On our third wedding anniversary, Kent gave me a gift.

A black metal wristband.

Cold. Sleek.

He called it a new product from his company—a pain-sharing system.

The other user was Violet.

His "girl bro."

The person he was closer to than his own sister.

Kent brushed a hand over my cheek, his gaze soft. "Clara, you're too coddled. You should learn from Violet. She's tough."

Then he snapped the wristband onto my wrist.

So while Violet got a full-back tattoo and an entire sleeve, I felt every single needle.

When Violet went wingsuit flying, I collapsed at home. Every bone in my body felt shattered.

I threw up blood.

While she soaked up attention online as the "extreme sports queen," I was drowning in nonstop pain.

Kent sat beside me, holding my hand as he cared.

"Just hang in there. Violet's just being herself. As my wife, you should be more understanding."

To finally push me over the edge, Violet decided to livestream herself jumping into the ocean to make me die in her place.

Their friends couldn't wait to watch.

Later, I watched calmly from a hospital room as the system slowly drained the life out of her.

Kent looked deranged as he demanded to know why I wasn't dead.

Because I had already reversed the system. All her vitality had become the nourishment that sustained me.

"Do you like it, Clara? Our third anniversary gift."

Kent Fenton's voice brushed my ear. He wrapped his arms around me from behind and snapped a cold metal wristband onto my wrist.

Click.

It locked.

"What is this?" I asked. The cold metal sent a chill through me.

"A surprise." Kent kissed my cheek. "My company's latest tech—a pain-sync system. I've already linked it to Violet's device."

My heart dropped.

Violet Burke.

Her name was a thorn in my marriage I could never pull out.

"Kent, what do you mean?"

"Clara, you're too coddled. You cry over the smallest scrape." He sighed like he couldn't help it. "Violet's different. She's strong, full of energy. I want you to feel some of her vitality. Learn from her."

Learn from her?

Learn how to flirt with someone else's husband and call it friendship?

Learn how one call at three in the morning can make him leave my side?

Learn how to stroll into our house in a tiny outfit and grin. "Clara, don't mind me. Kent and I go way back. No need to be so formal."

Yeah. Right.

I tried to take off the wristband, but it was seamless. No clasp. No switch.

"Don't bother. Only I can unlock it." Kent pressed a hand over mine. "Trust me. This is good for you."

A sharp pain suddenly tore through my left arm.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Hot and brutal, like countless burning needles stabbing into my skin and twisting.

"Ah!" I cried out, doubling over.

Kent caught me, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"It hurts... my arm..." Cold sweat broke across my forehead as the pain shot through my nerves and into my brain.

His phone rang.

A video call from Violet.

Kent answered. Violet's bright, dramatic face filled the screen.

She was stretched out in a tattoo studio chair, her back and left arm completely exposed. A tattoo artist worked on her arm.

"Kent! Look at this design. Isn't it cool?" She eagerly showed off the fresh outline. "Oh, Clara's there too? Clara, let me tell you, tattoos don't hurt at all. It feels amazing. You should try it sometime!"

She smiled innocently, every word a challenge.

On the screen, the tattoo needle pierced her skin.

Off the screen, pain ripped through my body.

I convulsed and nearly bit through my tongue.

I finally understood what this "gift" was really for.

It wasn't a gift.

It was a torture device.

Kent looked at me writhing in pain, then at the cheerful Violet on the screen.

A hint of satisfaction flashed through his eyes.

"Clara, look. Violet didn't even flinch. Be stronger."

"Kent... you scum." I forced the words through gritted teeth.

He ended the call, scooped me up, and tossed me onto the bed.

Then he looked down at me, his eyes cold.

"Violet's getting a full-back phoenix. It'll take more than ten hours. Lie here and learn what real strength looks like."

The door shut behind him.

The pain never stopped.

It swallowed me whole, endless and inescapable.

I stared at the ceiling as my consciousness drifted in and out.

Sometime later, Kent's phone rang again.

He put the call on speaker.

"Kent, I heard there's a new wingsuit challenge. I signed up! I'm going tomorrow!"

A trace of hesitation slipped into Kent's voice.

"That's dangerous..."

"Relax. I'll be fine! I'm the queen of extremes! What about Clara? She's so weak. She'll be okay, right?"

Kent fell silent for a moment.

His gaze landed on me, drenched in sweat on the bed.

"She'll be fine. She can handle it."

He hung up, then leaned over me.

"Did you hear that? Violet's going wingsuit flying tomorrow. Get some rest. Save your strength."

I woke with a violent gasp, suffocation crushing my chest.

It was still dark.

Kent was gone.

A note sat on the nightstand, his bold handwriting impossible to miss.

[Clara, be brave.]

I crushed it in my fist.

The next second, a terrifying sensation of weightlessness slammed into me.

My body was still on the bed, but it felt like my soul had been hurled ten thousand feet into the air—

then dropped.

Wind screamed past my ears.

Then came the sound of bones breaking.

Crack.

Starting at my ankles and climbing higher.

Calves.

Knees.

Thighs.

Pelvis.

Ribs.

Spine.

I felt every bone shift and snap, driving through muscle and flesh.

"Ghk."

A mouthful of blood burst from my lips, splattering across the white sheets.

