Chapter 1

The priest cleared his throat, his voice echoing over the Napa Valley vineyard. "Do you, Ethan Lester, take Nicole Anderson to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

I looked at Nicole, my Nicole, the woman I had given up everything for. Five years. My pro-gaming career, my savings, all of it poured into her dream of opening an art gallery. All for this moment.

"I do," I said, my voice steady.

The priest turned to her. "And do you, Nicole Anderson..."

He never finished the sentence.

A man stumbled through the guests, his suit disheveled. Ryan Clark. Her college ex-boyfriend, the one she called her "one that got away."

"Nicole, don't," he rasped, clutching his head. "Don't do this."

Nicole froze, her hand dropping from mine. "Ryan? What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't let you," he said, his voice breaking. "I have to tell you. I'm sick, Nicole. The doctors... they found a tumor. In my brain. It's inoperable."

My blood ran cold. The exact lie I expected, the one my best friend Andrew warned me about. But the words hit me like a physical blow.

A small, cold voice, the one I called the "pact," spoke in my mind. Condition check initiated. Loyalty parameter fluctuating.

Nicole stared at Ryan, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and a sick kind of romanticism. This was a scene from a movie, and she was the star.

"I can't lose you again," Ryan pleaded, collapsing to his knees. "Not like this. Just give me one last chance. Let me spend whatever time I have left with you."

I grabbed her arm, my grip tight. "Nicole, no. Look at me. This is our wedding." My voice was a low growl. "If you leave, I will die."

It wasn't a threat. It was a fact. The pact I'd made was simple: win her unconditional love, or the dormant glioblastoma in my own head would activate. The clock was ticking.

She pulled her arm away, not even looking at me. Her eyes were locked on Ryan, the failed musician from a rich family, the man who had discarded her once before.

"I'm sorry, Ethan," she whispered, her voice distant. "I can't."

She walked away from me, from the altar, from our life. She helped Ryan to his feet and they disappeared through the rows of grapevines, leaving me standing alone in front of everyone.

Condition check failed. Loyalty parameter at zero. Pact objective failed.

The voice in my head was calm, clinical.

Countdown initiated. Estimated time remaining: one week.

A wave of dizziness washed over me. The world tilted.

Final wish protocol engaged. You have been granted one wish. State your wish now.

My entire life had been a calculated game. This was the final move. My revenge would be posthumous, but it would be absolute.

I closed my eyes, a bitter smile on my lips.

"I wish," I said to the silent system in my head, "for Ryan Clark's supposed tumor to be completely and miraculously cured."

Wish acknowledged. Processing.