One step away.
I was so close to completing my mission—to give birth to the child of the primary affection target. The system had promised me that as long as I succeeded in delivering the baby, my mission would be considered complete, even if the affection values of all three targets had plummeted to zero.
But at seven months pregnant, my CEO husband stormed into the hospital and took me away.
My childhood best friend who pushed me onto the operating table with his own hands.
My parents stood outside, signing the consent forms without a second thought.
No matter how desperately I begged, screamed, or pleaded, they still took my baby from me. All to harvest the umbilical cord blood to save my sister, Delia Hayes.
I lay forgotten on that cold, metal table, listening to my child's cries grow weaker and weaker until they stopped entirely.
The system's voice echoed in my mind, cold and unyielding: Mission failed. Life termination imminent.
But just as my life began to slip away, those very people who once wished for my death suddenly lost their minds.
***
In the dim glow of the ultrasound room, the doctor placed the probe aside and smiled gently at me. “The baby looks healthy. From the facial structure, I'd say it's going to be a healthy baby.”
I let out a shaky breath of relief and moved to get off the bed.
The door burst open with a loud crack. A group of men dressed in black suits flooded into the room and at the front of them stood my husband, Damon Cross, CEO of the CrossCorp International.
He was the third and final target of my mission. But his heart had always belonged to Delia.
The doctor barely had time to protest before the guards dragged him out.
Damon advanced step by step, his icy, emotionless gaze sending chills down my spine. His eyes flicked toward my belly with a glint of cold satisfaction.
I was immediately hauled to my feet by the guards.
A sick dread twisted my stomach. I struggled desperately. “Damon, what are you doing?”
His hand shot out, clamping around my chin. “Delia is sick. She needs umbilical cord blood from a direct relative.”
“Congratulations. The bastard you schemed to conceive is finally good for something,” he added.
My mind went blank. I stared at him in disbelief. “The baby is only seven months... what are you planning to do?”
He sneered. “Induce labor, of course. Stop trying to use the kid to manipulate me. It's an honor for that brat to help Delia.”
The room tilted around me as his words struck like a bolt of lightning.
He wanted to cut my baby out early. To save Delia.
“Please, Damon, I'm begging you!” I sobbed. “The baby won't survive at seven months.”
“Look, just give me three more months,” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. “I swear, I'll deliver it and you can take the cord blood then.”
Damon didn't even spare me a glance. “Three months? What, so you can drag this out and let Delia die?”
But Delia wasn't actually sick. I knew it. This was just another one of her elaborate schemes.
Terror clawed at me as I felt the guards tightening their hold. “Damon, please,” I sobbed. “The baby will die. I will die.”
He didn't even blink. “Now you're scared? You should've thought of that before you tricked me to get you pregnant.”
“The brat was never meant to exist. If it dies, then it's meant to be.”
Before I could scream, a guard stuffed a cloth into my mouth.
Tears ran down my face as despair hollowed me out from within. I screamed, kicking and fighting with every ounce of strength I had left. A rough hand shoved a cloth over my mouth, muffling my cries. The salty sting of tears blurred my vision.
As despair dragged me under, the system's voice crackled to life inside my mind:
[Warning: Premature delivery detected. Mission failure imminent.]
[Life termination initiated.]
A pause. Then: [There is one last chance. Accumulate enough regret from the affection targets and the mission will deem success.]
I shook my head, tears streaming down. There was no hope. Even if I died, they wouldn't shed a single tear for me. I'd never been able to compete with Delia.
