The 100th Wound

[Ding. One hundredth bloodshed event verified. Plot shackles shattered. Host status: Unshackled.]

The electronic voice in my brain is cold. Beautiful. I have waited a lifetime for this sound.

Shards of glass bite into my back like fangs. A sudden, wet warmth floods my gown. Sticky. Red.

Archers hands shake. They are coated in my blood. His eyes go wide. Terror. Awe. He thinks this is love. He thinks I am proving my devotion by dying for him.

Pain tears through my nerves. I force a smile. A brilliant one.

Goodbye, moron.

Chapter 1

10:30 PM. A hand shakes my shoulder.

"Miss Cordelia. Mr. Archer called. He wants you at the club. Now."

"Okay." The word rasps out of my throat.

I force myself up. My legs give way. I stumble. The room spins.

Brenda catches me. Her grip is tight. "Miss, youre burning up. Surely he doesn't need you that badly. Just stay"

I force a smile. It feels weak. "I can't. If Archer calls, I go."

Brenda looks at me. Pity. Anger.

Everyone knows who I am. I am the heiress to the Cen empire. Raised in luxury. Educated at the best schools. Men line up just to breathe the same air as me.

But for Archer? I am a pushover. A doormat. I come when called. I leave when dismissed.

Archer is rushing me. I dry swallow a Tylenol. It scrapes my throat. I drag my sick body out the door.

The private dining room at the club is buzzing with conversation.

I push the door open. Archer sits in the center. A king on a velvet throne.

The room shifts. Mr. Carnegie and the other heavy hitters stand up. They nod. A show of respect.

The Cen family name means power in this city. No one dares to ignore me.

Except Archer.

He stays seated. He barely lifts his heavy eyelids. "You're here."

He points to a glass on the table. "Mia can't hold her liquor. Help her."

I look down.

Mia sits beside him. Cheap white dress. Long hair. The picture of fragile innocence.

The intern.

She is useless. She destroys every project she touches. I clean up the mess. She takes the credit.

I scan the room. Big clients. This is a closing dinner. Mia gathered them to prove herself but stalled at the finish line.

She tugs on Archers sleeve. Her voice is small. "Archer... I don't know how to drink. Isn't there a way to sign the deal without alcohol?"

Just not with your skill set.

Archer smirks. He points at me. Lazy. Arrogant. "It's fine. Cordelia can drink."

Its always the same script.

I do the dirty work. Mia gets the bonus.

One of the guests frowns. "Miss Cordelia looks pale. Maybe we should"

"Cordelia." Archer cuts him off. His eyes lock onto mine. Dark. Demanding. "Are you drinking or not?"

I don't hesitate. I grab the glass. Ice clinks against the rim.

I down it.

Liquid fire.

It hits my stomach like a fist.

I hear Archer chuckle. The room buzzes with whispers.

She really loves him. It's true. The heiress is pathetic.

Archer is drunk. He leans toward the crowd. His voice is loud. Slurred. Cruel.

"I know you all call her the city's Golden Girl."

He sneers.

"But let me tell you. To me? She's just a dog."

I can't speak.

Another glass. And another.

The pain shifts. It is no longer a burn. It is a tear.

Something inside my abdomen rips open.

My vision blurs.

The edges of the room go black.

A sharp cramp twists my insides. Not nausea. Agony.

The floor rushes up to meet me. Cold tiles against my cheek.

A scream pierces the air.

In the fractured light of the crystal chandelier, I see Archer.

For the first time, the boredom is gone from his eyes.

Panic.

Chapter 2

Time is a void.

I wake up to blinding white. The smell of disinfectant stings my nose.

Dr. Pierce stands by the bed. His expression is grave. "Miss Cordelia. You need to stop drinking. Immediately."

He lowers his voice. "The tests came back. You have a severe gastric bleed."

A moment ago, I felt like a corpse. Drained. Heavy.

But the words "severe gastric bleed" act like a shot of adrenaline.

I sit up. I snatch the clipboard from his hands. My eyes scan the medical jargon.

Confirmed. Bleeding. It is not a hallucination.

I let out a long, shaky breath. I close my eyes.

Success.

Dr. Pierce shifts uncomfortably. He must think I have lost my mind. Who smiles when they find out their stomach is bleeding?

He doesn't see what I see.

In the darkness behind my eyelids, a row of neon green numbers floats in the void.

The electronic voice chimes.

Mission Progress: 98%.

I am living inside a novel.

And I am the Villainess.

My character profile is a clich. Cordelia. Old Money royalty. Beautiful. Wealthy. And pathetic.

I am the childhood sweetheart of the male lead, Archer. My character arc dictates that I must love him. I must be willing to burn the world down for him.