I was like a fish stranded on shore, my mouth opening and closing, unable to pull in a single breath.

This was what the system made me feel during Violet's wingsuit flight.

Darkness crept across my vision in waves.

Yet through it all, my mind drifted back to the first time I met Kent.

It happened at an art exhibition. I'd been invited as a promising young painter.

He stood in front of my painting for a long time, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit.

"Your work has real life in it." He turned and smiled. "I'm Kent Fenton."

After that, he chased me relentlessly.

Flowers.

Movie dates.

Waiting outside my studio for hours just to bring me food.

He used to say, "Clara, you're the most beautiful soul I've ever met. Let me protect you for the rest of your life."

I believed him.

I thought I'd married the love of my life.

Then Violet showed up and shattered every dream I had.

Now the man who once promised to protect me was dragging me into hell with his own hands.

The pain eventually swallowed me whole.

When I woke again, voices filled the house.

The living room was buzzing.

Kent and his friends were laughing.

"Violet's incredible! She broke the regional record this time! The queen of extremes really lives up to her name!"

"Seriously. Unlike some people who sit at home all day being pampered and dramatic."

"Hahaha, don't say that. She's an artist. Of course she's pampered."

I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn't cooperate.

Pain screamed through every bone.

The door swung open.

Kent walked in with several friends behind him.

The second they saw me lying in a pool of blood, their smiles vanished.

"Holy crap! Kent, what... what happened?"

Kent froze.

Then he rushed over and checked my breathing.

"Clara? Clara, wake up!"

I forced my eyes open and looked at him.

There was panic in his eyes.

Concern, too.

But more than anything, impatience.

"Clara, what did you do to yourself?" he said quietly, a hint of accusation in his voice. "Violet just landed. Everyone's celebrating her. Can you not make a scene right now?"

Make a scene?

I looked at him and suddenly wanted to laugh.

One of his friends scoffed.

"It's just shared pain. Does she really have to be this dramatic? Violet's perfectly fine. How can the person receiving it be worse off than the one actually going through it?"

Another friend pulled out his phone and held up a photo with a smirk.

"Clara, look. We just took this. Violet says she's going to have a baby with Kent. Maybe you should learn how to be a real mother."

In the photo, Violet was tucked against Kent's chest.

One hand rested on her flat stomach.

She smiled like she already had everything she wanted.

That photo hit me like a slap across the face.

"A baby?" I stared at Kent, my voice raw. "Kent, is it true?"

He looked away and snatched the phone from his friend's hand.

"Don't listen to that crap. They're drunk and messing around." He shot his friends a glare. "Get out."

They left laughing.

The celebration in the living room never missed a beat.

Then Violet's sweet voice drifted through the door.

"Kent, come cut the cake!"

A flicker of irritation crossed his face.

"Clara, they were joking. Don't take it seriously. Why are you always so sensitive?"

Just like that, the blame became mine.

"A joke?" I laughed as tears streamed down my face. "Having your 'girl bro' teach me how to be a mother is a joke?"

"What else would it be?" he shot back. "You think it's real?"

The door cracked open, and Violet poked her head inside.

She'd changed into a clean dress and wore an innocent, worried expression.

"Clara, are you okay? They told me you..." Her eyes turned red. "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have done something so dangerous. I'm sorry. Don't blame Kent."

She sounded apologetic, but every word drove us farther apart.

"See? Violet already apologized," Kent said immediately. "She didn't mean anything by it."

"Enough!" I snapped. "Violet, get out! Kent Fenton, I want a divorce!"

"Divorce?" Kent let out a laugh. "What are you throwing a fit about now?"

"I'm not throwing a fit!" I struggled upright, pain making the room spin. "I've had enough. I want a divorce!"

I reached for my phone on the nightstand.

I wanted to call the police.

Call my family.

Kent's expression darkened.

He grabbed the phone before I could.

Then he slammed it onto the floor.

The screen shattered.

"Divorce? Don't even think about it." He grabbed my chin, his eyes cold. "I'm telling you right now—you'll be my wife for life. Don't even try to run."

His grip felt strong enough to crush my jaw.

"Kent, don't. You're hurting Clara." Violet stepped forward, playing peacemaker. "She's just upset. Don't fight with her."

Kent shoved her aside, pulled a bank card from his pocket, and threw it at my face.

"There's five hundred thousand in it. Consider it compensation on Violet's behalf. Behave yourself and stop talking about divorce."

The edge of the card scraped my cheek.

One last humiliation.

He thought money could pay for my pain.

For my dignity.

I looked at him, then at the "pitiful" Violet standing beside him.

All I felt was disgust.

I shoved him away and crawled toward the door with everything I had.

"Help... help!"

Kent caught my ankle and dragged me back.

"Looks like I've been too nice to you." His eyes turned icy.

He pulled a tie from the drawer and bound my wrists to the headboard.

Then he locked the bedroom door.

Outside, I heard him say, "Violet, go have fun with them. I'll have a talk with Clara."

There was satisfaction hidden behind Violet's concern.

"Don't be too hard on her. Clara is still Clara..."

Their footsteps faded away.

I was left alone in the cold room.

In the middle of my despair, I spotted something under the bed.

Something I'd dropped before.

An ultrasound photo.