The Hundredth Prank, A Fatal Bet

Ethan Carter faked amnesia for three years to win me over.

I fell for it. Completely.

I was standing outside his door, positive pregnancy test in my hand.

Then I heard her voice, the woman who always hated me.

"Thank you for this little amnesia game. 99 pranks on Anna."

His voice, the one I loved, answered her.

"Just get to 100. Then I'm all yours."

I wasn't his future.

I was the final joke in his sick game to win another woman, Sophia Zane.

So, I died in a plane crash.

They say he went mad, tearing through the burning wreckage himself.

All he found was a single ring.

Engraved inside, it read:

“The 100th prank: I bet you love me.”

He faked his past to steal my heart.

So I faked my death to break his soul.

————————

1

Separated by a single wall.

Sophia ’s voice was cloyingly sweet. “Ethan, prank number 96, success.”

Ethan’s voice carried a hint of mockery I had never heard before. “Did you have fun?”

“Of course. It’s payback, isn’t it? For Anna Jenkins stealing my scholarship and the top prize in the game design competition.”

Ethan’s friend chimed in, “Sophia, once we hit 100, Carter can finally make you his girl!”

The blood in my veins felt like it froze solid in an instant.

“Carter’s a genius for coming up with the fake amnesia bit to mess with Anna Jenkins.”

“The first time, making her search for that heirloom necklace in a downpour, only to give it to Sophia… the look on her face…”

My nails dug deep into my palms.

That was the diamond necklace my grandmother had left me. Ethan had told me he’d accidentally lost it during the move.

That day, I searched in the torrential rain for seven whole hours and ended up with a 104-degree fever.

“The best one was the day of her thesis defense! Ethan lied and said he was drunk at a bar and getting jumped.”

His friend roared with laughter. “The way she was crying, begging her professor… I recorded the whole thing.”

I bit down hard on my lower lip.

That time, I had abandoned the graduation defense I had prepared for half a year to find him, and the consequence was having to delay my graduation.

Sophia chuckled lightly. “And that time he made paper airplanes out of the design drafts she’d spent three all-nighters on. She spent the whole night picking them up with red-rimmed eyes, just like a pathetic little dog.”

Ethan chimed in with a laugh, asking, “So, what’s the plan for this time?”

“Let’s say you’re in the hospital and tell her to rush over. Then we’ll all go to a party and let her wait for nothing. How about that!”

My phone immediately vibrated. It was from Ethan:

City Hospital, ER. Come quick.

My heart pounding, I spun around and fled before they could discover me.

Two minutes later, however, Ethan retracted the message, a flicker of what seemed like regret.

I pretended I hadn't seen anything and didn't reply.

In truth, I had seen all of this coming.

While Ethan was in the shower, I had accidentally discovered an encrypted photo album on his phone named “Game Progress.”

Inside were 96 videos.

Not one more, not one less. Exactly the number of times I had been pranked.

The password was Sophia ’s birthday.

He had once lied to me, saying it was the date we first met.

On that day last year, I waited for him in the heavy snow for three hours, wanting to spend Christmas Eve together.

Instead, he was at Sophia ’s mansion, celebrating her birthday, and didn't show up until late into the night.

Ethan carefully wrapped a scarf around my neck, the gesture so tender it felt almost sacred.

A dull ache spread through my heart as I opened my messaging app.

Pinned at the top was his chat with Sophia, where he reported the progress of his pranks daily, a dense and endless scroll:

Told her I was working overtime at the company today, but actually took you to Disneyland. She waited until three in the morning.

Intentionally told her the wrong time for her competition, two hours late. The way she sprinted over in her pajamas was hilarious.

The last message was from the day of the alumni reunion.

When Sophia “accidentally” knocked over a cup of scalding coffee, Ethan had reflexively shielded me.

But the chat log read:

Touching her felt dirty. Sprayed disinfectant three times.

I dialed my father’s number and told him I wanted to move to Montreal with him.

Ever since my mother passed away five years ago, he had been living in the city where they fell in love, guarding their memories.

And for Ethan, I had turned down every opportunity to study abroad, choosing to stay in New York.

I once thought I could melt his icy heart, but I forgot that when ice melts, all that’s left is a bone-chilling cold.

My all-consuming love was nothing but a prank, and I was just a tool for him to pursue his one true love.

My father was thrilled to hear my words. “My dear daughter, you’ve finally seen the light!”

I held back my tears and managed a soft “Mm.”

“Dad, when I leave, help me stage a plane crash.”

Though he didn’t understand, he still agreed.

A plane crash. That would be my final gift to Ethan.

The name Anna Jenkins—I would make him spend a lifetime atoning for it.

I deleted all our photos together from my phone. While packing my things at home, a leather-bound diary slipped out of Ethan’s safe.

On its dark green cover was the embossed phoenix totem from the game Ashes of Empire—the first version of the logo I had designed after countless sleepless nights.

He had printed it on the cover. Inside were all my design sketches from over the years, which he had meticulously collected, saying he wanted to help my dream come true.

Turning to the seventh page, I suddenly froze. Next to a photo of me tapping away at my code with my glasses on, there was a sticky note:

Today she said the planner was like a flustered cat. The revised proposal was ten times better. How can there be such an adorable genius?