I brought home the scholarship student I'd been sponsoring, thinking she could spend the holidays with us.
The moment my husband saw her, his face went white.
Because he heard her "inner voice": If I can't seduce you, the System will erase me.
To save the poor girl's life, my husband actually started playing along.
He transferred my company shares to her. Signed over the sea-view condo—my favorite property—to her name.
He even planned to throw her a wedding of the century. On our anniversary.
I confronted him, eyes burning. "Why?"
He looked at me, drowning in guilt.
"Sweetheart, she's just a child controlled by the System. We need to be understanding."
"Money is just material things. As long as she's alive, nothing else matters."
I nodded slowly. Then turned to my own System.
"Did you hear that?"
"He says money doesn't matter. So if I take back the billionaire luck I gave him... that should be fine, right?"
1.
The System's cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind:
[Host, once deprivation begins, it cannot be reversed. Orson Gilbert will lose all fortune bestowed upon him and revert to the penniless nobody he once was.]
[Do you wish to proceed?]
I watched Orson gaze at Willow Pruitt with such tenderness. The last flicker of hesitation in my heart went dark.
"No problem. Start."
[Executing deprivation protocol... Progress: 1%. Estimated completion time: 7 days.]
Orson didn't notice my reaction.
He was too busy cradling a wedding gown worth tens of millions, presenting it to Willow like an offering.
When we got married, we couldn't afford a ceremony. Couldn't afford anything.
Orson had promised me—on our tenth anniversary, he'd give me the grandest wedding I'd ever dreamed of.
This gown was the one I'd commissioned from a master couturier in Paris. For the wedding seven days from now.
Now he wanted to put it on her.
"Honey, don't look at Willow like that."
Orson turned to me, brow furrowed.
"She's just a child, controlled by that damned System. She could die any moment. We have the means to help—why wouldn't we?"
"It's just a dress. You have a whole closet full. You won't miss one."
Willow huddled in the corner of the sofa, wearing the silk pajamas I'd just bought. She lifted her head, timid as a wounded fawn, eyes brimming with tears.
"Orson... is she mad at me?"
"If she doesn't want me to wear it, I won't... Even though the System said if I don't put on the 'Gown of True Love' tonight, it'll take ten years off my life..."
She clutched her chest, face draining of color, as if the pain were unbearable.
Orson's expression shifted to panic. He dropped the gown and rushed to pull her into his arms.
"Willow! Don't be scared. I'm here!"
He whipped around to glare at me, voice sharp with accusation.
"Renata Fox! Do you want to push her to death? Is that what you want?"
"It's just a piece of clothing! Her life is at stake. Is your vanity really that important?"
I sat on the sofa, watching this little performance unfold.
Funny, really.
As someone who actually possessed a System, I knew perfectly well—what Orson "heard" wasn't anyone's inner voice.
It was just Willow Pruitt's one-woman show: The Tragic Heroine Forced by the System to Seduce the Male Lead.
But he bought it.
Not only bought it—he'd cast himself as the savior.
He believed that if he fulfilled Willow's every wish, he could rescue this poor, helpless girl from the clutches of an evil System.
How noble. How heroic.
There was just one problem.
Don't play generous with what's mine.
"Orson." My voice was flat. "That's my wedding gown. It won't fit her."