The script says that when Archer falls for the innocent, clumsy internMiaI am supposed to spiral. I am supposed to become the toxic, jealous monster. I am supposed to try to destroy her.

And I am supposed to die, miserable and alone, in a prison cell.

I know the plot. I hate the plot. But I cannot change it.

The System's directive is absolute: Love Archer. Stay by his side. Accept the abuse.

If I deviate?

I get erased.

Total erasure.

But even a rigged game has a loophole. The System gave me one way out.

The Bloodshed Clause.

If I bleed for Archer one hundred times, I can break the narrative. I can escape.

The rules are strict. The injury must be caused by him. I cannot just pick up a knife and cut my finger. That doesn't count.

But anything else? Fair game.

Forced alcohol poisoning leading to a stomach hemorrhage? That definitely counts.

I have endured this ninety-eight times.

Archer thinks he has me on a leash. He thinks I will be his doormat forever. He has no idea.

Two more injuries. Two more drops of blood.

And then I am gone forever.

Chapter 3

Brenda comes into the suite. She carries a tray of hospital food. Chicken broth. Bland. Beige.

She sets it down on the rolling table. Her expression is careful. Hesitant. "Miss Cordelia. Mr. Archer stayed with you the whole time you were unconscious."

I take a sip. It tastes like dishwater. My pulse remains completely steady. "And? Where is he now?"

Brenda flinches at my tone. She wrings her hands. "He was here. Until two hours ago."

She lowers her voice. "Miss Mia was in a car accident. It looks critical. She is in the ER right now. Archer is outside the operating room..."

I don't let her finish.

I drop the spoon. It clatters against the bowl. I grab my IV stand.

I sprint.

I am not running because I am worried. I am running because opportunity just kicked down the door.

The hospital hallway blurs into streaks of white and gray. The ER bay is bathed in the flashing red lights of arriving ambulances. Chaos.

Archer is cornering a doctor. His hair is wild. He looks like he is about to punch a wall. "She needs blood! What do you mean you don't have it?"

The doctor looks exhausted. "Sir, please. She has Rh-null blood. The 'Golden Blood'. It is incredibly rare. We are contacting other hospitals, but time is critical..."

Of course she is. The Golden Blood.

The classic romance novel trope. What are the odds?

In this world? One hundred percent.

I crash into the conversation. I am panting. I am frail. I am perfect.

"Use mine."

I grip the IV pole like a lifeline. I stumble, playing up the weakness, and Archer catches me.

"My blood," I gasp. My chest heaves. "We are a match. Take mine."

Archer holds me upright. His grip is iron. His dark eyes search my face. The fog in them swirls. Confusion. Disbelief. "Cordelia. Why?"

Why?

Because I need the points, you idiot.

"Don't ask me why!" I scream. Tears spring to my eyes on command. An Oscar-worthy performance. "She is the one you love! If something happens to her, you will be devastated. I can't... I can't watch you be sad."

I grab his lapels. I shake him. "Save her! Use me to save her! Hurry!"

I see it. The crack in his armor. The shock. He looks at me like he is seeing a stranger. Or a saint.

But his ego is a fortress. He stiffens. He puts the mask back on. "Cordelia. Don't think... don't think this means I will be moved. Don't think this makes me love you."

Oh, honey. I am not banking on your love. I am banking on my freedom.

"I don't need your gratitude," I say. Softly. Tragically. "I am doing this willingly. Because it makes you happy."

They wheel me in.

The needle slides into my vein. It stings, but to me, it feels like a kiss.

My blood flows into the tube. Red gold.

I close my eyes. I have never felt more peaceful.

The system chime is the sweetest lullaby I have ever heard.

Mission Progress: 99%.

Chapter 4

Mia and I both survived.

I spent a month recovering in a VIP suite. It smelled of lilies and expensive regret.

My parents, Robert and Caroline, visited every day. They sat by my bed, their sighs filling the silence. They hate this engagement. They always have. No parent wants to watch their pampered princess get treated like a disposable accessory by another man.

But they think I am sick. Lovesick. Obsessed. They think I am addicted to the pain Archer inflicts on me.

They aren't entirely wrong. I am addicted. But not to him. To the escape he represents.

The story has spread through the citys elite like wildfire. The great Cordelia Cen, taking bulletsor in this case, alcohol and needlesfor her fianc's little mistress. I am the punchline of every cocktail party joke.

My mother dabbed her eyes with a silk handkerchief. "We never should have agreed to this arranged marriage," Caroline wept. "If we hadn't pushed you together as children, maybe you wouldn't be so... so blindly devoted to that boy."

My father looked tired. Robert Cen is a titan of industry, a man who eats competitors for breakfast. But under the fluorescent hospital lights, the silver in his hair seemed brighter. His shoulders slumped.

