Julian lost a game of Truth or Dare.

As punishment, the heir to the Carter family was dared to text his young wife a divorce message.

He knew damn well—after five years of marriage—that the one word I couldn’t stand was divorce.

Just as he was racking his brain trying to figure out how to smooth things over, he suddenly got my reply.

I said yes.

He rushed home in a panic, every nerve in his body screaming something was wrong.

The moment he pushed the door open, the first thing he saw was me lying on the rug beside the couch.

His brows knitted tightly as he walked over.

“You’re not feeling well and still sleeping on the floor? Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

But I didn’t move.

Not a sound. Not even the sound of breathing.

Panic shot through him like fire.

“Isla, get up.”

He crouched down to pick me up. But the second he touched me, the icy cold of my body shot straight through his fingertips.

Chapter 1

When I chose to give up my role as a “Player” and stay by Julian Carter’s side, the System gave me a punishment.

If Julian ever stopped loving me, I would die.

But if he loved me forever, I could live.

I believed him when he said I was the only one he would ever love. I believed him so much I stayed.

And then, five years into our marriage, a countdown appeared out of thin air.

[Host no longer viable for survival in this world. Penalty initiated. Termination in: 3 days.]

The cold, robotic voice rang in my head again for the first time in five years.

My hand froze, piping bag still full of cream, hovering over the anniversary cake I’d spent all day making.

My first thought: the System must’ve glitched.

But no—the numbers floated in mid-air, glowing red, ticking down second by second.

2 days, 23 hours, 50 minutes, and 33 seconds.

My fingers clenched around the bag. Whipped cream splattered the counter.

I wiped it off with a trembling hand, grabbed my phone, and called Julian.

No answer.

I called again. And again.

Ten calls later, he finally picked up.

“If you’re that bored, go get a job,” he snapped. “I’m in a meeting. Are you trying to kill me with all these calls?”

I stared at the countdown in the air.

Kill you?

Julian, it’s literally killing me.

But I smiled and kept my voice light. “Will you be home tonight? I bought your favorite seafood.”

“Didn’t I tell you? I’m busy lately. Just go to bed early.”

My heart twisted like it’d been soaked in poison.

I asked anyway. “Do you remember what day it is today?”

He hung up.

The busy tone hummed in my ear while I looked at the cake.

“Happy Fifth Anniversary,” I’d written in delicate lettering.

The words blurred behind a fresh wave of tears.

[Reality check: He doesn’t love you anymore.]

Thanks, System.

I already knew. I just couldn’t say it out loud.

The bitterness climbed up my throat and choked me.

But I still finished the damn cake.

“He’ll come back,” I whispered to no one. Maybe to myself. Maybe to the System. Who knows.

I set the table. His favorite dishes, crab legs and grilled oysters. Cleaned the whole damn house. Even climbed a ladder and taped up the cheap “Happy 5th Anniversary” banner I bought on sale.

It was eight p.m. when I finally sat at the dining table.

I waited.

From eight to midnight.

He didn’t come home.

But a video did.

An anonymous link landed in my inbox.

I clicked it. I already knew.

Julian. In bed. Still wearing our wedding ring.

Fucking another woman like he was possessed.

“Do you love me more, or Mrs. Carter?” she asked, giggling mid-thrust.

He groaned, deep and low.

That groan hit harder than any scream ever could.

I ran to the bathroom. Vomited red.

Blood.

I stared at it, stunned. The sounds from the video still played from the phone on the counter.

Delete. I tapped it automatically.

It wasn’t the first time.

I used to think if I just deleted them all, I could pretend everything was still okay. That Julian and I were still okay.

But now the countdown was flashing in front of my face.

I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.

I looked at the blood one more time.

Then I took a picture and texted it to him.

Julian, if you don’t come home now, I’m going to die.

Chapter 2

I hadn’t even waited thirty minutes before I heard the front door slam like a thunderclap.

Julian was home. And he was out of breath.

