The rhythm of the ventilator was the only heartbeat I had left.
Hiss. Click. Hiss. Click.
In the sterile silence of the Stuart Private Hospital's VIP wing, the sound was a rhythmic executioner, counting down the seconds until my soul was officially evicted from this body. I lay there, staring at a microscopic crack in the ceiling tiles, my world reduced to the scent of ozone and the phantom itch of a body I could no longer feel.
Six months. I had spent six months as a prisoner of this bed. It had started at the mid-summer gala, where a glass of poisoned vintage wine—meant for Julian—had found its way into my hand. At the time, as the toxins paralyzed my lungs, I remember looking at Julian's panicked face and feeling a twisted sense of triumph.
I saved him, I had thought back then. Finally, I've proven that my love is absolute. Now, he will have to choose me over the rest of the world.
How incredibly pathetic.
The heavy oak door to my room swished open. I didn't need to turn my head to know who it was. The air always grew colder when Julian Cross entered a room. He carried with him the scent of expensive sandalwood and the sharp, metallic tang of a man who had built his empire on the ruins of others.
"Sophia," he said. He didn't come to my bedside to hold my hand. He didn't even look at my face. He stood at the foot of the bed, his silhouette framed by the late afternoon sun, looking like a god of judgment.
"The medical board has finalized the report," Julian continued, his voice as smooth as aged whiskey and just as intoxicating. "Your neural decay has reached eighty percent. The doctors say that even with the best equipment in the world, the heart will stop by dawn."
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him that I could still hear him, that my mind was a screaming bird trapped in a stone cage. I wanted to remind him of the time he was a starving scholarship student and I, the heiress of the Stuart Conglomerate, had stolen my father's ledger just to give him his first million.
But I was a mute ghost in a living corpse.
"It's a tragedy," a softer, higher voice murmured.
Clara. My cousin. She stepped out from behind Julian's shadow, her eyes red-rimmed and watery. She looked like a grieving angel, draped in a white silk dress that cost more than a nurse's yearly salary. But I knew better. I remembered the way she used to look at Julian when she thought I wasn't watching—the hunger, the envy, the silent promise to take everything I owned.
"Julian... are we really doing this?" Clara whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder. "It feels so... wrong."
"It's what she would have wanted," Julian replied, and the lie was so effortless it made my soul shiver. He reached out, his fingers brushing Clara's cheek with a tenderness he had never once shown me in twelve years. "Sophia was always loyal to the Stuart name. She spent her life protecting our interests. This is just her final act of service."
Service. He didn't see a woman who had loved him for a decade. He saw a 'Luck Battery'—a resource to be drained until the last drop.
He pulled a fountain pen from his breast pocket—the same gold-nibbed pen I had gifted him for his twenty-first birthday. He guided Clara's trembling hand as she signed the consent form. In the eyes of the law, I was brain dead. My uncle, the titular head of the Stuart family, had already been bought off with a seat on Julian's board of directors.
They weren't just taking my heart. They were taking my legacy, my fortune, and my very existence to prolong Clara's "fragile" life.
"The surgery is scheduled for 8:00 PM," Julian said, his gaze finally shifting to my eyes. For a split second, I saw it—the absolute, soul-crushing indifference. "Sleep well, Sophia. You've done enough."
As the anesthesia mask was lowered over my face, I felt a surge of rage so violent it felt like a physical explosion. Not like this, I prayed to whatever dark gods were listening. I didn't lose my father and my future just to become a spare part for the man who ruined me. If I have a soul, let it be a curse. Let me come back and drown them in the blood they're about to steal.
[Ding! Extreme Resentment detected. Resonance frequency: 100%.]
[System 'Karma Plunder' has identified a compatible Host: Sophia Stuart.]
[Status: Fated Sacrifice. Current Luck: -1,000.]
A voice? It was cold, mechanical, and infinitely ancient.
[Sophia Stuart. In the narrative of this world, you are the 'Fuel.' You were created to suffer so the 'Chosen Ones' could reach the peak. Your love was their luck. Your blood was their glory. Do you wish to reclaim your fate?]
"I want... their hearts," I hissed into the abyss. "I want to see them lose everything."
[Contract Accepted. Initiating Soul Transfer... Consuming remaining Life Force for Time Leap...]
CRASH.
The sound of breaking crystal shattered the silence.
I gasped, my lungs expanding with a sudden, painful rush of air. It didn't smell like bleach. It smelled like the heavy, expensive musk of aged brandy and the suffocating scent of thousands of lilies.
I wasn't lying down. I was standing.
My hand was shaking, but it wasn't from a neurological disease—it was from the weight of a champagne flute. I looked around, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it hurt. It's beating. It's still inside me.
I was in the Grand Ballroom of the Stuart Manor. The Centennial Masquerade Gala. The night my father died. The night Julian and I were supposed to announce our engagement to the world.
"Sophia? Darling, you've been staring at the fountain for five minutes. Are you nervous about the announcement?"
That voice.
I turned slowly. Julian stood there, twenty-four years old, looking every bit the dashing, ambitious prodigy I had once worshipped. He wore a silver mask that covered half his face, but his eyes—those predatory, beautiful eyes—were fixed on me.
But this time, I saw the truth.
Above Julian's head, a blindingly bright golden crown of light was pulsating with an arrogant, golden heat.
[Target: Julian Cross. Luck Value: 99,999 (The World's Darling).]
Beside him, Clara stood in a white lace gown, her face hidden behind a delicate feathered mask.
[Target: Clara Stuart. Luck Value: 40,000 (The Protected Muse).]
Then, I saw my own reflection in the polished marble pillar. Above my head was a swirling, suffocating fog of dark, sickly grey.
[Host: Sophia Stuart. Luck Value: -1,000 (The Cursed Stepping Stone).]
Luck... The psychological旁白 echoed in my mind. It was never about effort. It was never about love. I was a battery, and he was the thief. Every time I helped him, every time I 'sacrificed' for him, I was literally giving him my life force.
[Current Mission: The False Engagement. Reward: +500 Luck. Failure: Heart Failure in 24 hours.]
Julian smiled, reaching for my hand. His fingers felt like ice. "The orchestra is starting, Sophia. The elders are waiting. Let's go tell the world that you belong to me."
You belong to me. The phrase used to make my heart flutter. Now, it made my skin crawl.
I looked at his hand—the hand that had guided Clara's to sign my death warrant. I looked at Clara, who was already eyeing the Stuart family emeralds on my neck.
I didn't take his hand. Instead, I tightened my grip on the champagne glass, a cold, sharp clarity washing over me.
You want my heart, Julian? I thought, my gaze locking onto his golden crown. You'll have to wait. Because I'm going to spend the next 24 hours making sure you don't have a world left to rule.
"Ready?" I whispered, a smile touching my lips that was as sharp as a razor. "Oh, Julian... I've never been more ready."