selena you stole the whistle. Let her have us arrested for theft. It's the only way we stay alive longer.'

I came back to the present. The comments were still rolling.

[Aren't you the Divine Healer's apprentice? Wake him up already! Once he's on his feet he'll have your back, and he'll make that horrible woman answer for everything she's done!]

As if in response to the commenters' will, Tristan stirred on the bed and opened his eyes.

The head guard, Adam Carter, dropped to his knees.

"Master."

Tristan turned his head and looked at me. He raised one weak finger in my direction.

"She knows medicine. Bring her."

Then he was out again.

I stood there for a moment, genuinely caught off guard.

In every single one of my previous lives, Tristan had gotten to safety first and sent for me afterward. Not once had he ever asked me to come with him directly.

Would I finally escape death in this life?

I sent a letter to my father and brother through a neighbor. They were still working at the government office and couldn't come themselves. So I tucked Caleb against my side and joined Tristan's group on the road back to the capital.

I'd tried leaving Caleb with them once before, thinking I could move faster and look for answers on my own. It hadn't worked. The moment I was gone, he refused to eat and cried until he made himself sick. Then he'd slipped past the servants and crawled out of the house to find me.

By the time my father and brother tracked him down, a wolf had already gotten to him.

In that life, my family's deaths were even more inexplicable. Tristan sent his private guards to finish us off.

I never left Caleb behind again after that.

The wind in December cut straight to the bone. Caleb and I sat huddled in a drafty old carriage that seemed to let in air from every direction.

I knew it was deliberate. Selena had arranged it on purpose. She couldn't stand any woman getting near Tristan, and I'd touched his bone whistle. As far as she was concerned, I'd crossed a line.

True to every lifetime before this one, she didn't wait long to come looking for trouble.

"Natalie, why isn't Tristan awake yet? What did you do to him?"

I kept my eyes down and said nothing. I didn't want her to see the hatred in them. I just focused on rubbing Caleb's hands and feet, which had gone bluish from the cold.

"Don't think just because Tristan said to bring you along, I won't deal with you myself."

Then her gaze dropped to Caleb, and something ugly moved across her face.

"Tristan's lying there unconscious, and this little brat gets to sleep just fine?"

She shot her hand out and grabbed Caleb by the throat. He jolted awake, gasping, and burst into tears.

"Don't blame me, little one," she said, her voice sweet and poisonous. "Blame your sister. She's the greedy one. Thought she could waltz into the capital and live well, and drag a useless little burden like you along with her..."

I looked at Selena, my voice flat and cold.

"Let go. If Caleb dies, you won't survive it either."

She lifted her chin and stared me down.

"He's just a child. If I want to choke the life out of him, I will. There are people who'll cover for me."

"And if the regent decides you should pay with your life?"

"That's absurd!" Selena screamed.

She looked back at Caleb and froze. He'd gone completely still. No more crying, no more struggling. He was just staring at her, his expression blank.

It scared her. She let go and stumbled back, then pointed a shaking finger at him.

"Is he Tristan's illegitimate child?" She caught herself and rounded on me. "Wait. How do you even know Tristan is the regent?"

"I have nothing to say to you."

I pulled out a salve and gently worked it into the marks on Caleb's neck.

The comments rolled fast across my vision.

[Isn't Caleb supposed to be the female lead's actual brother? How is he suddenly their secret kid? This adaptation is completely out of control.]

[There's no way they have an illegitimate child together. The male lead has too much integrity for that. She's just guessing. And if he finds out she tried to kill a toddler, he's going to make sure she answers for it.]

Caleb wasn't Tristan's child, of course.

But I hadn't lied.

In my fifty-sixth life, Selena had lured me away and killed Caleb while I was gone. It was the first time she'd died before I did. When her body was found, it had already been so badly tortured it was barely recognizable.

But there were still traces of distinct torture devices on her.

I knew every single one of them, because I'd had all of those same instruments used on me before.

They were part of Tristan's personal collection.