But when he saw me sitting there on the couch, perfectly fine, his expression darkened.

“What the hell is going on? Are you okay? Do we need to go to the ER?” He came toward me, hand raised like he was going to check my temperature.

I smiled. God, I actually smiled.

“Relax. I poured red wine on the floor. Figured that was the only way you’d come home.”

His face turned to stone.

“You’re fucking insane.”

I pressed my lips together and didn’t say a word.

He was already tired of me. I could see it in the way his eyes skimmed past mine, like he was already halfway out the door.

Used to be, he’d get flustered and guilty. Now? Everything about me bored him. Even my sadness was a nuisance.

He turned to leave, but something on the wall stopped him. The drooping anniversary banner.

His eyes flicked to it, and a flicker of recognition passed over his face.

“Today’s… our fifth anniversary?”

I stood, walked to the banner still clinging to the wall by one last sad piece of tape, and ripped it down.

It reminded me of our marriage—held up by nothing but desperation and bad glue.

“It was yesterday,” I corrected, eyes drifting to the clock.

Julian blinked. “I’ve just been slammed with work. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get you something.”

I stepped closer. His suit reeked of scotch and expensive perfume.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice light, fake. “Busy night.”

He caught the tone. His eyes narrowed.

“It’s called business. I drink at events, I meet people. You don’t have to be so paranoid all the time.”

Then came the knife: “Jesus, Isla. Look in the mirror. You’ve turned into a bitter fucking housewife.”

I thought my heart was numb already. Turns out it wasn’t.

Julian Carter—the golden boy of the Carter family. The man nobody said no to. And he wanted me to believe someone made him drink?

Whatever.

I didn’t feel like arguing. Lately, every conversation ended in a fight anyway.

I glanced up. The countdown glowed above my head.

[Time left: 2 days, 11 hours, 47 minutes, 53 seconds]

None of it mattered anymore.

I softened my voice. “Julian, can’t you just… stay with me tonight? That’s all I want.”

He hesitated. Something in him cracked. His hand dropped from the doorknob.

In bed, I curled against him. His arms came around me out of habit, but his fingers brushed my ribs and paused.

“Why are you so damn skinny?”

That was the thing. Men only notice when they’ve had someone else to compare you to.

I remembered that video. Her curves. The way his hands roamed her like she was a feast.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“My stomach’s been off lately. Haven’t eaten much.”

His tone turned cold. “Didn’t I fix that before? I thought we got that handled.”

I hesitated. “You haven’t made me anything in a long time.”

Back when we were newlyweds, Julian used to cook me herbal recipes and tell me he’d looked them up for my health. It was sweet, at the time. Thoughtful.

Now? That part of him was long dead.

He knew it, too. And he hated being reminded.

“There’s painkillers in the cabinet,” he muttered. “Take some and stop being dramatic.”

I nodded. “I wasn’t trying to guilt-trip you.”

Maybe that quiet answer surprised him. Maybe my sudden obedience stirred something.

His hand slipped under the blanket, tracing along my waist.

My whole body tensed.

“Julian… not tonight. I’m not feeling great.”

His fingers stilled. He didn’t argue. Just pulled me in, whispered low:

“Sleep.”

But I couldn’t. I lay there, my chest aching, eyes burning.

Then I said it:

“You still owe me a honeymoon. Remember? Let’s go. Now.”

He froze. Then frowned. “It’s the middle of the damn night. Can’t this wait?”

“You always say that,” I whispered. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

He looked at me, something in his face cracking again. Maybe he thought it was one of those moments. One of those final chance things.

He sighed. “Alright. We’ll go.”

The System buzzed in my skull.

[Host, he doesn’t love you. You can’t win him with your body.]

I ignored it.

I had two days left.

Let me pretend a little longer.

Chapter 3

Julian stiffened. His jaw tensed. “It’s late. Let’s talk about it another time.”

But I wasn’t letting this one go.

“You always say that. Next time, next time. I’m done waiting.”

