The 100 Things I Did for Him

I lay in the cramped room, the curtains so heavy they swallowed every sliver of light from outside. Only the little lamp by the bed was still on.

Then the system's icy voice rang through my skull.

"Congratulations, Cynthia. You have completed ninety-nine tasks for Gregory Evans. Complete the final one, and you will successfully return to your original world and resurrect your beloved, Grayson Perez."

My fingers clenched into the blanket, knuckles white. My eyes burned hot, fast.

Five years. I'd been waiting for this day—five whole years.

I wasn't from this world. In mine, right before the wedding, the crash—Grayson yanked the wheel hard left, turning his side straight into the oncoming car. Glass exploded everywhere. He threw himself over me, covering my whole body.

I heard the dull thud of shards sinking into flesh, felt warm blood soaking down his back, dripping onto my white gown. One drop. Two. More and more. I came out fine—not even a scratch. He grew cold in my arms, his eyes still fixed on me, his lips moving, but nothing came out. I held him and sobbed until my voice gave out, until I couldn't squeeze out another tear, just dry heaves and a chest that felt completely hollow.

Then the system appeared. It said if I crossed into another world and did one hundred things for a man named Gregory Evans, Grayson could come back.

So I came.

Five years. Over eighteen hundred days. I'd become the most talked-about lovesick fool in all of New York's high society.

Whenever anyone brought up the name Cynthia, they'd just smirk.

"Her? Gregory's shadow. Can't shake her off."

"If I were her, getting rejected that many times? I'd have crawled into a hole and died of shame."

"Everyone knows Gregory only has eyes for Nancy. She's delusional."

I'd heard it all so many times it was practically background noise. I didn't dodge it. Didn't talk back. Just smiled. Because only I knew—the "love" they kept going on about? It was just the shell around my mission. The more they looked down on me, the more convincing my act became.

Then my phone buzzed. I grabbed it from the nightstand and hit answer.

"Hey, Cynthia, get over here now! Gregory killed someone!"

It was Patrick, one of the guys in Gregory's circle. The one who loved mocking me the most. He hung up before I could even respond.

Three in the morning. Snow pounding down outside. The streets were empty, the streetlights swaying in the wind, casting blurry yellow pools onto the white ground.

I didn't even grab an umbrella. I ran out in my slippers. The snow soaked through them in seconds, the cold creeping up my ankles. But I didn't care—Gregory couldn't go down. If he died, my mission was over. Grayson would never come back.

By the time I reached the private club, I was soaked through. Melted snow dripped from my hair, running down my face and onto the floor.

The private room was warm, the thick curtains blocking out the storm outside. The chandelier blazed overhead, empty bottles and scattered cards covering the table. Cigarette smoke and liquor stung my nose.

A man lay on the floor in the middle of the room. Black suit, face pale as paper, lips blue, eyes half-open with dilated pupils, chest completely still.

He looked dead.

A crowd stood around him. All of them were New York's elite, the rich kids with famous last names. When they saw me push through the door, every single pair of eyes landed on me like I was some kind of joke walking in.

Patrick swirled his glass, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, well, look who showed up. Look at you—frozen solid from that snow. So, what's your move? Gregory had a little too much to drink and now there's a body."

His tone was light.

A woman in a camel coat chimed in, her voice syrupy sweet. "I mean, sure, the Evans family has money and power, but murder is still murder. You can't just sweep a life under the rug."

Her words sounded urgent, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. She toyed with the diamond stud in her ear, lips curved into a smile.

Someone stepped up close to me, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol in my face. "Cynthia, you love Gregory more than anything, right? Why don't you take the fall for him?"

The room erupted in laughter. It crashed over me from every direction, messy and cruel.

I stood in the center of that room, my wet clothes clinging to my skin, shivering so hard my teeth chattered. I swept my gaze across all their faces—the ones who'd always treated me like a punchline, now laughing even harder.

"Fine. I'll do it."

No hesitation. My voice was calm when I said it.

The room went quiet for a beat. Then—"HAHAHAHAHA!"

Patrick doubled over, sloshing drink everywhere. The camel-coat woman clutched her stomach, laughing so hard her earrings swung wildly.

"What the hell did I say? This girl's got a screw loose!"

"Gregory, get out here! We won! She's willing to go to prison for you!"