He gripped my hand. His skin was rough, warm. Grounding. "Cordelia," he said firmly. "We can break the contract. I don't care about the merger. I don't care about the Jiang family's influence. We don't need to fear them."

My nose stung. Tears pricked my eyes. Real ones this time.

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to scream yes.

But the Systems invisible collar tightened around my throat.

I shook my head gently. "No, Dad. We can't break it." I can't break it. "I love him."

The lie tasted like ash.

I am not free yet. The plot still owns me.

But the wedding is in a month.

Thirty days.

I just need one more accident. One more injury. One more drop of blood caused by Archers negligence or cruelty.

Then, I can ghost him and his little circus forever.

The problem?

Archer was malfunctioning.

For the next month, I shadowed him like a ghost. I threw myself into the line of fire. I practically begged for abuse.

But Archer? He stopped biting.

I tried everything.

"Archer, you have a dinner tonight. Do you need me to come and drink for you?"

"Archer, the renovation at the new estate is messy. Lots of falling debris. Should I go supervise it?"

"Archer, Mia wants to play golf with the investors. She has no control over her swing. She might get hit. Should I go stand in front of her?"

His answers were always the same. Cold. Clipped.

"No."

"Don't bother."

"Stay home."

It was infuriating.

He spent his nights at bars, drinking until he couldn't stand. He wouldn't let me come. He wouldn't let me drive him.

But I am not a quitter. I am a woman with a quota to fill.

If he won't bring the danger to me, I will go find it.

I wait until midnight. I put on a coat over my pajamas.

I follow him.

Chapter 5

The bar is dim. The air smells of expensive scotch and bad decisions.

I hear Archer talking to Brooks.

"Are you really going through with it? Are you actually marrying Cordelia?"

Archer stays silent. He swirls the amber liquid in his glass. "I don't know."

"Do you love her?"

Archer slams the glass onto the table. Hard. Liquid splashes over the rim. "Stop asking me that! You know who I love. I love Mia!"

Brooks shuts up. He knows better than to poke the bear.

Archer stares at the table. He is drunk. His defenses are down. He mutters to himself, but in the quiet booth, I hear every word.

"But Cordelia..."

"It's been so many years."

"Even a dog... you get used to having it around."

He stands up. He moves to leave. He turns and freezes.

He sees me. Standing behind the row of decorative bottles.

"...You're crying?"

I touch my face. My fingers come away wet. Cold tears.

"Who gave you permission to stalk me?" He barks. His voice is rough.

He thinks I am crying because of what he said. He thinks my heart is breaking because he called me a dog.

No.

I am crying because I am panicked.

The wedding is tomorrow.

I have zero injuries. The quota is at ninety-eight. If I don't bleed tonight, I am trapped. I will have to marry him.

The thought makes me sob harder.

"Since you heard me, I'll be straight with you." Archer sighs. He misreads the situation completely. He thinks I am devastated by his rejection.

He softens his tone. Just a fraction. "We will make a deal. Some ground rules. You don't stop me from seeing Mia, and I won't call off the wedding."

My tears flow faster.

This is a nightmare. This is actual hell.

Archer loses his patience. "You've loved me for years! Isn't this what you wanted? I am compromising here! What more do you want from me?"

He grabs his coat. He turns toward the door. He is leaving. He is going to leave me here, uninjured and doomed to a loveless marriage.

Then it happens.

A waiter trips. His hip bumps the edge of the table.

The champagne tower. Six tiers of heavy crystal. Unstable.

It tips. Gravity takes over.

The tower collapses toward Archer.

I don't think. I move.

I launch myself forward. I wrap my arms around Archer. I shield him with my body.

Impact.

Glass shatters against my back.

It isn't a sound. It is a sensation. A heavy, crushing weight followed by a sharp, biting sting.

Time warps. Slows down.

I look up. I lock eyes with Archer.

His pupils dilate. Shock. He sees his own reflection in my eyes.

The world tilts. Black edges creep into my vision.

When reality snaps back, I am on the floor. Archer is holding me.

"Cordelia..." His voice is hoarse. Trembling.

I don't speak. I can't.

My lips curve up. A smile.

Archer's eyes fill with tears. He thinks I am smiling because he is safe. He thinks I am happy to be his savior.

No.

I am smiling because of my arm.

I look down.

A shard of champagne flute is embedded in my forearm. Deep.

Blood wells up around the glass. Dark. Viscous. It trails down my skin like a crimson rivulet.

The pain is distant. Dull.

The light fades.

I close my eyes to the sound of Archer screaming my name.

One thought drifts through my mind.

Finally. I can get some sleep.

Chapter 6