He looked like he was about to snap at me, tell me I was pushing too far—but then he looked at my face. My eyes. And the fight drained out of him.

Maybe he sensed it, too.

That if he said no this time, he might never get another chance.

He sighed. “Alright.”

I smiled like I’d won something. Like it mattered. But inside, the System’s cold voice buzzed in my skull.

[Host, his heart’s no longer with you. What’s the point of keeping the body if the soul’s already gone?]

I froze.

Then I shoved the voice down like always. Smile intact.

We left that night.

By the time we reached the coast, it was already noon the next day. Sun high. Salt in the air. We checked into the hotel, and I barely dropped my bag before pulling out my phone.

I’d bookmarked a video.

“People say this town’s big for weddings,” I said, holding it up to Julian. “Let’s have one. Just us. A do-over.”

His brows drew together. “We already had a wedding. Why do you want another one?”

He sounded nervous.

Good.

“To relive the magic,” I said, wrapping my arms around him. My smile felt fake, but he didn’t call it out.

He paused, then gave in. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

He handed me the reins, went straight to the balcony with his laptop and started working like this was just another business trip.

I didn’t care. I got busy.

I found a local wedding planner, made the calls, booked the setup.

Everything confirmed. Everything ready.

I walked to the balcony to tell him.

Then I stopped.

Julian was on the phone.

His voice was low, intimate.

“Be good, okay? I’ll see you next time.”

Pause.

“She dragged me to the coast last minute, nothing I could do. Just pick out something nice and I’ll send it as an apology.”

I couldn’t breathe.

I hadn’t heard him talk like that to me in… God, how long?

And that girl—she could whine, beg for attention. And he’d give it. Me? I’d just get accused of being clingy.

Julian hung up and turned. He flinched when he saw me standing there.

“Who were you talking to?”

He snapped like a rubber band. “You dragged me out here, Isla. I still have work. Or is that not allowed now, too?”

I swallowed hard.

“I’m not trying to stop you,” I said, faking a smile. “Just came to say—I booked the wedding.”

His face didn’t change.

“Good. Then go take a walk or something. I’ve got stuff to finish.”

And with that, he slid the balcony door shut. Kept his back to me.

I sat on the couch.

Watched him through the glass.

One hour.

Then two.

Then five.

Five hours, thirty-four minutes, and twenty-one seconds.

He never looked back.

The countdown burned above my head.

And for the first time, I really knew:

Julian Carter didn’t love me anymore.

By sunset, the beach wedding was set.

Locals watched from the sidelines as we walked down the makeshift aisle in rented outfits, like strangers pretending to be a couple.

Behind the veil, I stared at him. My eyes were red. Burning.

“Julian,” I said. “Do you remember what you said at our first wedding?”

Maybe the atmosphere got to him. Maybe it triggered a memory.

He nodded. “Of course. I, Julian Carter, vow to love Isla Monroe—forever. Through every day and every year.”

I pressed. “And if you break that vow?”

He smiled, like it was a joke.

“Then I deserve to lose you forever. That would be my greatest punishment.”

His voice echoed through the mic. Loud. Clear.

It hit me like a wrecking ball.

I didn’t want to cry.

But the tears came anyway.

He made a vow.

So now it’s time to pay.

Julian blinked, caught off guard.

He hadn’t seen me cry like that in a long time.

Not even when he ignored me. Not even when I found those videos.

His expression softened.

“Come on, it’s not our first wedding,” he said gently. “Why all the tears?”

He reached up to wipe them away.

And that’s when we heard it.

“Mr. Carter!”

A woman’s voice. Crisp. Confident.

I turned.

She stood at the edge of the venue. Pretty. Polished.

I knew that face.

I’d seen it a thousand times.

In every video someone ever sent me.

She was the girl.

Chapter 4

I knew her name—Lena Whitmore. Julian had just hired her, supposedly as his new assistant.

But the moment he saw her standing at the gate, his entire expression shifted.

