Couture gowns from a Parisian atelier. A pigeon-blood ruby brooch won at Sotheby's. The keys to an island villa.
He seemed capable of seeing everything he'd given me, yet somehow blind to the color draining from my face each time the pain hit, the trembling, the weak moans I couldn't swallow back.
No matter how fast the healing came, it was still my flesh absorbing the blow. I still cried from the pain.
And now I'd lost even that.
I wanted to scream, to call out, but the moment I opened my mouth, a gush of black blood surged up my throat.
It was thick and clotted, laced with fragments I couldn't identify.
Damien's expression shifted.
He barked orders. Someone forced ginseng broth between my lips. An IV needle slid into my arm.
"Antonia, you hold on. You hold on at least until Alma's had her fun."
I curled into his arms and laughed.
He thought I'd endured ten years without fighting back for the sake of a promise. A title. A ring.
He had no idea.
My healing ability existed because I was bound to the Tragic Novel Self-Rescue System.
Every instance of suffering earned one anguish point.
Years of silent endurance had served a single purpose: accumulate enough points to leave this world behind.
Now the quota was met. The ability had expired. All I had to do was wait for the System upgrade to finish, and I could go.
My heartbeat slowed.
Just before consciousness left me entirely, Alma finally broke the surface of the water.
Deep in my mind, the mechanical voice chimed.
【System Upgrade Progress: 90%.】
I woke up in a hospital.
"Your healing is gone. Why didn't you tell me?" Damien's voice was low, threaded with a rare exhaustion. "You were unconscious the whole time. The doctors said it was critical. I stayed for three days."
I blinked, caught off guard.
The bruised shadows under his eyes looked real enough. The retort forming in my throat died there.
When I said nothing, he sighed and cupped my bloodless face in both hands. "Still upset with me?"
His thumb traced my cracked lips. "Alma's a little spoiled. I know that. Just bear with her a bit longer. For my sake. Can you do that?"
My nails dug into my palms.
He always did this. Whatever catastrophe Alma created, he smoothed it over with a single word: spoiled. As if that explained everything. As if that excused it.
And then he asked me to pay for it with my body.
I couldn't hold it back. "Don't worry. I'll be gone soon enough. I won't be in your way anymore."
"Gone?" His brows drew together. "The wedding preparations have already started. Where exactly do you think you're going?"
"The wedding?" A cold laugh scraped out of me. "You think your precious little sister would allow that?"
He paused. Then his brow smoothed, and something close to relief crossed his face. "So that's what this is. You're still sulking."
"Don't worry. Alma's been very mature about it." His tone softened. "She's been putting a lot of effort into our wedding."
The words had barely left his mouth when Alma bounced in, tablet in hand.
"Damien! What if we made the wedding's main color scheme black? It'd be so edgy and unique!"
I frowned. Were we planning a wedding or a funeral?
But he just looked at her with a faint smile. "Sure."
"And a mango cake for the wedding?"
I was allergic to mango.
He nodded. "Whatever you want."
"I'm tired," I cut in. "Take it outside."
The room went quiet for a beat.
Alma's lip jutted out. "What's that supposed to mean? You think my ideas aren't good enough?"
"Of course they are. Alma has great taste." He pulled her into his arms, then cast a glance my way. "Apologize to her. Or you can check yourself out of this hospital right now."
The last trace of warmth in my chest went cold.
I ripped the IV needle from the back of my hand. Blood beaded on my skin. I threw off the covers and swung my legs out of bed.
Alma's eyes darted, calculating. She planted her hands on her hips and blocked my path.
"Damien, do you think she's been lying to you?"
"If she really lost her healing ability, why isn't she resting and recovering like she should?"
"Maybe she made the whole thing up for sympathy."
