Chapter 3

3

Isn't this exactly what Alaric wanted? The perfect, submissive wife?

Why was he still unsatisfied?

Alaric had brought Rosalie home the day before yesterday.

By my count, that was the anniversary of my death.

I still remember the day I died.

The agony of the terminal illness made me roll off the bed.

I tried to reach for the painkillers, but my hands shook so violently the pills scattered across the floor.

My blood stained the carpet.

I begged the System to do me one favor: call Alaric.

I just wanted to hear his voice one last time. Just once.

Alaric didn't answer.

He was at the airport, busy saying a long, emotional goodbye to Rosalie.

The System even showed me a live feed of the airport.

They were locked in a tight embrace.

Anyone watching would have thought they were soulmates being torn apart.

My face was deathly pale as I sat in silence and activated the robot I had prepared.

I closed my eyes and never opened them again.

The System cleaned up my remains and asked, “Host, you gave up your chance to finish the mission. You took the terminal cells from his body into your own. Are you sure you don't regret it?”

My soul was floating, and I replied, “I don't regret it.”

My mission in this world was to make Alaric fall for me.

I had known him as long as Rosalie had, but I had always watched him from the shadows.

I truly loved that bright, kind boy.

He used to give his lunch money to the homeless and help the elderly cross the street.

Once, I pretended to be in trouble, and he helped me without hesitation.

That was how we met.

That was how we fell in love.

One day, Alaric collapsed during a date.

I rushed him to the hospital, only to find he had a hereditary terminal illness.

The cells were spreading fast; he didn't have much time left.

The System told me if I stayed with him until the end, my mission would be complete.

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't watch him die.

I loved him, so I chose to give him my life.

The System was quiet for a long time after hearing my answer.

Then it said, “Since that’s your choice, I will let you stay in this world a little longer to watch.”

And so, my soul remained.

For three whole years, Alaric never realized the woman in his house was a fake.

He grew more annoyed with me, coming home less and less each year.

Every time he did return, he had a different woman on his arm.

He didn't even try to hide it.

Everyone in our social circle knew that Elara Winslow, the wife of the great Alaric Sterling, was being cuckolded constantly.

They mocked me for being a doormat who didn't dare say a word.

I was a disgrace to women everywhere.

I could only smile bitterly. I never imagined we would end up like this.

Outside, the conversation between the two continued.

“Alaric, it’s so late. If Elara sees me here, won't she be upset? I don't want to cause trouble. Maybe I shouldn't stay.”

Alaric was silent for a moment before saying, “Ignore her. In this house, I make the rules. Elara won't say a word.”

Rosalie laughed and praised him.

“You really know how to keep a wife in her place, don't you?”

Alaric didn't continue the topic. He just called my name coldly.

“Elara, get out here! Can't you hear we have a guest?”

The front door opened, and “I” walked out.

“I” habitually leaned over to set out slippers for them.

The movements were practiced, as if I had done it a thousand times.

Alaric remained expressionless.

Rosalie, however, stared at me with a look of pure disbelief, as if she had seen a ghost.

“Hey, Elara. Don't you recognize me?”

“I” looked at her and accurately stated her identity.

Rosalie gave an exaggerated laugh.

“Three years and you’ve completely changed. I’m impressed.”

Alaric’s lips thinned into a hard line.

His gaze was mocking.

“She’s just acting. We all know what she’s really like. As if we could forget how petty and small-minded she used to be.”

“She’s playing the saint now. I want to see how long she can keep up the act.”