Without saying a word to me, Julian stepped down from the altar, ignored the stares from guests, and pulled her out of the venue like I didn’t even exist.

Not a single explanation. Not even a glance my way.

The guests whispered. Their looks of sympathy burned worse than any slap.

I forced myself to smile through the rest of the ceremony. My fingers trembled as I signed our second set of vows. Then I slipped out quietly and followed the direction Julian had taken her.

I was almost there when the System buzzed in my head:

[Warning: Host advised not to proceed.]

Screw that.

I kept walking.

I spotted them at the edge of the garden path, half-hidden behind the palms. Her voice was soft, syrupy sweet, almost trembling with excitement.

“Don’t be mad, okay? I have good news. I’m pregnant.”

Boom. Just like that, my world cracked.

Everything inside me froze, then rang like I’d just taken a baseball bat to the skull.

But then I heard his voice—cold, cutting.

“I’ll give you money. Take care of it.”

There was silence.

Then Julian’s voice again, sharper now:

“I told you before—my wife is the line you don’t cross. Don’t show up in front of me again.”

Lena’s breath caught. I could almost hear her trying to compute what he’d just said.

“But… you told me you loved me.”

Julian’s reply came like a slap:

“Get over yourself. You think I’d look at you twice if you didn’t remind me of her?”

Lena shut up instantly.

And I—I nearly laughed.

So that’s what I was now. A blueprint. A mold.

Even when I was still beside him, breathing the same air, sleeping in the same bed, he needed a knock-off version of me just to keep things interesting.

Because he was bored. That’s all this was.

Lena disappeared down the hall, and Julian turned around.

When he saw me, panic flashed through his eyes. “Isla, she was here for work. Something urgent.”

I stared at him. My throat felt like it was full of glass. “Don’t lie to me, Julian.”

He opened his arms and pulled me in. “I’m not lying…”

I closed my eyes.

Same script, different night.

I took a breath. “I don’t care anymore. Just stay with me these next two days. Like you promised.”

He exhaled slowly. “Okay.”

Back in the hotel room, he held me tighter than usual. His kisses landed along my jawline, down my neck, trailing lower. Every move was practiced, familiar.

It’d been a long time since we’d been like this.

His hands knew exactly where to touch, how to draw a reaction.

He wasn’t gentle. Not really.

I winced. “Julian… slower, please.”

He froze—then laughed, low and cruel.

“You weren’t this delicate before. Stop pretending.”

Then he took me harder.

I buried my face into the pillow, bit back every cry. Let the tears fall in silence.

My body was already giving out. The System was failing. My lifeline had always been his love—his real love. The more it faded, the sicker I became.

Afterward, he pulled me close, frowning.

“You really need to eat more. You’re getting bony.”

That frown told me everything—he hadn’t been satisfied. My body wasn’t good enough anymore.

“Okay,” I whispered.

My meekness annoyed him. “Jesus, Isla. What is it now? You mad? Huh? Did I not fuck you good enough?”

“I didn’t mean anything…”

He was already done with the conversation. Tossed the covers aside and stood up. “I’m going out for a smoke. Go to sleep.”

He left without looking back.

Sleep? I couldn’t even close my eyes.

I got up, threw on a jacket, and went looking for him.

The beach was wide and dark, waves crashing under a moon that looked way too romantic for how shitty I felt.

I couldn’t find him.

My legs eventually gave out. I dropped onto one of the beach loungers and sat there, staring out at the water.

That’s when a guy walked up—young, cocky, and way too confident.

“Hey there. You okay? You look like you could use a drink… or some company.”

I gave him a half-smile. “Sorry. You’re not my type.”

He grinned, unfazed. “Then tell me what your type is. I can be flexible.”

There was something about his eyes. For a second, I saw a flash of the Julian I’d first fallen for. That stupid cocky charm. The confidence.

And I actually smiled.

But of course, that’s exactly when I heard Julian’s voice behind me.

