New Year, New Me… And My Money

The social media platform Ducky had crashed.

Underneath Abigail Balmer and Dwayne Porter's public declaration of their relationship, a blazing red "Trending" tag had appeared. In under ten minutes, the comments passed a hundred thousand.

[Abigail is such a romantic! Now this is true love!]

[Dwayne must have saved the galaxy in a past life.]

[@Brett Ridley, kept-man king, get over here and see this. Your wife's traded up again!]

I set my phone down, perfectly calm, and lifted my cup of black tea for a sip.

The doorbell rang. Abigail's parents, Russell Balmer and Marilyn Balmer, stormed in, radiating fury.

Russell's face had gone the color of iron. He let out a heavy sigh.

"Brett, Abigail's out of her mind. I'll have the yacht sent over. Go take some time to clear your head if this is bothering you."

Marilyn patted my shoulder gently.

"Brett, don't worry. You're the only son-in-law this family will ever claim."

I kept my head down, pouring the tea, my face arranged into an expression of quiet understanding.

"Thank you, Mom and Dad. I know."

Why would I make a scene?

This was, after all, only the forty-ninth little boy toy Abigail had kept.

How wonderful.

Seven days left.

It would all be over soon.

The next day, the Balmer Group's head of public relations came by in person.

"Mr. Ridley, here's the draft statement. Take a look."

I read it over. The same recipe as always: [It's just a game. I don't mind. Our relationship is fine. Let's not waste public attention on this.]

I'd put out plenty of statements over the past ten years. This one mattered more than most, though. It was the first time Abigail had gone public with an affair this openly, with this much fanfare.

I'd gotten a look at the boy. He was different from the boy toys she'd kept before, sharper, more perceptive, and he looked eerily like her deceased first love.

After the statement went out, the group chats lit up again. Someone in the business circle tagged me directly.

[Props to Brett for being such a good sport. If my wife pulled this, I'd have broken her legs by now.]

[It's not the same. He married into the family. A man who marries up into a wealthy family has to keep his head down.]

I'd heard enough snide remarks like that to stop caring. I closed the chat and shut myself in the study.

At the very bottom of a drawer sat a small notebook with a leather cover. On the first page, a date from ten years ago.

Charles Hills, 23, a student at a sports college. Dated for three months; given a condo.

Second page.

Tyler Carell, 25, a livestreamer known for his looks. Dated for four months; given a clothing boutique.

...

Page forty-eight.

Freddy Cohen, 22, a music-college student. Dated for two months; given a sports car.

I picked up my pen and began the forty-ninth page.

Dwayne Porter, 24, a drama-school graduate.

What he'd end up with, I still didn't know. But something told me his goals weren't so simple.

I closed the notebook. Outside the window, a light snow had started to fall. The Christmas tree in the garden blazed with colored lights, and I could hear my three children laughing as they built a snowman, the sound muffled through the glass.

My original name was Sean Watson. The day I crossed over, the original owner of this body had just breathed his last.

An empty bottle of sleeping pills lay scattered by the bed. The phone screen was still lit, showing a photo of Abigail in bed with Charles.

He'd been consumed by one obsession.

He'd left me a message that said Abigail hadn't betrayed him. It was that other man's fault. He wanted me to watch over her for him.

The moment I heard that, I wanted to refuse.

Wasn't this the textbook definition of a fool in love? Driven to his death by his wife's affair, and still making excuses for the woman who'd wronged him.

The System tried to talk me into it.

"You can't go back anyway. Complete the mission, and I'll grant you one wish."

I thought about it, then nodded.

"Fine. Brett Ridley was so sure Abigail would never betray him, wasn't he? Then let's make a deal.

"Every time Abigail is unfaithful, one year of her lifespan transfers to me.

"If she ever spends her entire lifespan, the mission is complete."

The System went quiet for three seconds.

"Deal."

Forty-nine times meant forty-nine years gone.

Abigail should have lived to eighty.

Now she had one year left.

No, to be precise, once the New Year arrived, her time would run out.

The thought filled me with a strange, deep sense of release.

My phone buzzed with a message from Abigail.

Abigail: [Not coming home for dinner tonight.]

Abigail: [You've seen the stuff online, I know. The boy lost a dare game. Don't take it to heart.]

I didn't reply. She didn't push, either. It was the understanding we'd built over the years.

"Brett, you're always so reasonable. I'm just having some fun, letting off steam. Don't worry, you're still the only son-in-law this family will ever claim."

I laughed coldly and called the kids in for dinner.

The faint sound of Christmas bells drifted in.

Seven days left.

In seven days, on New Year's Eve, fireworks would fill the whole sky.

And my ledger would finally turn to its last page.