His eyes sharpened, assessing. Curious.
Lowering his voice even more, he asked knowingly, "Is this the new experimental subject?"
The words lingered in the air.
Dominic's expression stiffened instantly. His signet ring went still against his knuckle.
A trace of displeasure flickered across his face before he masked it completely.
"How's the blood sample I sent earlier?" he asked instead, cutting the conversation short.
The surgeon seemed to understand immediately. He nodded and turned, his tone shifting into something more professional.
"The results are in," he said. "The reanimation factor inside is slowly degrading…"
He gestured for Dominic to follow him deeper into the clinic.
Concerned about exposure, Dominic turned slightly toward Celeste, his voice softening again.
"Wait outside," he said gently. "It's not safe in there."
Celeste nodded obediently, her expression sweet and compliant.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then followed the surgeon inside.
The moment he disappeared through the doors, everything changed.
Celeste's expression snapped.
The softness melted away like a mask breaking apart, revealing something cold and sharp beneath.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a small bottle of pills, her fingers steady, her gaze fixed on me with quiet malice.
"Serafina," she said slowly, her voice no longer gentle, "you're really hard to kill."
Her lips curled slightly.
"After everything… you're still alive."
There was no warmth left in her tone. Only contempt.
"Let's make a bet," she continued, tilting her head slightly, her eyes gleaming. "Let's see who Dominic really cares about."
She stepped closer, her presence suffocating.
"Whoever loses… vanishes."
There was nothing to bet on.
I already knew the outcome.
I was destined to lose.
"I bet Dominic will deconstruct you himself," she said with a soft, cruel laugh. "Don't worry. Once it's done, I'll have the clinic declare you dead."
Her voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.
"Then you can disappear forever. Never show your face to us again."
"Alright," I said.
Without hesitation.
The word came out effortlessly, calm and steady.
Celeste paused. Clearly surprised.
For a split second, her smile appeared half a beat too quickly, then vanished just as fast when she remembered she was supposed to look stricken. Something like confusion flickered across her face, as if she hadn't expected me to agree so easily.
But it vanished just as quickly.
Her grip tightened suddenly.
Before I could react, she grabbed my hand and forced it up, pressing it hard against her throat.
In the same instant, she swallowed the pills hidden in her palm.
Everything happened too fast.
Her body convulsed almost immediately. Foam bubbled at the corners of her lips, white and thick, spilling down as her knees buckled beneath her.
With a loud thud, she collapsed onto the floor.
I stumbled back instinctively, shock surging through me, my legs weakening as the scene unfolded in front of me.
My heart pounded violently.
My thumb found the pulse at my inner wrist. It was racing.
Footsteps thundered from the hallway.
"Celeste!"
Dominic's voice echoed sharply as he rushed into the room.
His eyes landed on her instantly. On her trembling, convulsing body.
Panic overtook his expression.
"Celeste! Wake up! Celeste!"
He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to lift her, his voice breaking through the tension.
Then he turned to me.
His gaze was sharp, accusing.
"What did you do?!"
Before I could answer, the clinic director arrived, his face pale, sweat forming along his temples as he quickly assessed the situation. He knelt down, checking Celeste's condition with practiced efficiency. His expression darkened.
"The signora's vitals are unstable," he said urgently. "She's suffocating. If we don't act fast, we'll lose the child."
The words hit like a hammer.
His next sentence came even faster.
"We need to deconstruct the subject now to determine the survival potential."
Silence fell.
Heavy. Suffocating.
The fluorescent lights of the black clinic hummed above us, the only sound in a room where no one breathed.
Dominic's chest rose and fell violently as he stood there, his eyes fixed on me.
There was something in his gaze.
Conflict. Hesitation.
But it didn't last.
"…Prepare the operating table," he said finally.
His voice was firm. Decisive.
That was his answer.
Moments later, I was strapped onto the clinic table.
Cold metal pressed against my back, seeping through my skin, anchoring me in place. My wrists were secured. My legs immobilized. There was no escape.
The final death was coming. I could feel it.
My thumb had gone still against my wrist. I wasn't checking for a pulse anymore.
As the anesthesia began to flow into my veins, a cold numbness spreading slowly through my body, Celeste leaned in close. Her face hovered just above mine, her breath warm against my ear.
Her voice was sharp. Like a blade.
"Don't worry," she whispered, her lips curling slightly. "Once you're dissected, I'll personally send your ashes to the crematorium."
Her eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction.
"No matter how powerful you are… you can't come back from dust."
I saw Dominic standing nearby.
Still. Silent.
His brow furrowed slightly, his chest tight, something unreadable flickering across his face. His signet ring sat motionless on his finger. He had already decided.
But he didn't move.
Didn't stop anything.
Didn't say a word.
I closed my eyes.
This was the hundredth death.
The final one.
From this moment on, Dominic and I had nothing left between us.