“She’s taken.”

He grabbed my wrist without another word, ignoring the guy’s awkward face and pulling me away.

He was pissed. Boiling.

I tried to speak. “Julian, wait—”

But he didn’t let me.

Back in the hotel room, he slammed the door behind us and threw me down on the couch like I weighed nothing.

He loomed over me, eyes sharp with rage.

His hand clamped around my chin. “You mope around me like a goddamn ghost. But you’re out there grinning at some stranger like a goddamn tease?”

Chapter 5

“You’re such a fucking slut, Isla. Was last night not enough for you?”

Julian’s voice snapped through the air like a whip. His eyes were wild, his grip iron as he reached for the zipper on my dress.

“Stop! Don’t touch me!” I screamed, twisting away from him.

I didn’t want it like this—not when he was angry, not when I felt like just another outlet for his rage.

I fought him with everything I had, nails scratching, legs kicking. But it was like trying to push down a freight train. Useless.

When I realized I couldn’t stop him, something in me just… broke.

I stopped fighting. And I cried.

“Julian, why can’t you just be kind to me for once… just once.”

My voice cracked, ugly with tears. The sound of it must’ve finally reached whatever was left of his conscience, because his whole body went rigid.

He stared at me, like he was waking up from some blackout. Then his arms came around me fast, tight. Too tight.

“I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it, I just…”

He kept whispering apologies into my hair, but my pain was already flooding out of me—hot, raw, unstoppable.

I shoved at him, sobbing, my voice shaking from the weight of everything I’d been holding back.

“You asshole! You bastard! How could you do this to me!”

Every word made him flinch. He held me tighter, like that could fix it.

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

I don’t know how long I cried. Long enough to be empty. Long enough to have nothing left.

When my sobs finally faded, I just curled into his chest, too tired to move. He kissed the top of my head like it meant something.

“Please don’t be mad anymore.”

He fell asleep holding me that night. Something that hadn’t happened in what felt like forever.

And for a moment, I almost believed things were okay again.

But then I saw it—the glowing red numbers.

[Death Countdown: 1 Day, 23 Hours, 39 Minutes, 37 Seconds.]

He made me breakfast the next morning.

A steaming bowl of herbal oatmeal, the kind he used to have his chef make when I was sick.

He placed it in front of me like a peace offering. “I remade the tonic. Next time, don’t be so dramatic about it.”

I forced a smile. “Okay.”

I picked up the spoon. Took one bite.

And bolted for the bathroom.

I hit the floor, vomiting so hard I thought my insides would come out. Nothing but bile and pain.

Julian stormed in after me. “What the hell is going on with you, Isla?”

He stopped cold when he saw me hunched over the sink, my bones sharper than they should be, skin pale and shaking.

His voice softened. “You’ve lost weight. You’re not keeping anything down. We’re going to the hospital.”

I wiped my mouth and looked up, smiling faintly. “I hate hospitals.”

He rubbed my back. “You’ve got me. What’s there to be scared of?”

I didn’t bother arguing. “Maybe later.”

There wasn’t going to be a later. Not for me.

Julian frowned like he didn’t believe me, opened his mouth to say something—

And then his phone rang.

“Mr. Carter, it’s urgent—your mother’s in the hospital.”

We dropped everything. Packed up and left the coast.

Julian glanced over at me during the drive, guilt in his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, okay? Double next time.”

I shook my head. “It’s fine. Family comes first.”

But what I really wanted wasn’t a beach or a wedding or a promise.

I just wanted him.

We rushed into the hospital expecting chaos.

Instead, we found Julian’s mother sipping tea at the side of a hospital bed.

And in that bed, smiling and perfectly healthy, was Rachel Carter.

Julian’s supposed secretary.

Mrs. Carter looked up, calm and smug, and handed me a white envelope.

“I think it’s time you stepped aside, Isla. A barren wife has no place in the Carter family.”

And just like that, she dismissed me—like I was defective goods past the return window.